Pride: On the Hunt
by The Nexus Project
Summary: As Arus struggles under Drule occupation, Explorer Team 686 is given new teammates and a new mission: to find the planet Altea, if it exists, and recover the ancient weapon known as Voltron. They hardly have a plan, so how can things go according to plan? (Part 2 of Pride, reboot/prequel)
1. Prologue

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
Prologue

_This is the second part of Pride, a comprehensive reimagining of the Voltron mythos; you should _definitely _start with part one if you haven't. Otherwise, enjoy! _

* * *

The path to the Executor's Seat was long and stark. Black steel and dim lights lent what passed for the Galra throne room an eerie, oppressive quality, and a solemnity that could not be easily broken. Other races might have seen it as haughty or pretentious, but to a Galra its message was clear. The Executor had to walk this long, lonely path just as sure as those who sought an audience. A reminder of the grim duty of command.

She was there now, in simple battle armor rather than gaudy trappings: Executor Marmora, Arbiter of Justice, Grand Commander of the Galra, Overseer of the Search. Grand titles, but nobody to announce them as General Aurok approached. Her presence spoke for itself.

"Welcome, General." Her sharp gaze fell upon him. "I'm told you have troubling news."

Aurok didn't speak immediately, straightening before her and offering a salute. "Yes, Executor. It pertains to the Search."

That brought her up short. Pausing a moment herself, she leaned forward and removed her helmet; long blue-violet hair spilled over her shoulders, and her crimson eyes glowed faintly. The gesture was symbolic, granting him her full attention. "Proceed."

"The seeker ship _Ruspathalos_ was lost in the middle of a search. We dispatched the hunter _Vilakshi_ to complete its mission." All of this was routine. Ships were occasionally lost. Nothing worth bothering the Executor over. It was what had come after… "The _Vilakshi_ has encountered oddities."

Steepling her fingers, the Executor studied him with glowing eyes. "I am listening."

"The _Vilakshi_ followed a different route than the _Ruspathalos_, as is standard. On the first planet they reached, they made contact with a small Alliance vessel as they were departing. Per protocol, they ordered it to leave the system, and destroyed it when it refused." He made a face. "A relic was found on the planet, but was not secured properly and failed to reach the ship. When the _Vilakshi_ returned to retrieve it, they could not find it, and there were footprints at the site that were not theirs. They found evidence of a landing site. Likely a similar vessel to the one they destroyed."

"It could not have been the locals?"

"No, Executor. The planet was uninhabited."

She nodded slowly. "Continue."

"There was nothing of interest on the next planet, but the site showed signs of recent disturbance. The third planet, the one where the _Ruspathalos_ was lost, was heavily fortified. Orbital scans showed the site was overrun by the Alliance military. They chose to bypass it for the time being." Raiding small settlements in their path was one thing. Full scale military engagement was something else, and not to be conducted without higher authorization.

The Executor didn't seem concerned by that decision. "Good. Nothing to be gained by drawing further attention. Is there more?"

"Yes. There was a cache on the final planet." Over the centuries of the Search, they'd found many such facilities, used as waypoints or supply depots by the ancestors. "It too showed signs of being visited recently, and the data crystal was gone. It's unlikely to have held any information we lack, but…"

"…But it clearly means we are no longer alone in our Search." Marmora leaned back and closed her eyes. "What analysis can you offer?"

"It seems clear the _Ruspathalos_ was taken intact. I have no doubt the crew will have done what was necessary, so the only information the Alliance might possess is what was stored in its computers. And now, presumably, whatever they manage to retrieve from the crystal—if anything. We have to assume a spacefaring race has the intelligence to at least partially decrypt it."

"Yes."

"The Alliance is young and warlike, despite its claims to work in the name of peace. They would be unworthy of the Defender. They can cause us inconvenience… but it also may benefit us to let them search, if they care to. At worst, and most likely, they'll do nothing useful. At best, they may blindly stumble over a stone we've left unturned."

Marmora considered this, closing her eyes for a few moments. "I agree," she said finally, quietly. "We will dispatch some Blades to listen more closely, and let the Alliance do as they will. Keep me informed."

"As you command, Executor. Vrepit sa."

She put her helmet back on. Symbolic, again. The audience was over, dismissing him to do what must be done. "Vrepit sa."

* * *

Far across the stars, a very different scene was playing out before a very different throne. Vaulted golden ceilings framed an enormous room that seemed almost organic; the walls flowed and curved gently, not a single sharp corner to be seen. Where the walls met the floor, troughs of crystalline water fed by dozens of inset fountains smoothed the transition. A lush red carpet ran from the main doors to the throne, itself rising seamlessly from a high dais.

Standing at the throne's right arm, a pale blue-skinned Drule in ceremonial armor scowled out at the empty chamber. Prince Lotor, heir to the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy, did not care much for wide open spaces. He preferred the sheltered privacy of his personal gym, or the confines of a cockpit. Places of power. Places where strength could be displayed and increased. Maybe the throne room would be better if it weren't so empty—it could hold a full legion of soldiers when necessary—but as it was? No, he didn't care for it at all.

"Stop fidgeting," came a gravelly voice from the throne. "One might think you find these proceedings beneath you."

Lotor winced, looking down to meet his father's glare. "I simply don't see what use it is to have me just _standing_ here, when there are battles to be fought and wars to be won."

"Which is _exactly_ why you're here." King Zarkon studied his son carefully. It wasn't the first time they'd discussed this. "Your position requires more than playing soldier, and you must rule as well as command. Now, be silent and _learn_."

Before Lotor could protest further, a page in royal silks stepped into the room. He walked to the very center of the carpet, bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor, and then spoke without making eye contact. "Announcing Admiral Yurak of the Anduslin's Fist armada, sire, as you ordered." Still bowing, he retreated, giving way to a grizzled old soldier whose eyepatch and battered armor looked _very_ out of place here.

Immediately the prince was much more interested.

Admiral Yurak walked to the very foot of the dais before kneeling. "Lord Zarkon, we have reports from the front. The latest wave of conquest has gone almost wholly without incident."

Zarkon nodded approvingly. "Rise. Give me a full report."

Yurak saluted and stood. "Our intelligence operations were successful on Varfor, Kro, Arus, and Thusiorus. Each planet's defenders were routed easily. Preliminary actions against Olikk and Madre were unsuccessful, but fleet assaults were successful with only light casualties. We currently consider all but Arus and Madre pacified."

Zarkon's eyes narrowed slightly, and Lotor frowned more deeply. All in all it was a favorable report, but two planets in a single wave resisting was unusual. Aside from the upstart Alliance, very few powers in this galaxy could stand against a Drule fleet. "What exactly is the holdup?"

"Madre is only procedural, sire. It lacks a central power with the authority to surrender. Arus lies in ruins, but refuses to formally surrender; our ground forces will have to encourage them. You'll have the head of their King on a pike soon enough."

"Very well. Do you have anything else to report?"

"No, sire."

"Then go and see to the completion of the assaults. I expect to see plans for your next wave by the next moonfall." Zarkon paused a moment. "Remove the planet Pollux from the list of future targets. It will not require conquest."

"As you command, sire." Yurak bowed, then turned and departed.

Lotor felt his lip curling as he watched the admiral go. Turning one's back on the king in his own throne room? It would have been a mortal insult… unless one had the unflinching confidence in one's own service to know that the king would allow it. A champion of the Supremacy was accorded certain privileges, if they dared claim them. That? That was _strength_.

"Were you listening, Lotor?"

"Yes, Father. Our forces are victorious over the savages, as they should be."

"Not _that_." Zarkon gave an exasperated sigh. "Pollux. A planet on our new border. The armada will not be attacking it, because you'll be pacifying it alone."

_What?_ Lotor turned to his father, eyes brightening. "Have they demanded a duel? A _sol __vandi__re_ challenge?" All this silly political posturing might be worth it after—

"—No." Zarkon bared his fangs in a mildly amused smirk. "They've offered up the hand of their princess in exchange for protection. She is far too young for my retinue, and it's high time you began to perform your diplomatic duties. You will court her."

Excitement turned to horror. Courtship? Had he really… "Father, you can't be serious?"

His father turned and speared him with a stern look, golden eyes glowing. "I am entirely serious, and I suggest you not test me. Pollux is a weak and insignificant planet. You _will_ use this learning opportunity, because I won't have you embarrassing the Ninth Kingdom when more significant courtships are in play. Do I make myself understood?"

Staring longingly after Admiral Yurak, Lotor sighed. "Yes, Father."


	2. Domestic Front

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 1_  
Domestic Front

* * *

Explorer Team 686 was officially on R&R. Nothing could _possibly_ go wrong.

It always seemed to be crowded on the Garrison. There was no real need for it, as best Sven could tell. Where were all these people going? Why were they just milling around the base housing like they had nothing better to do? Were they _all_ on the way to go pick up their unit's grumpy medic for a fun night out?

Whatever that meant.

He was rather concerned about what that meant.

_Stop worrying about it. Jace just wants to take you out for some fun… oh, god_.

Truth be told, he was much too busy worrying about that to really care what everyone else was up to. He just wished people would stop jostling him. It was rude.

Finally he reached the barracks block he was looking for, a concrete rectangle identical to all the others around it. Short-term enlisted housing was even more stark than the junior officer housing, which at least had a couple feet of concrete passing off as a balcony. Sven felt a brief twinge of pity, but it didn't last… he was pretty certain Jace would not appreciate a balcony if he had one.

Knocking on the door of Unit 2-736 got him an immediate yell from within: "It's open! If you're not a Viking you'd better not try it, though."

He cracked a small smile at the familiarity of it all… which lasted exactly until he pushed the door open. The smile gave way to wide-eyed disbelief as he took in the room. Or more to the point, the boxes stacked around the room. "It's been three days and you _still_ haven't unpacked?"

Jace was sitting on one of the larger boxes, tapping at his datapad. "Why bother unpacking? Just gonna have to pack again later…" He raised his head and dropped the datapad. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Blinking, Sven looked down at himself; he was wearing a navy blue polo and crisp khakis, nothing unusual. "…Clothes?" His attention went back the boxes. The only nod to organization in the room was a single shelf that held a medical kit, a few pans, and what looked like it might have been a stuffed kitten. "You unpack so that it's all not so… _cluttered_."

"If the stuff isn't in the boxes, then it gets everywhere, and then it's cluttered." The medic's tone had been patient, if maybe a little dramatically so, but the patience completely disappeared for his next question. "Are those _khakis?"_

"Yes, they are." Sven matched his original patience. "And it doesn't get cluttered if you clean up after yourself."

"It doesn't get cluttered if I leave it in the boxes until I need it, either, and you are _not_ coming to the Dancing Swan in _a polo shirt and khakis what the fuck's the matter with you_."

"It is _currently_ cluttered, and—wait, the what?" Sven was certain he knew the name Dancing Swan. Something about an old political nemesis of his father, a low-level dignitary. One who'd been caught acting up at… his eyes widened in horror. "Y—you're trying to take me to a strip club?!"

One of Jace's eyebrows arched slightly. "You… look surprised."

"Well yes! You said fun, not… not being culpable in… debauched shenanigans!"

"Have we met?"

"…Yes. And I am now seeing my mistake."

"Hey, gotta learn sometime." Grinning, Jace jumped off the box he'd been sitting on. "New plan, we're going shopping. Move it."

Sven didn't move, instead narrowing his eyes slightly. He didn't trust this 'new plan' at all. "Why are we going shopping?"

"Because if this is what you wear out for fun, you wardrobe obviously needs an overhaul."

Oh, they were still on this. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing? This is perfectly functional clothing?"

"Okay, fine." Jace shrugged. "Onward to the strip club!"

Sven's eyes narrowed further. "I know what you're doing… but fine. Let's go shopping."

"Not trying to be subtle, Viking. Just effective." He grabbed the navigator's sleeve and started all but dragging him down the corridor. Was there any point in resisting? Unlikely, so Sven allowed the dragging. Once they got to the street there were some merits to it, anyway; Jace seemed to have a gift for parting the crowds.

He was probably jostling people. It was probably rude. Oh well, nothing to be done for it.

Galaxy Garrison was, in most respects, a city in itself. Not a _small_ city, either. Though it was surrounded by all kinds of fine establishments that wanted nothing more than to help soldiers spend their money, about a dozen different contractors ran authorized exchanges on base. Just in case you didn't want to take the time to leave… or didn't trust your friend to go out there in the wider world where he could potentially escape from having fun.

"So what've you been up to since debriefing?" Jace asked as he shifted course, heading for the closest of the exchanges. "Unpacking?"

"Of course I was unpacking," Sven scoffed. "I like to be civilized."

"I'll bet you do. In your polo shirt and khakis?"

"…I'm not answering that."

The medic grinned. "Yeah, might be best. What else has been going on? Surviving the politics? Wine? Spoons?"

"No…" A blush sprang to Sven's cheeks. "None of that. Just relaxing."

_And lying to your parents_.

No doubt he _would_ have been dealing with politics, wine, spoons, and everything else. But he might, just might, have fibbed a little bit about the team's return date. Only a little bit. It had given him a rebellious thrill. He was part of an Explorer Team! He'd finally left Earth, trekked through the Rim, fought pirates and boar-tahs, hiked on giant monsters… and that was without even discussing the temple of elemental evil or whatever it had been. He'd even dealt for a _poker game_. He could certainly manage to take a week for himself before telling his parents he was home.

Then maybe he'd be ready to deal with spoons.

Jace eyed him with a bit of surprise, then chuckled and gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Oh yeah? Good for you, Viking, you need to relax once in awhile."

"Yes. Yes I do." He started to ask the polite, reciprocal question in this conversation, then thought better of it. "Do I want to know what _you've_ been doing while you haven't been unpacking?"

"Absolutely not."

"I didn't think so."

The nearest exchange was one of the base's several Warmarts—someone had thought they were funny, apparently—which really was probably the best option for this. Some of the others could get pretty high-end. From the look on Sven's face as they approached the building, Jace felt confident he did not routinely buy his clothing at Warmart. "So, is it even worth asking if you've ever been shopping for normal clothes before?"

"I _am_ wearing normal clothing," he answered in a resigned tone. "What kind of clothing do you consider normal, exactly?"

That… was an annoyingly good question, actually. Jace did not spend a lot of time thinking about the underlying philosophy of dress codes, he just knew you did not wear khakis to the Dancing Swan. "Jeans? T-shirts? Fuck, just…" Rolling his eyes, he shot a pointed look at the perfect crease in Sven's pants. "If you have to iron it, it's too high-maintenance to be normal, can we settle on that at least?"

"I suppose so." He did not look convinced, though jeans didn't sound too terrible.

"Here." They were nearly to the door. "If you can find it in here and it's not a bathrobe, it probably counts."

"I already have a bathrobe."

"…Of course you do. See? This won't be too painful." The medic lowered his voice. "For you."

Sven did not lower his voice. "Somehow I doubt that…"

"I heard that."

"I didn't say it quietly."

Being sassed by the Viking never failed to brighten Jace's day; it proved they were headed in the right direction. With a laugh and a flippant salute, he headed in the doors. "Okay, let's get in and get out and maybe we can still hit the club by the evening show."

"I'd rather we didn't do that second part." Sven had indeed not done all that much shopping for cheap clothing in his life, and was looking around in bewilderment as he followed Jace into the men's section. There was so _much_. Most of it seemed perfectly respectable. Some of it did not. His attention was drawn to what looked like damaged merchandise on one rack… he paused, realizing there were several such pieces, and glared at the rack as though it had personally insulted him. "There will be no jeans with holes in them."

"With you on that, actually. We're in the military, we'll get enough holes in us without buying 'em premade…" After another few rows they finally stopped, next to a rack of jeans with no holes in them. "Okay, have at it."

Have at what? Looking around at a veritable sea of denim and cotton and who even knew what else, Sven resigned himself to doing something he would absolutely regret. "Um, Jace?"

"…What?"

"Where do I start?"

Oh yes, he was definitely going to regret this. Jace worked his jaw a moment, considering and discarding several options, then looked around himself and walked over to one of the racks. "Know what, if you have to ask that, you start with these." He picked out a pair of glossy black pants and tossed them over.

Sven caught them, if having them land in his arms could be considered 'catching' them. "What on Earth are these?"

"Pants."

"Obviously, but…" He ran his hands over the non-fabric. It was slick and rough and heavy and surely had to be uncomfortable, never mind the questionable appearance. "_What_ are they?"

Jace stared at him, then sighed. "Leather. It comes from cows. People wear it. Ask Lance."

In any other situation Sven might have been offended by that—he knew perfectly well what leather _was_. And he was reasonably certain it wasn't appropriate material for pants. "Why do they wear them?" he demanded with wide eyes, his voice a little shrill.

"Because it's better than being nak—"

"—Sven?"

Both of them startled and looked up, Jace looking confused, Sven a bit horrified. A pale young woman with short blonde hair was standing there, wearing an aerospace division uniform with a Deep Space Recon patch and an expression of mildly inscrutable curiosity.

"…Ina?" Sven finally managed. Ina Leifsdottir was his oldest friend, a brilliant pilot and analyst, one of the very few people who could understand his upbringing… and probably the last person he needed to see him standing there holding _leather pants_. Not least because she might ask him to explain them, and he was wholly incapable of such a thing.

"Yes." She watched him as he approached and gave her a warm hug, which had lasted precisely three seconds when she spoke again. "We've discussed this."

Sven sighed and released her. She didn't sound annoyed—she never was—just a bit bemused, and he supposed he'd asked for that. They _had_ discussed this. "Yes, yes, I'm aware. The standard hug only lasts three seconds." A small grin crossed his lips. It was good to see her again, quirks and all.

"…Viking, you've got a _girlfriend?"_ Jace demanded. There wasn't even a hint of sarcasm in his tone, just pure shock.

"What?! No, no, no—"

"—We are friends," Ina interrupted, looking confused. "And I am a female."

Jace looked between them, and Sven braced himself for a new round of mockery. But then, to his surprise, the medic just laughed. "Oh, it's one of those things. Got it."

Sighing again, he decided that was the best he could hope for. "Jace, Ina. Ina, Jace. Jace, Ina is a childhood friend from Norway, and Ina, Jace is…" Several options came and went. "…well, my friend."

"Nice to meet you. Most people call me Leif." Ina offered her hand while turning her head slightly towards Sven. "Does this mean he is your boyfriend?"

"I'm his team medic," Jace snorted as he shook her hand. "I don't need to see him any more naked than I already do, thanks."

"Oh. Why not?"

For the second time in much too short a timeframe, Jace found himself at a loss for words. He looked between them again, trying to figure out if that was supposed to be a commentary on naked Vikings or just… "…Que porra?" he finally muttered helplessly.

"It's not—she just wants to understand—never mind." Sven looked as flustered as he felt. "Ina…"

"Inappropriate?"

"Yes. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Purchasing tampons," she said matter-of-factly, displaying the box she'd been holding in her other hand.

Sven's expression twisted into something truly spectacular, and it was all Jace could do not to choke laughing; that would kind of suck, considering he was the medic here. A sly grin crept over his face instead. "So, Viking, remember what _you're_ doing here? You gonna try those pants on or not?"

No. No he certainly was _not_. Recovering and shaking his head, the navigator tried another tack, ignoring the question. "I've missed you, Ina. I didn't realize you were back from your mission." She'd been deployed when he'd left, running recon flights somewhere in the Outer Reaches.

"But I am standing right in front of you."

By now Jace was biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. But he was also pretty sure he was understanding Sven a lot better. _If this is his childhood friend, no fucking wonder he asks me shit like what normal clothes are. …How is she _not _his girlfriend, they're perfect for each other_.

"I was also not aware you were back from your mission. Your mother called," Ina tilted her head slightly as if in imitation, "_to chat_, yesterday at 7:12 pm. She was not aware either."

All the color drained from Sven's face—there hadn't been that much to begin with, to be fair. "I… uh." He glanced over at Jace for help, which definitely wasn't something he'd have ever done if he were in his right mind, and saw the medic's dark eyes wide with new respect.

_Not bad, Viking…_

"Know what?" He approached and took the terrifying leather pants away, turning to the next rack over. "Maybe you don't need to try these after all, you're clearly making _much_ better progress than I first thought." He pitched over a pair of nice normal jeans and went to put the leather pants back.

Catching the jeans, Sven let himself exhale; it had been enough of a distraction to at least get his wits back about him. A little. Maybe. "Ina. My mother doesn't know I've arrived back on Earth yet."

She tilted her head again. "I'm aware of that. She told me yesterday at—"

"7:12 pm, yes, I know." It was all he could do to keep his voice calm. Actually his voice wasn't the least bit calm, but at least he wasn't squeaking in the same panic he was feeling. He loved his parents, he did, but they'd been disappointed enough in his Explorer Team posting. If they found out he'd started _lying_ to them, he might never escape their sight again. "Would it be possible for you to not mention that I'm back, if she calls again? And possibly not tell her when I actually arrived? Ever?"

"That would be lying," she observed with the same vague interest as one discussing the weather. "Both by commission and omission."

"Yes, I know." He said those words a lot around her. "Will you?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." With a long sigh of relief, Sven turned back to Jace, who seemed torn between wanting to rescue him or bury him. "I have jeans, can we go now?"

"Oh hell no. You need shirts too, and that's gonna be _way_ more fun." Smirk. "So… Leif, huh? You want to help us out? I'm trying to help the Viking here shop for some clothes, and I'm pretty sure he's too smart to believe anything _I_ say about how he looks."

Oh. Oh no. "Ina, you don't have to, you seem very busy with your… tampons…"

"I will." She looked curiously at Jace. "Why will shirts cause a higher level of enjoyment than pants?"

"Because pants are pretty simple. Shirts can be stuff like this." He'd been looking through a large rack of shirts, and tossed one in Sven's direction.

Looking between Ina's completely indifferent expression and Jace's obvious delight, Sven seriously considered just dropping the jeans and fleeing. But he knew he would never actually get away with that, so he caught the shirt and held it up. It was red, with the Alliance insignia and **MANDATORY FUN SHIRT** written in white block letters. "Oh." Glare. "Red's not really my color."

Jace shrugged and went back to searching; Ina peered at him. "Why not? The color doesn't clash with your skin pigmentation, or your hair?" Before he could even try to answer, another shirt came sailing at him; black this time, with **WHISKY TANGO FOXTROT** in even bigger block letters.

If Jace really thought he'd be caught dead in that, he had another _foxtrotting_ thing coming. He'd sooner deal with his mother walking into the Warmart right then and there. No point actually saying it. Glaring even harder at them both, Sven vanished into the fitting room.

Still looking for other shirts, Jace had barely noticed the departure until he heard the door swing shut. Well, at least the Viking was trying. Shrugging, he moved on to a display of 'vintage pop' shirts, where he found something with very solid potential. Why not? It wasn't like Sven would know a dated reference if he saw one. Picking out a blue one, he tossed it over the dressing room door just as Sven came out in the first shirt and jeans.

_Huh. Red really isn't his color_. Crossing his arms, he studied the navigator carefully. "Hmm. It is kinda questionable. What do you think, Leif, how's he look?"

"He looks distressed," she answered without hesitation.

He glanced over at her, now a bit distressed himself. "I, uh… I meant how do the clothes look on him?"

"Oh." She tilted her head. "They look like clothes."

…_I probably deserve this._ "Yeah, they sure do. Try the next one, dude."

The next one. Right. Sven looked at the Whisky Tango Foxtrot shirt again and shook his head. "I'm _not_ wearing this." Tossing it right back out of the fitting room, he turned his attention to the third shirt that had appeared there; it was dark blue with the words **KEEP CALM AND TRUST THE NAVIGATOR.** Whether he was missing a joke there, or Jace was just taking pity on him, he couldn't say… and he wasn't going to worry about it. He could only regret dragging this on further, so he pulled it on and walked out. "I like this one."

"You would."

"It does seem to compliment you much more effectively."

"Wonderful." He changed back into his original clothing, found where the Mandatory Fun Shirt had come from, and replaced it perfectly straight on the rack. "_Now_ can we go?"

"Let's do it." Jace grinned, turning towards the checkout. "Plenty of time to still make the evening show!"

Oh, so he hadn't forgotten about that. Sven made a face. "Is it possible for us to do something other than that?" That got the WTF shirt waved threateningly at him, but then Ina intervened.

"If he has taken you shopping, it would be fair and reciprocal for you to take him shopping also. Perhaps somewhere he will enjoy as much as you have enjoyed this."

…Now _that_ sounded like fun. Even more so when Jace dropped the shirt and turned to her with a very disconcerted look on his face. It was obvious he was trying to figure out just how much hell Sven could make his life in the next five minutes. Coincidentally, Sven was trying to figure out the same thing. A high-class shop seemed very likely to backfire on him. But one idea was springing to mind…

"Then it's settled." He smiled broadly. "We're going to the bookstore. Ina, would you like to join us?"

"No. I have to purchase these tampons."

"Alright. Just me and Jace, then."

"A bookstore?" The medic had finally found his voice. "Who said anything about… do they even _have_ bookstores around here?" He couldn't even find a damn cookbook without making special orders.

"There's one a few blocks away from the housing section they've put me in. It's wonderful." Smirk. "You'll love it."

_Maybe he's getting a little _too _good at this sass thing._ Jace knew when he was beat, and sighed, grinning slightly. "Fine, fine, whatever. Let's go to the bookstore." If there were nefarious plans involving the erotica section already starting to form in his mind, well, the Viking would have only himself to blame. Though it actually sounded like it could be entertaining regardless. "And why stop there? We can just shop all night, could be fun."

Sven grinned back. "Let's do that."

* * *

Canaveral Comics was not the only comic book shop that catered to the Garrison. It was just the closest, biggest, and best. And like always, it was a bit of a zoo. The harried sales staff was getting people checked out as quickly as possible, but they could only do so much.

Lance was leaning against the front counter, flipping through a display comic with a frown on his face as he waited on his pull list. The art was questionable, and the story… well, there probably was one. Somewhere. _Newer stuff is so hit or miss…_

One of the clerks emerged from the back room, a small stack of comics in her arms. A moment later the signal bell sounded. "Lance McClain!"

He dropped the disappointing comic and crossed over to the clerk, flashing a brilliant smile. "That's me!"

She blushed a little—as she ought to, of course—before setting out his comics one by one. "Beyond Torchwood, Star Wars Falcon Legacy, Warpspeed, Into Andromeda?"

"Looks like that's everything." He eyed the Falcon Legacy books particularly eagerly, it appeared he'd missed two issues. He was very ready to get home and—

"—Yo, stranger!"

The voice was familiar, but definitely not one he'd expected to hear here. "Hunk!" Turning, he saw Hunk trotting up to the counter, carrying a _very large_ stack of comics… it went up to his chin, if he were a smaller dude he'd certainly have tipped over. "Wow, you _really_ like comics."

"Yeah, I always get kinda carried away while I'm waitin' on my pulls." Grin. "I like to read, yeah?"

"I thought I liked to read, too…" He stared at the stack for another moment, then turned back to his own small pile feeling slightly flustered. He covered it with another smile at the clerk, who blushed again.

"On your usual account, Lieutenant?"

"Uh, yeah, the usual," he glanced at her nametag, "Juanita."

Nodding, she rang him up and slid the books into a bag; Hunk gave a whistle of appreciation. "Hey, you've got good choices, bro!"

"Yeah, it's just my usuals, the basic stuff, nothing extra this go around…" Why was he babbling like he was intimidated by a huge stack of comics? By _Hunk_, no less. Hunk was awesome, not intimidating. "If I run out I guess I know where to go to borrow some, huh?"

The big man chuckled. "Any time, bro. You'd probably love Crash Buster, it's like Warpspeed but with crush cars instead of planes."

Planes, obviously, were the superior vehicle in that equation. Or pretty much any equation. That being said, crush cars _were_ a solid runner up. "Yeah, that doesn't sound half bad. Have you checked out Into Andromeda? It's about a World War Two pilot that finds himself in the future, pretty new but it's awesome." He eyed Hunk's haul again. "You set to check out?"

Hunk glanced over at Juanita, who was scrolling down a datapad at her register. "Hey Comic Lady, where'm I at on the list?" Grin. "No rush, just wonderin'."

She actually blushed a little at that, too. "You're about ten down, Hunk." Somehow, Lance wasn't at all surprised to hear she knew him by name. "Do you want me to hold those while you're waiting?"

"Nah, I've got 'em. If you hold 'em I'll just end up with more."

Ten down sounded like a lot… but this, Lance decided, was a thing he could help with. "Oh Juanita, beautiful, couldn't he go next?"

Now her slight blush went full bright red, especially when he gave her that dazzling smile again. "Oh, I… really shouldn't…"

Of course she shouldn't. Like that ever stopped them. Lance poured on the charm. "It's just he and I are going down to the Rambling Barrel. Gonna get settled, watch a game or two, talk about the new Falcon Legacy… say, what time do you get off?"

It took her a very long couple of seconds to find her voice. "...I, um, I'm going to be in all night I'm afraid, the Sol Regulars are getting in tonight, it's all hands on deck, you know how it is…" She trailed off, looking between them, seeming to realize she was babbling.

"Aww, that's a shame." Wink. "Maybe another time."

Apparently she'd had enough blushing, because she giggled and turned away quickly. "Hunk, I'll go get your books." She vanished into the back room.

Hunk stared after her, then looked down at Lance. He was pretty buddy-buddy with Juanita, but she was strictly business when it came to the line. He'd never seen her do a favor like that for anyone. "Dude, how'd you _do _that?"

"It's just a gift. So far only that cat thing is immune." A little shudder ran through him at the memory.

"Oh, good." Hunk made a face. "I'd hate to have to put Comic Lady in a box, I like her."

Lance shuddered again. "Yeah, let's never have to do that box move again. Ever."

"I'm totally for it."

Juanita came out of the back room then, carrying another armful of comics almost as big as the stack Hunk had gathered up. "So you've got X-Men Eternity, Crash Buster, Warpspeed…"

As she counted out the comics, Lance felt one of his eyebrows raising. And raising. And raising. "Big guy, do you like, have a comic book wing at your place? Next time I might just ask to come over instead of, you know, buying stuff."

Hunk shrugged, maybe a little sheepishly. "I uh, kinda went through a phase of buildin' bookshelves outta junk cars… gotta have books to put on 'em, yeah?" Grin. "Plenty of money for comics when all your furniture is homemade junkyard chic."

"Huh?" Lance took a moment to parse that, because the words _homemade junkyard chic_ were certainly not words he'd ever have imagined hearing in that order. But coming from Hunk, it didn't really seem at all strange. "Okay, that's something I need to see, dude."

"You can totally drop by any time! We can eat popcorn and read comics and rock out…"

Juanita was finally to the end of the pile. "…Gearbolts, Bunny Bomb Squad, and Legends of Metal." She smiled and started bagging the books—double bagging in fact, which seemed like a very good decision—as Hunk flipped her a credit chip without missing a beat.

"Wanna swing by after, uh…" He looked at Juanita and coughed back whatever he'd been about to say. "…after we get done at the bar?"

Lance grinned broadly, winking again at the clerk as she finished up with the comics. "I don't know, since we're gonna be deprived of Juanita's presence let's just skip the bar thing. Another time."

And now she was right back to blushing. "Oh, Lieutenant, I found something else of yours in the back." She produced an unfamiliar Falcon Legacy issue—a variant cover, he realized after a once-over. There was a strip of paper tucked inside. Another number for the collection, without a doubt, and one he would definitely utilize.

"Wow, this is great!" He flashed her his most brilliant smile in gratitude, tucking the comic into his bag. "I'll be seeing you sooner rather than later, Juanita."

Hunk looked between them, chuckling slightly. _Dude's unbelievable_. He accepted his bag from the very flushed clerk, grinning. "Thanks, Comic Lady."

"Enjoy your comics, gentlemen." Smiling back, she checked the list on her datapad and fled to the back room.

"That… was adorable."

"She was pretty cute." Smirking, Lance watched after her for a moment, then he and Hunk headed for the door. "The ones that babble are usually the most fun to talk to, and I know she knows her comics."

"Totally. She introduced me to half the stuff on my list." Hunk was still grinning. "Definitely gotta do that bar thing sometime."

"Yeah, maybe with Flynn or something."

"Drag Sven along too, find out how much he really knows about comics and _bigger comics_. It'll be fun!"

Lance shook his head. "Yeah, Sven needs beer and pop culture education as bad as Flynn, except for Iron Man apparently."

"Hey, it counts! Gotta start with one thing before you can be an expert on all the things, yeah?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Hell, I wasn't even an expert at flirting when I first started, so…" Lance frowned thoughtfully. "Bet he'd love Thor, he's a Viking, seems like a no-brainer."

"That's definitely gotta happen." They reached the main street; the comic shop was tucked away in an alley. Pausing a moment to adjust his bags, Hunk pointed off to the left. "I'm down there in the bunker 'burbs. It's not much of a walk."

_Huh_. Lance arched an eyebrow. The bunker 'burbs were a section of military houses on the Garrison outskirts, catering to soldiers who weren't big into apartments. They had a reputation for being cheap, sturdy, and _small_. "You got room in one of those places for those car shelves you were talking about?"

Hunk just laughed. "They ain't _that_ small, bro. And I've got a roommate that doesn't mind an old Jag chassis or three in the living room." It occurred to him right after he said it that maybe he'd buried a lede there. "Uh, she's not here though, been out on deployment since February."

"Damn, I love meeting new people." And anyone who could be roommates with Hunk had to be _way_ more interesting than most. "She an engineer too, liking car parts and all?"

"She's a siege tanker. Loves her bolts and her BOOMS." He chuckled. "She's a kick, whenever she gets back I'll introduce ya."

"Awesome." They'd reached the bunker 'burbs, winding down several streets of identical little cottages. Every so often someone had put out flags or signs or something to differentiate their place from the rest. It was a cozy little neighborhood, really. "This must be a great location for parties."

Grin. "We do get some pretty good block parties goin' here. A whole street full of grills, it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen…"

Now that was pretty damn on-brand. "I dunno, seen some real pretty."

"Yeah, bet you have!" Laughing again, Hunk veered onto a short dead end street. "Right down this way." Looking down the street, Lance could immediately guess which house they were going to: it had to be the one with half a dozen inflatable Halloween decorations squeezed onto the front lawn.

October was still a week away.

Sure enough, that was the driveway Hunk led him to, and he gave a low whistle. "I love a house that knows the proper holiday to rock out for."

Hunk glanced over, shifted his bag again, and held up a hand for a high-five; Lance slapped it with a smirk. "You're on Team Halloween? Shoulda known you'd be awesome like that!"

"Best holiday there is! Free candy, great costumes…"

"You know it." The big man walked up to the garage and put his hand on the access panel, and the door started sliding up. "Welcome to Hotel Metalfornia!"

"Holy shit." Lance looked around the garage with wide eyes. Everything looked, sure enough, like homemade junkyard chic—the three grills along the wall, the four wheeler that looked like a crush car stripped down to be street-legal… "This is fucking awesome. You made all this?"

Hunk blushed. "Me'n the roomie. I uh, might smuggle some scraps back after jobs every once in awhile instead of 'properly disposing' of 'em. Next thing you know, this happens."

Lance burst into cackling laughter. "Do what you gotta do, big guy!" Looking around he felt pretty sure the scrap here had, indeed, been properly disposed of. "If I thought you gave a damn, I'd tell you this place could be a guy or girl magnet."

Now he blushed almost as bright as Juanita had earlier. "It's an _epic_ magnet, that's all it's gotta be!" Motioning for Lance to follow, he opened the door to the house. The inside was somewhat less impressive than the garage, mostly just clean and sparse. What furniture there was, though, fit right in with the theme: car bookshelves, several beanbag chairs, and a huge overstuffed couch that appeared to have been framed with tank treads.

"I can work with epic." Lance went directly to the first bookshelf—they were large and colorful, with headlights and grilles on the top and wheels stuck to the sides. None of them were even close to full, but even _so_. "Your collection is fucking awesome."

"Gotta be awesome enough to match the shelves, yeah?" Hunk chuckled a little sheepishly. He wasn't actually used to company, let alone company that appreciated the decor. "I'll go grab a couple beers, back in a sec."

"Sure thing, I trust your beer abilities."

"Now _that_ I'm gonna take as a heck of a compliment!"

"It's one of the biggest I give."

The fridge was pretty full—grocery shopping had been the first order of business after returning home, the mission had run him flat out of murder pepper sauce—but he was pretty certain something in here would meet Lance's approval, if he could just find it… _aha!_ _There you are._ Pulling two cans of Rabblerouser out of the back, he returned to the living room and tossed one to Lance. He caught it and nodded his appreciation, cracking it open and returning his attention to the comics.

Hunk flopped into one of the beanbag chairs, grinning. It was always fun to find other people who were amused by his hobbies.

Moving on to the next shelf, Lance paused at the sight of a bit of plastic sticking out. Pulling it free he found himself holding what appeared to be a vintage X-Men comic in a protective sleeve. "Is this seriously what it looks like?"

The big guy looked startled for a moment, and tried to hide behind his beer can, which was pretty much a lost cause. "Oh. Yeah, uh… one of my brothers used to be a really serious collector, he kinda got me into it. I usually just hoard the modern stuff, yeah? But when he stopped he gave me a couple of my old favorites."

There had been a time, before deciding to just play along with the looks, that a comic about misunderstood mutants had _really_ been what had kept him going.

"Yeah?" Lance was studying the comic still, though he'd taken in the cover twice over by now. A small frown that had nothing to do with the X-Men crossed his face. "How many brothers do you have?"

"Four!" Laughter. "I'm the runt, that's why they call me Hunk." That sent Lance's eyebrows up even higher than his pull list had, but he didn't get the chance to ask about it. "You got any?"

"Um…" He shook his head a bit, trying to clear it from the sudden onslaught of old memories. It didn't work. "One, kinda. I mean, well… I had one." A glimpse of the old living room table, rough-hewn wood, his father trying to convince Drew to do his reading homework while Charlotte giggled in the background. "He hated reading…"

_Okay so that wasn't a good question_. Hunk set his beer aside and stood, watching Lance carefully. "You okay, bro?"

"Yeah, just… I was the reader, comics, they were where I hid when I got here. Earth, I mean. Drew, he uh, liked frogs. Beau Terre had these huge ones, they were browner than the ones I've seen around here…" Coughing, he took a long drink of beer to try to steady himself. "Anyway, uh, you're born and bred on Earth right?"

"…Yeah." Hunk had absolutely no intention of asking what any of that was about, but he walked up and gave Lance's shoulder a squeeze. Hiding in comics, he did get that. "Mom's from Japan. Pops likes to say he's half Silitz and half Everything Else." Shrug. "Nothin' too exciting, probably."

Lance let himself relax a little, shaking his head. This time the memories retreated back where they belonged… _far_ in the back of his mind. He looked at the comic again. "Mind if I borrow this one?"

"Not at all!" Something else occurred to Hunk, and he paused a moment. Would it help? Would it hurt? Impossible to say for certain, but he thought… "Here, got somethin' else you might like too, wanna give it a shot?" He went to a different shelf and pulled out a thin volume, offering it to the pilot with a small grin.

Hesitantly, Lance took the book from him; it was a colorful little trade paperback with the whimsical title _The Adventures of Hopper the Brave._ It looked cute. And the cover art seemed sufficiently badass—a combat helicopter with a pair of caped superheroes hanging from the skids. One of them appeared to be an anthropomorphic frog.

Stiffening a moment, Lance turned to look at Hunk, who was shifting a little nervously. Then he looked back at the book, a small smile crossing his lips. "Thanks, dude."

Clearly relieved, the big engineer picked up his beer and saluted with it. "Any time, bro."

Returning the salute, Lance's grin became an outright smirk. "Now, you mentioned popcorn?"

"Oh hell yeah, I mentioned popcorn. What's your thing? Butter? Caramel? Cheddar? Murder pepper?"

"Murder pepper?" he repeated in disbelief. _On popcorn?_ Though really, why was he shocked? "That sounds awful, let's try it. But uh, also the caramel."

"Bringin' the sweet and the heat! Good choice!" Hunk disappeared back into the kitchen, and he could hear cabinets opening and closing.

"I've been accused of that a time or two, really."

Laughter from the doorway. "I'll bet you have!"

Grinning, Lance looked back at the comic in his hands before tucking it away in his bag. It was okay… it was all good here.

* * *

Keith and Flynn had arranged to meet up at the personnel office; they had unit evaluations to submit. Which had surprised both of them, truthfully. What was the point in unit evaluations on an Explorer Team? Everyone had pretty well been evaluated.

Nonetheless, the reports were in and it was time to have a command retreat. Or something. Not like they'd had any time for social visits before they'd left the first time.

"So, a drink?" Keith glanced at his datapad. "Looks like the nearest bar is… the Twisted Candle?"

"We can't go there," Flynn said quickly. A little too quickly, really.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not allowed back since the time I decked a bartender for hitting on me," his second answered matter-of-factly. "Turns out it's basically a gay—"

"—Gay panic, Kleid?" Keith arched a disapproving eyebrow. "You really didn't strike me as the type."

Flynn looked back at him with an expression that might actually have been even more disapproving. "…I'm gay and I was panicking, if that's what you mean." Scowl. "What I was _going_ to say was it's basically a gay counterpart of the Hare Astoria, which… I suppose _you_ might not get that reference, Commander Crystal Spur, but—"

"—No, I get it." The Hare Astoria was more often known on the Academy campus as the Harassatorium, and for good reason. Even Keith knew that. And he felt particularly foolish once the first part sank in. "I… sorry, I didn't realize you were gay."

"What, you haven't noticed me staring at your backside whenever Lance references it?"

Keith went bright red. "N… no, I haven't!" he sputtered. As if Lance wasn't bad enough on his own? "Have you really been—"

"—Well that's unfortunate, because I've only been doing it to annoy you." Flynn gave a rather exaggerated sigh. "Not that you're bad looking, but you're not at all my type."

…Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? Maybe it didn't even matter. Shaking his head, he started down the street. "Well, now I need a drink more than ever…" He stopped as what Flynn had called him earlier sank in, and turned back around. "And how do you know about _that?"_

"…Is it a secret?" It had not been that difficult to find, once he'd gotten around to going looking for the file he hadn't been given. The Alliance didn't usually keep medals quiet.

"Well, I don't advertise that I have that ridiculous thing."

"Kogane, you advertise it just by _being you._" Pausing at an intersection, Flynn got his bearings and looked off to the west. "The Whistling Arrow, you think? Lance tells me I'm no judge of beer quality, but I know they at least have a lot of options."

Keith shrugged. "I don't like beer, but I'm sure it'll do."

"You don't? Why doesn't he give _you_ grief then?"

Grin. "Probably because I bought all his beer for the last mission."

"Oh. So you're not advertising the Spur, you're just gunning for another one." Smirking as they reached the Whistling Arrow, Flynn pushed the door open and motioned him in. Possibly just to see if he would actually go first.

He did, staking out a couple of empty barstools. "Commanding an Explorer Team? That won't happen."

"Explorer Teams aren't all that bad. Isn't that why we just had to do more paperwork?" He pulled the beer menu closer and glanced over it, looking for anything Lance would approve of. Or should he try to expand his horizons again? "I suppose you'll just be annoyed if I ask you _how_ you came about the first one."

"Drink first. Then story." Keith flagged down the bartender.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

"I'll take a rum and a lemon lime soda."

Flynn had not gotten any closer to deciding on a course of action, so he closed his eyes and pointed at, well, something. Looking to see what his finger had landed on, he blinked. "Elven Squirrel Ale?" He really did not understand beer at all. "Whatever, let's go with that."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "To hear McClain tell it, I figured you'd order something cheap and sugary. Maybe with a little umbrella for class."

Oh _had_ he. Flynn started to object to that, then hesitated. "I mean… technically we don't know it won't be."

"Good point." Keith nodded slowly. "But if you turn into an elvish squirrel, I'm not taking responsibility."

"Be a hell of a way to get out of paperwork. Bit of a waste right _after_ we've turned it all in, though."

"I suppose it would be, yes." Chuckling, Keith accepted his drink and stirred the ice slowly, nodding to the bartender.

Flynn's beer came in a glass with a picture of a little pointy-eared squirrel; it was carrying a fancy longbow. He stared at it for a long moment, then just shook his head. "That'll give me nightmares." Well, he had it now, so… he took a sip and shrugged. It tasted like beer.

They were both quiet for a minute, listening to the background hum of the bar. It was crowded, but not overly so. Most bars near the Garrison could be expected to have a crowd from sunrise to closing time, anyway. The Whistling Arrow was popular with Hydrans, so several of the largest screens were showing trekur and castimau matches along with the standard various forms of football. Flynn was trying to make some sense of castimau—it looked something like volleyball, but with a javelin—when Keith decided to go ahead and speak up.

"The _Vesuvius…_ she was a big warship, a good one. _Avenger_-class. Good crew, for the most part, everyone has their quirks. I was the night shift lead." He'd been a step away from being groomed for his own warship command. Strange to think about that now. "We'd run several drills the night before, there were some issues, so my report was taking longer than usual."

Flynn nodded silently, sipping his beer. A few tables away there were several yells, someone somewhere had scored, apparently. Keith waited for the noise to die down before continuing.

"I cleared it with the skipper to have a subordinate take my next shift while I finished it up. Not like I would be that far away if anything actually happened." He stopped and took a very long drink.

"…Well _that's_ not ominous," his second muttered.

"Yeah." He supposed he _was_ leading a bit with that phrasing. "To make a long story short, we hit a hypermetric anomaly. Kelly didn't realize the severity, he thought he could handle it without contacting me or raising any alarms…" He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "There was damage to the ship. Three crewmen died. Because I was supposed to be the shift lead and I wasn't there, I stepped forward to take responsibility."

Flynn eyed him sympathetically, but still said nothing. Something about the sequence of events didn't sit right, but he was pretty sure the commander would get to that…

"I don't know why the skipper didn't just have me take the blame. Maybe because I'd cleared it previously, but… that doesn't seem good enough."

There it was. _Leave it to Kogane…_ to blame himself for not being on a shift he'd been duly relieved from.

"There was a messy court martial proceeding. They bounced between blaming any or all three of us. In the end Kelly got the blame, Skipper got a reprimand…" Sigh. "And I got a stupid medal for _exceptional chivalry_. So yeah. I don't advertise it. It makes me feel a bit awkward."

"Sounds like they got it right," Flynn said quietly. "For whatever that's worth."

"Yeah, maybe it was right, but a medal? For doing the right thing?"

"No, for doing the excessively noble thing." His second's tone held just a hint of playful teasing. "It wasn't at _all_ your fault, Kogane. You can't be everywhere at once. You cleared it." Flynn eyed him. "And you can't expect to do everything for your subordinates just to be sure it gets done correctly."

Now that might not have been a comment on the _Vesuvius_ incident at all. "Yeah, I know. But I like to be accountable. To not ask anyone to do something I wouldn't do myself, you know?"

"I get it."

Keith had wondered at the time, and still wondered, what the correct way to deal with the situation was supposed to have been. The one that wouldn't have earned him a ridiculous medal. Surely not just throwing one of his people under the bus. "What would you have done, though?"

Flynn considered that for a minute, frowning at his glass. "The bay is very different from the bridge, you know."

That seemed like an understatement. "Yeah. But even so?"

He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There's a long tradition in engineering of not worrying about blame. You come in after something goes wrong and start throwing threats and charges around, people start trying to cover their asses instead of finding the problem. That's how more people get killed." He sipped his beer, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'd have told them even when everything is done according to procedure, sometimes things still _happen_. You don't need a damn court martial just for the sake of one."

That did sound like him. Keith nodded slowly. "Court martials _are_ unpleasant."

"I didn't mind mine." His second laughed. "But I was right."

…That also sounded like him, really. "I'm afraid to open that can of worms."

"Probably for the best." Flynn drained his glass, making a face. "I'm sure you've seen all the important parts, anyway, you don't need to know how many times I called my Captain an idiot on the record."

Keith's knowledge of the incident that had sent Flynn to the 686 consisted of three main points: he'd blown up a trillion-alcred engine, he'd been exonerated for it, and his Captain had indeed been an idiot. "Given the situation, you were right. You have to trust your engineers. Nothing is worth risking lives for, especially not just making a cargo schedule." He sighed and took another long sip. "Anyway, I'm fairly certain we're getting to know each other better, but… I feel like it's dragging the mood down. So, how did you get into engineering?"

Answering that in any sort of detail would require either a much better reason or a lot more beer. Flynn caught the bartender's eye and signaled for a water, buying a few moments, then shrugged. "Born into it, you might say. What about you? What got to you into… piloting or commanding or whatever it is you do that got _my_ ship so beat up last time out?"

That earned him a mild scowl, which he defused with a wink, and Keith chuckled. "I liked the challenge of command, or the thought of the challenge, anyway. It's harder than some people let on… but enjoyable. Seeing people succeed when you order them to get a job done." He leaned back and stretched for a moment. "Piloting, that's just the sense of freedom. Only other place I get that is my motorcycle."

Flynn visibly brightened. "Kogane… have you thought about what you're doing here?"

"Um… drinking? Talking?"

"You just said the word _motorcycle_ to a _mechanic_." Smirk. "Which means I'm now obligated to ask you which model, pass judgment on it, offer several useless pieces of trivia, insist on coming to see it and probably upgrading the engine for you…"

Keith burst into laughter. "As long as you don't go off and tell Lance it was a date… it's a Ducati UltraStar. Top of the line."

Flynn arched an eyebrow. _Did _not _see that coming_. "Not bad at all."

"You look impressed."

"Shouldn't I be? You're going to completely ruin your boring reputation."

"Boring? Me?" Keith laughed and signaled for another drink, swatting his second lightly.

"Oh, you'd surely at least noticed _that_." Flynn sipped his water and grinned. "Nobody on an Explorer Team can really be all that boring, though. Probably."

"True." A challenging grin danced along Keith's lips. "So, the several pieces of useless trivia?"

"Only civilian bike—and one of only three civilian vehicles—made from pure voidforged alloys. The others that advertise voidforging only use it for critical components." Flynn took another sip of water, frowning thoughtfully at nothing in particular. "I'm sure you know it's heavily based on the Nova shuttle, everyone knows that… only problem is, it's actually not. Ducati had a contract with Centauri Sky, some lines got blurred in the design process."

The engineer telling him about the forging technique and the relationship to a spacecraft seemed pretty much on-brand. "Is that a distinction that people really worry about?"

"It is when your maintenance class is working on a Nova, and about sixteen different people want to tell Colonel Greyla all about the UltraStar…"

Keith chuckled as the bartender refilled his drink. "That must have been some class. Did Greyla have one or were they just trying to score some extra credit?"

"Oh, they were just _trying_ to impress her." Smirk. "Imagine their expressions when she showed up the next day on a limited model."

Oh, that was very nice. "They were all drooling, weren't they?"

"That… and horrified." Flynn gave a mock shudder, then snickered. "An instructor and a superior officer who's smarter _and_ cooler than them? How were they supposed to handle that?"

_Most_ of Keith's instructors had been both smarter and 'cooler' than him, he was pretty sure. "Those are usually the best kind."

"Usually. Does make it inconvenient when you want to bitch about them, though." His second crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward a bit, frowning at nothing. "In any case, I'm still much more impressed with your posting on an _Avenger_-class than with your motorcycle."

"It's just a ship." He shrugged and sipped his new drink. "A nice one, but still."

"Just a ship." Flynn rolled his eyes. "That's the Alliance's most iconic battleship you're _slandering_, Kogane."

"Yeah, but it's just a ship nonetheless." He could tell he was about to get an argument that would probably involve all of the _Avenger_'s specifications and history, and opted to change the subject. "So, what do you like to do on your downtime?"

That got him a skeptical look; Flynn was not fooled by his diversion. But he laughed. "Engineering."

…Of course engineering. And people said _he_ was too into his job. "All work and no play?"

"All play and no work." Shrug. "Some gunsmithing—never mind, that's also engineering. I play some lacrosse?" He hesitated a moment, looking up at one of the screens. "Not _well_, mind, but I threaten to hit people and it works out. Beats sparring."

Keith gave him the same look about lacrosse beating sparring as he'd received about the _Avenger_ just being a ship. Though he knew something on this subject himself. "Lacrosse? Isn't that a First Nations game?"

"…Is it?" Flynn gave him a blank look. The extent of his background knowledge on the sport was that he'd needed an elective and it had been open. "What, the Kolaliri? Seems like them."

It was all Keith could do not to burst into laughter. The Kolaliri were one of the Founding Powers, the six civilizations that had originally banded together to form the Alliance. They were most certainly not one of the First Nations. "Um, no," he managed after a long drink. "The indigenous peoples of Canada. It's a very popular sport there."

"Oh." A slight blush crept over Flynn's cheeks. "I… don't know a lot of Earth history, outside of mechanics and mythology. Not a focus. More your speed?"

"Sometimes. Depends on how much downtime I have." Keith certainly did enjoy history, when he had the chance to read up on it, particularly the ancient tales of his own heritage. But he usually preferred learning through actions, not books. "But that's a tidbit I learned in grade school."

Grade school? Not that Flynn knew anything about Earth's regional educational system either, but that seemed like a very specific detail. "You're from Japan, aren't you?"

"I am Japanese… but I was born and raised in Vancouver."

Aha. "Got it. You just went back for the swords." He tilted his head and gave Keith a playfully indignant look. "Which you fight with for fun, and then you call _me_ all work and no play."

"Well… yeah." Now it was Keith's turn to blush. "The sword is actually a family heirloom. I've trained with it since I was young. My parents insisted on me learning the old ways, discipline and honor and the history of our people… it's a comfort, you know?"

Flynn did know, sort of; he felt the same about his sidearm. Right down to the firing it off for fun, he supposed. Finishing up his water, he eyed Keith, who was getting close to the end of his own drink. "Seems reasonable. So about that motorcycle…"

"Not tonight, I've been drinking." He laughed. "Maybe tomorrow, if we don't have to go yell at intel about anything."

"What does you drinking have to do with me fixing your engine?"

"Because I'd want to ride it!"

"I guess that's fair." Though he'd been grinning at first, it became a scowl as he got to addressing the other point. "I hope intel is having a very, very hard time with all the stuff we brought back."

That wasn't the most professional thing Keith had ever agreed with, which didn't stop him from agreeing _wholeheartedly_. "They deserve a hard time. We had one, they should too."

Flynn laughed, rather humorlessly. "I'm sure it's poor form to want to throw a bunch of underpaid analysts into that lightning gauntlet. And yet."

"Toss them into that arctic water," Keith agreed; just thinking about it made him shiver.

"…You're Canadian, wasn't it just like home?"

"Oh, ouch." He scowled in a way that wasn't wholly convincing. "Just because I'm Canadian doesn't mean I'm into the Polar Bear Plunge."

Just the name of that was concerning. "Do I even want to know what that is?"

"A bunch of idiots who like to jump into large bodies of water… in the middle of the winter."

Flynn stared at him for what felt like a very long time. "…That seems like it ought to be a self-correcting problem."

"Usually they were just in and out, but still. Too damn cold for my taste."

"Entirely understandable." To be fair, Flynn's personal idea of inhumanely cold was somewhere around sixty degrees Fahrenheit. But still. Shaking his head, he looked around the bar's screens again. "Well, if we can't go play with motorcycles, may as well have another drink? Got to be some reasonably interesting game on soon."

"Sounds good to me." Flagging down the bartender again, Keith followed his second's gaze. "Between the two of us, you think we can figure out what's going on in a castimau match?"

"Unlikely, but it won't be the craziest thing we've ever attempted. Let's try it."

Chuckling, Keith nodded. "Not even close." And it probably wouldn't be the last crazy thing they attempted, either. No, surely not. May as well enjoy the break while it lasted.

* * *

King Alfor knew the Arusian tunnels better than anyone. They were ancient construction, dating back to the War of Golden Revival or beyond; he had wanted to explore them long before the Drules attacked, but the duties of the High King had prevented any serious expedition. But he had sent scouts, and studied the maps, and learned all that he could… all in preparation for the day he could delve into their secrets.

This certainly was _not_ how he'd have chosen to have the opportunity arrive.

Alfor took a deep breath in frustration as he pondered the current problem before him. The tunnels were all supposed to be connected. He'd encountered a few cave-ins already, and now here he was… standing in one of the connecting tunnels with a few trusted knights, before a heap of rubble that might have collapsed at any time in the last few centuries. Then again… he also knew there were some false walls in the system. If the enemy breached one shelter, it wouldn't do for that to compromise the whole network. He had yet to find one of those walls, but something about this location was tugging at his mind.

"All my information says this path continues on," he said quietly. "Somewhere there must be a switch, or something of that sort, that allows us to move on to other tunnels. Look around." The knights scattered, investigating the surrounding walls, while Alfor took a closer look at the rubble itself.

_Wait… is that… aha! There it is_.

Finding an odd depression in the rubble, he pushed a few rocks aside to reveal a small cavity with a gravel-covered lever. He gave it a cautious push. The sound of gears moving echoed through the tunnel, and Alfor smiled; triumphs were few and far between anymore. Off to the left a false wall slid open to reveal a large chamber, branching out into three separate paths that would presumably give them access to other shelters. Sending some men farther down to scope out what they held, he stepped through and scanned the area immediately around him.

It was an unremarkable-looking cave, featureless except for a few rocky nooks here and there. That, he knew, was a lie. Finding ancient glyphs by some nooks indicating something was hidden there, Alfor went to the nearest one and pressed on the glyph. Another rocky panel swung open. Beyond it, he was greeted with a sizable room filled with old fabrics, weapons, and mummified food. Sighing at the age of the supplies, no doubt left there from the last time the system was used, he noted that most of the weapons were still very much in usable condition. In this time of need, even the most basic of defenses would be valuable.

While seeing to it that every usable item was gathered, something caught his eye. A rock with ancient writing on it—ancient Arusian, and not just the signal glyphs being used elsewhere. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a clay tablet that had been repurposed as a tile. Parts were broken away, but a section was still legible. He gave it a quick but careful scan before moving on, pondering the few words he'd been able to read.

…**open… by the feet of Li-ten…**

His mind keeping going back to the unfamiliar word. _Li-ten_. It could be nothing… but considering he was down here searching for lost knowledge, anything he didn't recognize could be critical. Either way, he would have to return to take a closer look when the day was over. For now, there were other rooms to search through.

* * *

It was Larmina's sixteenth birthday.

It should have been a great celebration. She should have been walking down the grand staircase in that sleeveless gold-trained monstrosity, dancing with suitors she had no use for, fulfilling her royal duty to the Seven Isles. She should have been on display before a dozen noble Sons of Arus, a pawn to be bargained for. She should have been miserable.

Well, at least she was miserable anyway.

The tunnels were becoming cold and damp as autumn fell on the Crown Province—couldn't the Drules even have the courtesy to attack in the summer? People were sniffling in the chill, and those who weren't coming down with something were getting more and more on edge. Larmina herself occasionally wondered if the tension was getting to her; she kept seeing ghostly flickers on the edges of her vision, hearing voices she couldn't place. Stir crazy, no doubt. And trying to get information about anything specific on the surface was a lost cause.

No, nobody had heard from the Seven Isles. No, no scouts had dared go that far.

A small troop of the village militia had arrived to the tunnels earlier. They had been doing what they could to search for survivors, but when the Drule infantry had arrived they'd fled. The militia was basically a volunteer police force, not meant for real combat. If the Golden Knights were failing to stop the invaders, what chance did they have?

They'd brought useful supplies, at least. Some food, warm blankets, and a small stockpile of simple weapons. Larmina was holding one of the bows now… rough wood, a durable string. Nothing but the necessities. It could hardly be less like the bows Auntie had been training her with. But it was familiar in her hands, and could even have been comfortable if it weren't for the memories it kept stirring. The lessons, the laughter, the trick shots she probably would never master now…

Not so long ago it would have seemed impossible that she might be _missing_ life at the castle.

"Hey! Hey you, girl with the bow!" She startled at the voice, the characteristic rough accent of the farm country coloring the words. Looking up she saw a trio of the militia members, an older woman with two young men, carrying bows of their own and pulling a transport sled. One of the men was the speaker, a dark-haired soldier probably around Auntie's age. "Yeah, you!"

It wasn't often Larmina was called out by a stranger—especially not by common villagers—_especially_ especially not as _hey you, girl with the bow_. She jumped to her feet awkwardly, then looked at the weapon in her hands. "Oh, uh… do you need this?"

"You know how to use it? What we need is as many for the hunting party as we can get." He gave a sly grin, almost daring her to say yes.

She wasn't going to pass _that_ up. "Oh, I'm pretty decent with it."

"Think you can hit a roli?"

…_Good question._ She'd certainly never tried. Rolis were fuzzy leaping mammals common near the castle. Small and quick… but not _too_ small or _too_ quick. Maybe she couldn't bounce an arrow off a pillar, but how hard could a roli be? And if it would help, if it would get her _out_ of here… "Totally."

He smirked. "Think you can hit more than me?"

…What? Oh no he didn't. "Bring it _on_. I hope you've got plenty of room on that sled."

The woman chuckled, waving for silence. "Welcome aboard, then. I'm Captain Sarial of the Dolce Vita militia. These two are Hanso and Allendar." Hanso was the one who'd spoken earlier, and he gave a cheerful smirk as Allendar smiled shyly. "And you are?"

They were all looking at her… businesslike, but welcoming. Not one was expecting a curtsy, or a title, or any of the frills that didn't matter anymore. Just a name for a fellow hunter. Almost like she were an equal.

_The debut is a moment of transition. You are stepping from childhood into your new life, and your duty to Arus and your people!_

_Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am._

She managed a small smile. Small, but genuine. "My name's Larmina."

* * *

Courtship.

Courtship!

Lotor had pummeled no fewer than seven holographic training dummies into submission with his bare hands as he contemplated _courtship_. His father was punishing him, he'd decided around dummy number three. What exactly he'd done to deserve punishment he wasn't certain, but it was really the only explanation. He'd rather have been back with Dayak, the royal governess, whipping him for any errors…

Of course, any errors in courtship might cause him even more grief. His father had made that quite clear as well. Very well then.

"Kalindra!"

"I am here, my Lord."

Kalindra was one of his favorite slaves; she was clever and loyal as well as strikingly beautiful. He was very particular about his personal servants. There were some who jokingly called his small collection of favored slaves his retinue, though that wasn't accurate. A Drule monarch's retinue was a living heraldry of sorts, a display of peaceful conquests: wives and husbands, duly courted and wed to acquire their territory, their health and well-being reflecting on the monarch's own honor. They were emphatically _not_ mere slaves.

Lotor had always thought they sounded inconvenient.

"We will be receiving a guest soon," he muttered finally, not turning to the voice from the doorway. "You will see to it that appropriate clothing is prepared for her, and comfortable quarters in my personal wing. When she arrives you will be her aide, and treat her with the utmost respect."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the motion as she bowed. "As you command, my Lord." There was a slight ruffling sound as she departed.

Scowling, Lotor finally turned to the empty door. That had better be sufficient. Was he supposed to tend to such preparations himself? Surely not. And he could think of no greater honor for this soon to be wife than placing her in the care of his most favored servant.

Yes, this was surely the correct approach… nodding to himself, he turned again and called up training dummy number eight.


	3. Touching Base

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 2_  
Touching Base

* * *

The day was perfect; bright sun, a soft breeze, not too hot or too cold—like it ever got all that cold here. Keith grinned as he pulled on his leather jacket, imagining the look on Lance's face, or even Flynn's. His second had been over the day before to tinker with his bike as promised. It honestly had been fun watching him work, even if Flynn had complained about him hovering. Now it was time to test it out.

He pulled on his helmet and opened the door to the barracks garage, then rolled his Ducati outside. One last check of the bike and his gear… okay, maybe two more checks… it was a pleasant ritual, and he wasn't about to neglect safety. He knew better. Finally satisfied, he climbed aboard and took off down the road for the highway.

He was headed for the Canaveral Shore, taking the long route there. It was quite the ride, over several canals, past towering palms, glittering lakes and the ocean…

The ocean…

It made him homesick sometimes, looking out over the ocean. But he knew he was where he belonged now. The Garrison, the Alliance… maybe even this crazy Explorer Team. Not to mention the weather here was much more enjoyable on a motorcycle, not having to deal with the chill rains and cold. Still, nostalgia always hit him hard.

_Dad would have loved this ride…_

His father had instilled the love of riding in him. Some of his earliest memories were in the sidecar of his dad's bike, watching the world rush by…

"_You doing all right, son?"_

_Keith grinned at the voice in his helmet headset. "Doing great, Dad! This is fun!"_

"_Isn't it? Someday you'll have your own bike, and then it'll _really _be fun… oh, look! There's a deer ahead."_

_Grinning, Keith leaned forward, and gasped softly as he saw the deer ahead. It caught sight of them and took off running down the road, white tail flashing._

"_Want to race it?"_

"_YES!" Keith exclaimed, laughing as they caught up to the deer and passed it. "This is so much fun, Dad!"_

"_I'm glad you like it, Keith."_

Keith grinned at the memory. It was important to keep the good memories at the forefront. Not the others… his early days at the Academy, the call… how his mother had collapsed at work, and his father, rushing to her side, hadn't hit the brakes fast enough… he sighed. It still hurt, how swiftly his parents had passed, but he had to believe that they were in a better place. And while he knew some people might have been convinced to stop riding by that loss, he wouldn't. He _couldn't_. Dad wouldn't have wanted him to. Riding wasn't just a few moments of freedom, it was a way to honor those memories. Shaking the thoughts away he yanked harder on the throttle, testing out Flynn's upgrades and grinning as the engine purred.

After about an hour, he finally made it to the park. It was a rarely used lot, and as he jumped off the bike and stashed his keys in his pocket he headed for a very rarely used trail. He carefully picked his way down to the beach, pulling his boots and socks off, carrying them and his helmet. The tide was low; he went to the water and made his way down the beach until he came to a large rocky outcropping. It would have seemed like a dead end, but Keith knew better. Walking around it in the water, he grinned as a small stretch of pristine sand greeted him on the other side. Deserted as always. He liked to think of this secluded spot as _his_ beach.

Walking up to the dry sand, he dropped his things, stripping off his jacket and t-shirt as well before stretching. Once he finished with the he picked up a length of driftwood. Smuggling his actual sword down here wasn't something he cared to try. So he gave the wood a few test swings and nodded; it would do. He whispered a traditional prayer for his family, then started on his katas. For a time he lost himself in the movements of his makeshift sword and the rhythmic sound of the waves.

After about half an hour he stopped and dropped onto the sand in the shade, looking out over the water. Something grey lept from the sea, then a few more, leaping and playing in the sun. He grinned, another wave of nostalgia washing over him. Porpoises. Tiny cousins of the whales he'd grown up watching from piers back in Vancouver. They came to visit this spot often; it was part of the reason he'd chosen it.

Keith rested there for awhile, watching the dolphins, listening to the waves crash on the sand. He did love it here. Peace, quiet, and solitude… things in short supply on a starship. But he couldn't stay long; there was work to do. Sighing, he got back to his feet, and did a few more katas before grabbing his stuff and heading back to his bike. They would have new orders soon enough.

* * *

Needless to say, there was a shooting range or two on base. There were all kinds, really. Indoor, outdoor, strict military, relaxed recreational… the Perforation Station was, predictably, one of the latter. It was a large indoor facility with the cheerful ambiance of an arcade—in fact there were several retro shooting games scattered around the edges. You could blast pixelated zombies with neon plastic laser guns to warm up for the real thing if you wanted.

Lance was certainly _not_ above doing just that. Nor was Flynn. But today they had just staked out a table in the waiting area to talk shop and admire each other's gear.

And maybe more than just gear.

"Anyone impressing you so far?" Flynn was sitting on the table, watching the nearest shooters. Everyone was decent, of course; they _were_ trained soldiers. But nobody was really jumping out at him as someone to watch.

Lance was not watching the shooters all that carefully. _No, you're just about it_. For some reason the words didn't come out. "Not really."

Flynn laughed, turning to face him and crossing his arms over his knees. He kept glancing at the very impressive sniper rifle Lance had with him, but first things first. "So what _are_ you carrying, anyway? I can tell they aren't standard." Nonstandard guns were fairly common in the Alliance; preference waivers weren't difficult to get. It came with the whole _vast multicultural coalition_ thing.

Grinning, Lance drew one of his pistols and held it up for him to examine. "Axel 220 PC, had to nail some special proficiencies for it but it's functional as fuck."

Flynn's eyes widened. "You took an Axel test?" The Axel 220 was one of the finest pistols in the Alliance's arsenal: a product of Tandalari engineering and Kejon efficiency, individually crafted and painstakingly adapted to humanoid hands. They were strictly a military gun, but issuing them to everyone would be prohibitive. The only way to get an Axel was to apply for a grueling marksmanship test and ace it… and that was for one. Eyeing Lance's other holster he amended the question. "You took _two_ Axel tests? …You would."

"Fuck yes I did! Took a lot of convincing, but no way I was only carrying _one_ for my sidekick."

"Wouldn't be showing off nearly enough, I know."

"Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do." Smirking, Lance replaced the gun in its holster and leaned back in his chair. "Besides, standard issue is just a bad gun."

"It is that." Flynn made a face. "I get the principle, especially when you shouldn't have to use it much, but if my only option was hauling one of those relics I'd shoot for an Axel too."

"Oh yeah? You think you can shoot for an Axel?"

Shrug. "Haven't tried it, and I've heard the test is hell. But of course I could."

"The test is _hell_. But worth it. These babies are amazing." Lance grinned, tapping the barrel of the sniper rifle. "And you know the specs on her, I can tell by the way you're eyeing her."

Of course he did. "Steyr SSG 1580, Nightforce Sentry scope, integrated stabilization system… and that spear engraved on the stock isn't standard."

Smirk. "Had to put my name on it somehow." Lance reached down and ran his fingers along the engraving, which was not just any old spear, of course. He had a very similar lance tattooed on his back, and the thought of displaying it briefly came and went. "So, you going to show _your_ gun off or not?"

Laughing, Flynn drew his own sidearm and shrugged. "Less reliable than yours, but if the _mechanic_ has to fire his _backup gun_ in combat I figure things have gone horribly wrong anyway. And one shot will do it."

"Yeah, no kidding." Lance laughed too. "So how _did_ you get your hands on a Desert Eagle?"

For a moment the engineer just looked at him, but then he shrugged. "What the hell, you already know how I got to Earth."

"That I do."

"They send the Dathrean heretics through an integration program out in Phoenix. The locals have figured out how to take advantage of a bunch of teenaged mechanical prodigies with minimal social skills and no idea what to do with their free time…"

Oh _really_. A grin crossed his face. "You? Minimal social skills?"

Flynn grinned back, blushing slightly. "I'm a fast learner."

"I'll bet you are." Lance paused. "Wait, they send you from nuclear hell to a desert?"

"Nuclear hell was a desert, it's familiar."

"Guess that makes sense, green is nice though."

Now that was entirely a matter of opinion; Flynn snorted. "Not if you're descended from two hundred years of immune systems that haven't had to deal with pollen. Trust me."

…_Oh_. Lance's eyes widened and he nodded. "Okay yeah, fair point. Go on."

"There's a range on base a lot of the heretics like to hang out at. This guy comes in one day with an armful of exotics, starts firing them off to see whose attention he can get." He raised his hand with a bit of a smirk, then indicated the gun. "He gave me this as a twisted mess and told me if I could fix it, I could have it…" A brief pause, then he laughed. "He did _not_ tell me I was applying for a summer job by doing it."

"Wait, you rebuilt it?"

"Mostly. The important parts were there."

"Still." Lance whistled, impressed. "Handy hobby."

"It does help." Flynn gave a slightly sheepish chuckle. "Especially when it means you can fix your impractical but sentimental sidearm when it breaks." He indicated his own rifle, which was _vastly_ less impressive than Lance's. "Built that too, after a couple summers of learning what I was doing."

Being able to build your own guns seemed very fun, Lance decided. Maybe he would ask for lessons sometime. "What are its specs?"

Shrug. "Standard scout specs, just a little extra—"

"—Lieutenant McClain? Hey, you shooting?"

They both jumped at the interruption. A young man was standing at a respectful distance, dark-skinned with short dreadlocks and a solemn aspect that, in Flynn's opinion, did not at all mesh with knowing Lance by name.

For his part, Lance wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't outright forgotten where he was. He always got some attention around the Perforation Station, and Ryan Kinkade was one of his favorite cadets. "Uh, yeah, that was the plan…" He grinned slightly. "You?"

"I was just practicing some with the holo scope. You were right, it's coming easier."

"Good." He turned to Flynn, whose head was tilted curiously. "Cadet Kinkade here wants to be a sniper, and he's got some damn solid potential, so I've been giving him some pointers. Kinkade, this is Lieutenant Commander Kleid, my unit's resident grease monkey."

Flynn couldn't help the grin as he shook Kinkade's hand. "You're trying to learn something from this crazy flyboy? …You could do a lot worse. Nice to meet you."

Nod. "Learn from the best, be the best."

Oh, as if _that_ was what Lance's ego needed. But it was undeniably accurate. "It's true."

A couple of firing lanes had opened next to each other as they were speaking, and Lance stood. "So, should we get shooting?"

"Let's." Flynn slid off the table. "I have to show _someone_ I could shoot for an Axel if I wanted, apparently… and I think I promised you a few shots with something too."

"Fuck yes, on both counts."

Watching the two leaving the table, Kinkade briefly debated whether to follow or not—it seemed like a learning opportunity, and probably fun, though it also seemed like maybe these two were better left alone. But while he was contemplating it they both turned and motioned for him to come along. _That answers that then!_

"You'd better go first," Flynn was saying as they reached their lanes, handing Lance the Desert Eagle. "Mind the recoil."

Lance accepted the gun, testing the weight of it in his hands. "Heard they've got quite a kick." So did the standard issue—one of the many reasons he'd shot for the Axel in the first place—but he also knew, unlike the standard issue, this one was _worth_ the kick. Stepping forward he sighted on the target downrange, eyes narrowing as he squared his shoulders, and squeezed off a shot.

Next thing he knew, he was on his ass on the floor and Flynn was laughing hysterically. Even Kinkade was trying to fight down a snicker.

"What did I tell you?"

"Now that's a recoil!"

"What did I _tell_ you?" Looking up, Flynn's laughter abruptly cut off. Lance might have been floored… but so was whatever he might have been shooting at. There was a hole dead center in the target. "…Not bad."

"Not bad?" Lance repeated indignantly.

That got him a sly grin. "Do it again."

Oh, he wanted to be that way about it? No problem. No problem at all. Climbing to his feet, Lance squared up again, bracing himself better now that he knew what to expect. "Hell yeah, if you say so." With a smirk, he fired off a second shot, feeling the force of the recoil radiate through his arms and into his chest, but this time barely even stumbling.

The bullet had left a second dead center hole, overlapping with the first. Flynn's eyes widened slightly. "_Very_ nice."

"Just nice?" Lance rolled his eyes.

"I'm not fool enough to compliment you too much," he protested with a wink. "Your ego is already overfed…"

"Excuse me," a sharp voice snapped from behind them. "But this range is for _standard issue_ firearms only."

Flynn paused, setting his rifle aside, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he shifted a little, drawing himself to his full height. As he turned he flipped his hair back to make certain his rank patch was visible.

By the time he was facing the speaker—a cadet with short brown hair and a businesslike scowl—he was in full Officer Mode, and the interloper seemed slightly taken aback.

There was no need to hammer the point in too hard. Just a little. "Sorry, what was that, _Cadet?"_

Now the cadet was _really_ taken aback. "N… nothing, sir." He retreated about as quickly as possible without looking like he was fleeing in shame.

He was _totally_ fleeing in shame.

Now it was Lance's turn to double over laughing. _Shit, that was hot_. He'd tried to keep it in until the kid was out of earshot, but wasn't sure he'd actually succeeded. For his part, Kinkade wasn't sure if he really ought to laugh, and had been physically shaking for a few moments trying to hold it back—but as soon as McClain lost it, he gave in too.

"Standard issue firearms, honestly," Flynn muttered, shaking his head and smirking. "Should've asked him for a cite."

"Griffin's always like that," Kinkade managed through the laughter. "That was great." Not that there was anything inherently wrong with wanting to follow the rules… but he'd wondered more than a few times before why exactly his fellow cadet would come to the _Perforation Station_ for that.

Flynn let himself snicker as Lance just laughed harder. "I aim to please! Mostly."

"Let's see you aim," Lance challenged, steadying himself enough to hand over one of his Axels. Not that he'd usually let anyone else touch one of his babies, but he was pretty certain the engineer had earned it.

Accepting the gun, Flynn tested its weight for a moment, swapping it between his hands before testing a proper firing stance. It felt like it was hardly even there. "Hell of a gun." With a grin, he sighted downrange and squeezed off three quick shots—if there was _any_ recoil whatsoever, he didn't notice it—clustering them in the center of the target. "_Hell_ of a gun," he repeated in admiration.

A devilish smirk crossed Lance's lips. "Not bad."

"Oh, going be like that?" Flynn eyed him with mock indignation, then raised the gun again, eyes narrowing as he lined up a new shot. This one wasn't fast, by any means… certainly not as quick as the flyboy had set up his follow-up shot. But as he slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger the bullet buried itself right in the center of the first three holes.

"Fine, fine." Lance laughed. "Great shots."

"That's better."

Looking between the two of them, then at the tight patterns of holes in both their targets, Kinkade gave a low whistle. Which might have been a mistake, because it got Lance's attention again; he grinned. "So, Kinkade, think it's your turn now. Gonna show me what you've learned while I was gone?"

Oh. He gulped, suddenly nervous—and even more so when Flynn turned to him, leaning on the divider. "Yes, let's see what you can do." He offered an encouraging grin.

"Uh, yes sirs." He steadied his grip on his rifle—standard issue, though the standard rifle was much better than the sidearm—and looked nervously at the target. He _had_ been improving, but wasn't too sure about his effectiveness with two officers staring over his shoulder.

"Take it easy, we don't…" Flynn hesitated. "_I_ don't bite, probably shouldn't vouch for Lance here."

"Not cadets." Lance smirked. "Come on, kid, I know you've got this. And if you don't we'll help you get it."

Well, if they wanted to teach, who was he not to learn? Nodding, he stepped up to his spot.

* * *

Six days. That was how long Sven had been listening to his mother go on and on about… _things_. So many things, he was having a hard time keeping track. One of the reasons he'd lied about his return date was that he was sure his mother wouldn't let him out of her sight, and he wasn't wrong. She wanted him to go everywhere with her. If it were socially acceptable for her to bring her adult son into the restroom with her, Sven was fairly certain she would.

Alright, so that was _probably_ an exaggeration, but it was honestly what it felt like. If he weren't feeling so smothered at the moment, he'd actually be impressed. His mother had fit an insane amount of activities, lunches, dinners, and brunches—oh god, the brunches—into six days. They'd even gone to the theater a couple of times.

He was _exhausted_, even more exhausted than he had been after getting attacked by those boar-tah things. He really shouldn't be surprised, though. Ambassador Rona Holgersson could organize entire galas in a matter of days, this was nothing in comparison—

"Sven honey, are you listening to me?"

Sven winced in guilt; he hadn't been. They were at another brunch. Thankfully they were they only ones here this time. A couple of her friends had come to the others… they'd kept caressing his arms, it had made him uncomfortable.

"No, mom. I got distracted with my own thoughts, I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's alright dear." His mother paused to give him a smile. "As I was saying, your father's friend Councilman Toth is thinking of running for Senator Coleman's seat this next election, and your father is torn."

"Why is that?" Sven asked, though he really couldn't care less.

"Well, Toth is a dear friend, but Coleman's and your father's politics line up better." His mother sighed. This was one of the reasons her husband hadn't been able to spend much time with them this past week. Between deciding on who to support and planning his own re-election, he just hadn't had much time.

Sven, of course, thought the answer was obvious. "Shouldn't he back Coleman then?" Politics should be about, well _politics_. Not who was friends with who, though his father would make the argument that that having the most friends was 90% of what politics was, and he wasn't technically wrong… he shook his head. This was why he hated politics.

"Possibly but…" Rona paused. She knew this could lead to a debate, a debate they'd had many times. Sometimes things weren't so black and white, and most times Sven seemed to understand that, she thought. But sometimes… that boy could be quite hardheaded when he wanted to be. "Let's talk about something else. Politics are boring anyways, isn't that right?"

Sven fought the urge to roll his eyes, torn between saying _you brought it up_ and _oh thank god_. He decided on neither. It wasn't hard to tell when his peacemaker mother was trying to avoid an argument—or rather, a debate. They were never referred to as 'arguments' in the Holgersson household. They were 'debates'.

"What would you like to talk about?" That was a safe response.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you—" Sven rather doubted that. "—I reserved the tennis courts for us again this afternoon."

Oh. Great. Obviously "what would you like to talk about?" was not as safe a response as he had thought. Tennis was a great sport really, but even he knew how ridiculous he looked in those little bright green shorts his mother made him wear. And they'd already played tennis this week. Three times!

That was it. It was time to call for help.

"That sounds… interesting, but let's come back to that in a moment. I have to go to use the restroom." Sven quickly got up and headed in the direction of the bathrooms, locking himself in a stall and pulling out his datapad. There was one person who could definitely get him out of this mess.

The connection went through without so much as a hello, of course. "What do you need, Viking?"

"I need for you to come save me!"

"…Spoons?" Jace sounded amused.

"Brunch. Much worse than spoons." Sven did not sound amused.

"Brunch, huh? Okay, I was gonna say no but you've convinced me. But I've already got somewhere I have to be this afternoon, if I come bail you out you're coming with me."

Sven didn't hesitate. "Deal. I'm at Tatiana's Cafe. Just hurry please."

A pause. Apparently he recognized the name. "…You're uh, you're _sure_ you want to be caught dead with me in there?"

"With every fiber of my being." Maybe Jace would appall his mother enough for them to make a clean getaway.

There was a long pause which was obviously the medic resisting the urge to spit out a smartass comment; Sven was appreciative. "I'll be there." He hung up before Sven could even thank him.

Needless to say, he was not as quick getting back to the table as he had been to leave it. His mother welcomed him back and smiled. "So, tennis?"

"I don't know, Mom… we've played quite a lot recently. I was hoping maybe we could just go home." Sven knew that wasn't going to work, but all he had to do was stall until Jace got there. "I'm kind of in need of a break from all the activity."

"But honey, you know how much I love spending time with you. And who knows how soon I won't be able to see you at all, again."

There it was. Passive aggressive comment about Sven not requesting a transfer number 112.

"Can we please not have this argu—conversation again?"

"You've made it perfectly clear that there is nothing to converse about, so I have no idea what conversation you are referring to." Sven did in fact roll his eyes this time, but did not respond. It wouldn't help anything. Jace needed to hurry up.

His mother quickly changed the subject. Sven was only half listening, and was pretty sure his mother was aware, but she continued speaking anyways. Fine. Let her get it out of her system…

Jace stood outside Tatiana's Cafe and shook his head. _Brunch, really?_ There were Geneva Conventions for this sort of thing, weren't there? Walking through the door, he immediately waved off the greeter; it just took a quick glance around to spot the back of Sven's head.

"Yo! Viking!"

Sven whipped his head around. _Thank god_. "Jace!" A relieved smile graced his face, and then he muttered a little more quietly, "…finally."

Jace flipped his mom a casual salute before turning to Sven and smirking. "So, you ready to go see some cute pussies?"

He hadn't even hesitated. And really, the question seemed completely predictable from him, but it still caused Sven to wince.

Ambassador Holgersson had not been expecting anything of the sort, and choked on her own spit. "Darling…" She quickly regained her composure. "Who is this?" Though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Mother," Sven paused to give Jace a pointed glare, "this is Jace Cardoso Gregory. He's the team medic. We're friends." The navigator continued to glare. "Jace, this is my mother, Ambassador Rona Holgersson."

His mother stood to greet him. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Gregory." She held her hand out to shake.

Jace bowed, just a bit sardonically, in response. It seemed appropriate after all he'd heard. "Cumprimentos, senhora Your Vikingness."

Rona's brow rose at the title she'd just been given, but she chose to ignore it. Instead, she just smiled. "Olá, muito prazer em conhecê-la, Jace."

Sven's eyes widened. "You speak Portuguese?" He supposed he shouldn't be quite so shocked. She was an ambassador, she spoke a lot of languages. But even so…

His mother smirked. "You don't know everything about me."

Jace, for his part, had stayed silent, just looking back and forth between Sven and his mother throughout the exchange. "Porra…" He wasn't sure he was prepared for Sven's family dynamics. Rona instinctively shot him a _mom look_ for the language but didn't comment, and he flipped another salute. That was twice she'd said it was nice to meet him. "I see why you're a good ambassador, that was a damn good lie. Viking, we going or what?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Mr. Gregory." Rona smiled and turned to Sven, giving him a hug before he could respond. "Go on. Have fun with your… pussies."

Sven's jaw dropped. So did Jace's.

"NOW, VIKING. MEDICAL EMERGENCY!" That wasn't a lie. He was choking, on his own laughter but it was still choking. When it became apparent the Viking was too shocked to leave on his own, he grabbed his arm and started dragging him. He needed to breathe, damn it.

Sven allowed himself to be hauled out with little resistance, and seemed to snap out of his shock when they got outside. "Who was that, and what have you done with my mother?" He wasn't at all sure how to handle his mother saying _that word_, but blaming Jace seemed appropriate.

"See? I keep telling you I'm a good influence." Jace gave a giant smirk and started walking away from the cafe.

Sven questioned that logic, but went along with it. "And I'm sure one day I'll believe you… where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there, it's not that far." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "You wouldn't try and run away after I saved you, would you?"

"Of course not. I agreed to come." Sven rolled his eyes, though a worrying thought had occurred to him. "It's not a strip club is it?"

"Are you wearing khakis?"

He was a little afraid to answer that. "…Yes."

"Then no." That got a sigh of relief, which he rewarded with another smirk.

"That's good." Though really, even a strip club would have been preferable to another game of tennis. …Maybe.

"You're lucky you were on this side of town." Jace gave a small grin. "Though you know I wouldn't have said no anyway, that's why you called… c'mon, down this way."

That _was_ why he had called. There'd been no doubt in his mind that Jace would come to his rescue, and he had no problem admitting it. "I knew I could count on you to save me from…" _My mother._ "Spoons."

"And brunch." Jace shook his head. "Brunch is the worst. Just fucking acknowledge you couldn't be bothered with breakfast until noon, no damn shame in it."

Sven couldn't have agreed more. "Exactly! Thank you! And when you're invited to one you can't eat breakfast, because then you won't be hungry during brunch, and heaven forbid you not eat and be rude…" He continued to rant while they walked to the secret destination, and Jace was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it. By the end of the rant he was laughing hysterically.

"Porra… if I'd known you'd go off that hard I'd have brought up brunch earlier." Jace tugged at his sleeve and dragged him down a side street. There was a building at the end of it, with a large sign bearing the words **HEAVY PETTING PLAYGROUND. **

"Sorry, brunch is a frustrating—" Sven stopped mid sentence when he saw the sign. "This had _better_ be an animal shelter or something."

Jace gave him a look, then a smirk spread over his face. "What clued you in, the cute animals in the windows?" Actually Sven had been too horrified to notice the cute animals in the windows, though now that the medic mentioned it, there were several large decals of cartoon puppies and kittens. Still smirking, Jace dragged him through the doors. "Hey Shaw! I brought help."

There were several more decals and posters inside—some more cute cartoon animals, some health tips, some lost and found posters. Sven looked around, a little surprised that it really _was_ that… "You volunteer at an animal shelter?"

Jace shrugged. "Yeah, and?"

Sven paused. Was he really shocked? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this actually fit Jace pretty well, considering his usual interactions with humans. The memory of the little cat plushie in his housing unit crossed his mind too, but he didn't mention it. "Nothing."

A gangly man poked his head out of a staff door, with a small gray kitten attached to his face. It didn't seem to bother the man much, but it didn't look comfortable. Jace looked at him and shook his head as if he wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Captain Flufferface, you can't do that to Shaw, even if he _was_ asking for it when he gave you that name…" He walked up and carefully detached the kitten, scratching its ears and receiving several loud purrs for his efforts.

Shaw laughed and looked at Sven, and offered his hand; Sven shook it with a smile. "Hey, I'm Shaw the Shelter Dude. Welcome to the Playground. Jace, I've got a few pups needing walks, you got things handled here?"

"Yeah, we're on it." Jace started walking towards a different staff door than the one Shaw had come through, as Shaw himself walked back through the first door. There were several excited barks as he did so, and after a minute they heard another door swing shut.

Sven had been eyeing the kitten in Jace's arms, and decided to steal him. Jace didn't resist the theft, grinning. "Watch it, the Cap's a face hugger."

"I'll be careful," Sven assured him, scritching the little cat's chin. "He sure is cute."

"It's his other specialty." Leading Sven through the door a thought came to Jace, a bit belatedly. "You'd have told me by now if you were allergic, right?" Scowl. "Maybe Medical will _actually give me everyone's records_ before we ship out next time."

"I don't have any allergies… and hopefully," Sven guaranteed, and then not-so-guaranteed

"Perfect." Jace turned towards the loud demanding meows. The hallway was wide and bright and lined with large cages.

"So what are we doing here exactly?" Sven asked.

Jace pointed down the hall. "Bunch of furballs need fed, cleaned up after, cuddled, told they're pretty. You know, like the average trooper except with more fur." He paused and tilted his head a little. "I'm going to guess from that question you've never had a pet."

"Do you count?"

Jace snickered. "Have I mentioned lately that I like it when you're an asshole?"

"Have I mentioned that I don't like it when you curse?"

"It's come up. Your mom seemed okay with it."

"She wasn't." That mom look hadn't even been aimed at him, but he had felt its effect. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Jace hadn't.

Shrugging, the medic opened one of the cages and pulled out a large fluffy gray and white cat, which immediately started licking his face. Looking past the cat between licks, Jace studied the cage. "Purrn Star, did you dump your water _again_?"

"Are you in charge of naming them?"

As if on cue Purrn Star mewed proudly, and Jace shook his head no. "Some of 'em. Oddly, _not_ including this one." Sven wasn't sure if he believed him, because that was a very Jace name… but then, he knew Jace wouldn't be bothered to lie about something like that. "Here, let the Cap down for a bit? He's a roamer, it's fine. Give Purrn Star some love while I dry out her cage."

_Give Purrn Star some love. Really now…_ he reluctantly put Captain Flufferface down, but happily took the other one. The Cap immediately made sure they both knew he was not a fan of this new situation, yelling loudly.

"He… seems upset," Sven noted.

Jace had gone to the back, getting supplies to clean the cages. Coming back towards Purrn Star's cage he shook his head at the little guy, kneeling to give his ears another scritch before focusing on the cage. "He's not happy unless he's the center of attention. Kind of like certain pilots we know."

Sven rolled his eyes. "Lance is not that bad."

"Yeah, sure. You're entitled to your wrong opinion." Finishing up the cage, he gave Purrn Star a few scratches under her chin, then opened the can of food and put it inside.

"That phrase is so… nevermind." That sentence in itself was an opinion, but it wasn't worth pointing out.

Not minding, as instructed, Jace ran his fingers through Purrn Star's fur. "We have to take care of her first because she doesn't get along with the others. The rest we usually just let out to play in the hallway for a bit, while we fix up their cages and put the food in." He grinned. "Ready for a _lot_ of cats, Viking?"

A lot of cats sounded like fun, though he wasn't sure if Captain Flufferface would agree. "Yes I am."

Still grinning, Jace put Purrn Star in her cage and started walking down the corridor, opening all the cages along the way. Sven had not realized how many cages there were in here… before long there were _cats everywhere_. It took some effort to be sure not to step on any of them.

"All the food is in the upper cupboards in the back…" Jace trailed off as a calico kitten crawled up Sven's pant leg and latched onto his shirt, digging in with tiny claws.

"They sure are cute," Sven cooed. He wasn't sure he could think of anything else right now, surrounded by all this mewing fluff… the little cat on his shirt wavered, and he cupped it with his hands to be sure it wouldn't fall.

"Aren't they?" Jace came over to help detach the kitten. "There's a reason we call this one Full Frontal Mewdity, she loves climbing clothes… and sometimes she takes trophies. Shaw has never lived it down." Grin. "Has he, you little delinquent?" He gave the kitten several scritches on the cheeks, then offered her to Sven, who gladly accepted.

"Now I _know _you named this one." There were zero doubts in Sven's mind.

"Guilty!" Pride laced his tone. "Let's get the food put out, then we can make sure all these little fuzzballs get the—" Jace was cut off by one of the cats letting out a surprisingly loud meow. "—attention they're certain they deserve."

Sven had been intending to help. Really, he had. But he got so caught up playing with the cats that he didn't really end up doing any feeding or cleaning after the first couple of cages. Not that Jace could blame him, and who was he to stop the Viking from interacting with a hallway full of adorable? Dude needed to relax. Maybe next time he'd insist on more even distribution of duty.

He was finishing up the last of the cages when another volunteer showed up. "That's our shift, Viking."

Though he really wasn't sure he wanted to leave, Sven smiled at him. "This was fun."

Jace grinned back, tucking the the last cat—Probable Claws—back into his cage. "You can always come back."

"I'll have to… and maybe I'll adopt one. One day." Sven was seriously considering it. He loved these little guys.

"Yeah, a cat would be way lower-maintenance than the pet you've got, right?" Jace smirked, then started heading for the door. Captain Flufferface trotted after him.

"You've got a follower."

Jace laughed, turning around and kneeling to give the roaming kitten a last belly rub. "You can't come with us, Cap…" As the Cap purred and stretched, he jumped up and they both snuck out the door.

Curiosity was overwhelming Sven by now, and he paused as the door clicked shut. "What is it with you and cats?"

Jace froze up for a moment, his mind suddenly elsewhere. A street bathed in Prox's nighttime sun, where you could never just sneak away so easily.

_You can't come with me, Cat…_

"…They're adorable little assholes. What's not to like?"

"They are adorable. I just noticed the stuffed kitten back in your quarters, and here with," Sven gestured towards the cat decals on the windows, "this. I was just wondering if there was another reason besides the cuteness…"

Of course he was. Shaking his head, Jace started walking back up the street, Sven trailing behind him. "I just left a cat behind at home," he said finally, shrugging. "Kinda miss her sometimes."

Sven quirked his head, but decided that was best left alone. The medic was usually pretty open about what he'd walked away from, no sense poking at what he didn't want to share. "Understandable."

"You wanna go grab a sandwich or something? There's a great deli up the street. No brunch."

"Sounds lovely." Sven sighed in reflexive relief at the thought of no brunch. "Have to wash my hands when we get there…"

That had really just been him talking to himself, but it got him a glare and a light elbow. "Uh, yeah, you fucking _better_."

"Of course I will! I'm civilized."

"I guess that's as good a word as any?"

They fell into easy banter as they walked up the street, and Sven couldn't quite stop grinning. Despite starting with brunch, it had been a good day.

* * *

Not everyone was having trouble getting away from their family. Some of the team was having trouble getting in touch. That was what happened when you had not just your parents, but four brothers scattered all across the planet to worry about.

Hunk had just finally gotten to the last one today. Kenji played professional football in Australia, and between practice and time zones, figuring out when to call was a trick.

"…we'll be coming to play Florida in December, if you're still on base then. But anyway, enough about me, you gonna tell me about your mission or what?"

No. No he wasn't. He'd been studiously avoiding doing much of that for this conversation and four others before it, because his family was still under the impression he had a nice safe back lines engineering job. "Ain't much to say, bro. We met bird people and cat people and explored a bunch of weird stuff." There was no need to mention the water gauntlet. Or nearly being killed by Galra and pirates. Or the box. Definitely not the box.

"You never tell me _anything_," Kenji grumbled. "How's the new unit?"

"Pretty awesome! We've got a cool pilot, and a Viking, and a boss who thinks he's a samurai or somethin', and a—" The sound of a door swinging open interrupted him, and he sat up straighter in bed. "Uh, was that on your end?"

"Wasn't me, bro…"

"Hunkie!" a familiar southern accent yelled. "I'm hoooome!"

A huge grin spread over Hunk's face. "Oh hey, roomie's back! I better go say hi. Call ya tomorrow? Will you be around?"

Kenji chuckled. "Same time, same place, little bro. Catch you then."

Hunk gave a slight sigh of relief as the connection cut. Post-mission check-ins were a struggle even when the missions _weren't_ crazy. He loved his family dearly, he really did. But they had next to nothing in common.

His roommate, on the other hand…

"Yo!" She appeared in the doorway: a stocky young woman with ginger pigtails, muscular arms crossed, mock glaring. "Not even gonna come say hello?"

"I was gettin' there!" he protested, still grinning as he jumped up. "You didn't tell me you were gonna be back today! I woulda baked a cake. Or some wings. Or invited the whole block for a BBQ."

She laughed, holding a hand up. "The letter wouldn't have gotten here before I did. Gimme thirty-five!"

Hunk slapped her hand, launching into the familiar ritual. Their official secret roommate handshake consisted of three one-handed high fives, two double high fives, a _KABOOM_ gesture… and no actual hand shaking. Oh, and a quick hug that literally lifted her off her feet. "Welcome back, Hammer."

"Good to see you, Crusher."

Bama the Hammer—Sergeant Alabama Kowalski, Andromeda Vanguard, Second Siege Battalion—was the only person who ever used his callsign. They'd met in a structural engineering class at the Academy, both learning how to bring down buildings more efficiently; her with artillery shells, him with demolition charges. It had been mutual admiration at first sight. Of course, being a siege tanker, she'd been sent off to guard the border of No Man's Land while he stayed home and punched COs and got sent off on crazy treasure hunts. At least unlike his brothers, he could tell her about all of it without her thinking he was crazy…

…Well, maybe not the water gauntlet, but anyway. "Have I got some _stories_ for you."

"Oh yeah? What, you weren't just pushing more rocks around on Ganymede?"

"You've got no _idea_." He laughed. "But let's put on some ribs and some metal before we get to that, yeah? You need help with any bags or anything?"

"Wouldn't say no. We didn't see any action—you'd kinda know if we had—but I did smuggle back some scrap from exercises." She waggled her eyebrows. "Might be enough to get the new grill up and running."

Now that was _real_ music to his ears. "I'm all over that!"

As he turned to grab his datapad, Hammer finally caught sight of the uniform patch on his shoulder: the falcon, globe, and star of the Explorer Teams rather than the lightning wrench of the Jovian Engineering Corps. "Uh, Crusher?"

"Yeah?"

"Just _what_ did you do while I was gone?" She sounded half offended, half admiring.

He glanced back at her, chuckling. "I broke a dude's jaw. Dude outranked me. It was a whole thing." A sly grin spread over his face. "Not jealous, are you?"

"I _might_ be."

"Let's get your stuff hauled in." He tapped a command in on the datapad, and heavy metal Ride of the Valkyries began blaring through the room. "Then I'll tell ya all about it, as long as you promise to tell me about all the _kabooms_ that go on on the border. Fair?"

She grinned. "Fair!"

* * *

It had been hard to gauge the passage of time between the many bombardments. Now that they'd stopped, it was easier in some ways to gather intel, though the occupying infantry was a constant danger. The few military personnel Allura had at her disposal had gathered to share with her as much as they could about the environment above ground. Information was limited, but it wasn't good. Cities leveled, stockpiles of resources razed or seized. A large number of survivors had made it into the tunnels beneath Falastol, but the Drules were crawling over what was left of the city; it was impossible to communicate with them. How many may have survived beyond those shelters, nobody knew.

"So… the royal court is most likely gone."

"It would seem so, your highness." Captain Telinan was the highest-ranking Golden Knight, and was handling the distant scouting parties. "The Crown Province is in ruins. We had one recon pairing reach the Seven Isles, but without our maps they wouldn't have recognized it. It would appear that the Drules have been very… thorough."

"And our attempts to reach out to those farther away?"

"We still haven't heard back from the scouts yet. There are various reasons they could have been delayed, we're giving them more time."

Various reasons. Allura knew perfectly well that meant Drules. Or perhaps, more optimistically, survivors. The scouts could be delayed for quite awhile, should they come upon a group in hiding. The Arusian people were reeling. Enclaves of survivors had been known to greet scouts with anything from mistrust and hostility to desperate pleas to remain with them; a few had been brought back to the caves, though fewer than she would have liked.

"We'll hope the missing are doing the right thing, helping their fellow Arusians." She knew that might make her sound naive, but no matter. They needed whatever hope they could get. "How are our supplies?"

"The militia has been organizing hunting parties, but transporting water is trickier. Clothing and medication are well enough for the moment, but limited. We need to take every opportunity to gather more."

Allura frowned. The castle and the village might both have caches yet to be found, if scavengers could avoid the Drules. "Then let's make sure we know what supplies we need most, and form groups to focus on seeking them out. When the enemy presence is lighter we can send them to search."

In the corner of her eye, she noted the hunched form with fiery hair poking out from her hood. Letting her men discuss possible locations to scout, she excused herself to quietly chat with someone she knew needed her right now.

Whenever Larmina hadn't been out hunting, she'd been trying to listen to the soldiers' reports. Now she looked stricken. "She's gone, isn't she," she whispered as Allura came closer.

Drawing the younger girl closer, the princess squeezed her shoulders gently. "They can't say for sure. It sounds as though they only reached the outskirts, not the manor. And there are shelters all over Arus. She could be secured deep underground like we are." That earned her look of doubt, a suggestion she might be full of something foul. She brushed it off. "Larmina… you know if your mother had passed, she would try to reach you."

That only got her a blank look. "If she… what? What are you talking about?"

Allura hesitated a moment. She had seen the ghostly flickers in the caves, and she'd seen Larmina jump at their presence, or freeze as if hearing voices. It was a gift common to Arusian royalty, but… did she not know she had it? "Our ancestors have ways of making their presence known," she said quietly. "I truly believe if she'd passed, you would know it. So… until we have some form of confirmation, we can believe that she's out there somewhere, alive."

Larmina closed her eyes tight, thoughts of countless possible fates dancing before her. Allura sighed. She didn't want to humor thoughts of the worst, but she also couldn't pretend not to recognize the danger. So she just wrapped her up in a firm hug. "For now, you can make her proud. I know you've been hunting, and that's good. We have our duties… to give our best to our people, and get them through this, and get ourselves through it as well. How does that sound?"

One aquamarine eye cracked open. "Can I go smack a Drule if I see one?"

That was _not_ the kind of hunting she'd meant. "No, I strongly request you not do that… now."

"Soooooooo… that means I might be able to later?" Larmina asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Allura was mildly concerned that the hope of inflicting harm on another was what cheered her cousin from her gloom. Then again, inflicting harm—punishment—_justice_ on the Drules for their crimes was a worthy goal. She smiled sympathetically. "Don't raise your hopes for that too high. But I believe we will be able to rise up and return to the surface in time, and when we do, I'm sure there will be a Drule or two that needs a good smacking."

It seemed Larmina was willing to accept that; she took a deep breath before slowly exhaling. "So in the meantime…."

"When does the next hunting party go out? I heard a rumor you let Private Hanso bring back more rolis than you did last time…"

"_One_ more!" she protested. "And he cheated!"

"Oh? How did he do that?"

"He… um…" Her cheeks flushed. "I don't know, he just did somehow. All the rolis jumped out on his side of the trail!"

Allura laughed, then arched a challenging eyebrow. "Sounds like you should be planning your revenge. I know better than to think you'll let a little thing like _cheating_ stop you."

"Oh you'd better believe not." Larmina glowered across the cave, in the general direction of where the militia had set up their operations. "Do we need more food? I'll take him on _right now_."

Remembering the earlier reports, Allura shook her head. "Food is always helpful, but what we need more right now is water. Maybe you can challenge him on who can carry the most?"

"Oh I'm on it. Later, Auntie!" She tossed her hood back and was off, leaving her aunt chuckling behind her.

Sobering, Allura stilled as she heard an indistinct whisper around her, a gentle hand on her shoulder for an instant. There was no hand there… only a soft flicker of light. Nodding a silent thanks to whichever ancestor had come to comfort her, she returned to her duties.

* * *

There wasn't much fanfare when Romelle arrived on Korrinoth. She'd been sent ahead of the main Polluxian delegation, on a royal cruiser that had been well-appointed but lonely. Plenty of time to worry about what she was heading for. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure whether to be less or more worried… a pair of guards and a young Drule woman in a very skimpy outfit that was all gauze and gems awaited her as she got off the ship. Romelle inwardly grimaced, but forced a smile onto her face as she slowly made her way down the ramp.

The girl bowed as she stopped before her. "Princess Romelle, welcome to Korrinoth. I am Kalindra, and I am to be your handmaiden while you are here. Please, follow, and I shall show you to your rooms so you may freshen up from your journey."

Romelle nodded. "Thank you," she murmured and followed her, the guards falling in behind her as Kalindra led the way into the castle. The architecture was so very strange compared to what she'd known on Pollux, heavy and solid and almost organic in places. It was unsettling, but those they passed in the corridors seemed friendly and respectful. _Perhaps this won't be as bad as I imagined._

Seeing her own quarters reinforced her optimism. The suite was decorated with bright silks and strangely transfixing Drule artwork—the paintings were of no discernible subject, but the colors danced and blended from one frame to the next. The furniture was heavy stone, but inlaid with delicate patterns of gold. "It's beautiful here," she said truthfully.

Kalindra smiled softly. "I'm glad you appreciate it, Princess. Would you like to bathe? The castle servants are bringing your things from your ship, they should be here by the time you finish."

Bathing sounded wonderful; it _had_ been a long journey. And the bath itself was as alien as everything else had been so far—an enclosed chamber where the water cascaded down the walls, rather soothing once she got used to it. She took her time, reconsidering her position. The Drules were certainly… different, but they hardly seemed like the ruthless savages she'd expected from a kingdom of conquerors.

Romelle stepped from the bath feeling much better than she had since leaving home. Kalindra helped her into a robe and led her into the bedroom. She paused, her optimism suddenly fading, seeing an outfit similar to what the Drule was wearing laid out on the bed. "Um, Kalindra?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"This outfit. Where did it come from?"

"His Highness, Prince Lotor, sent it over for you to wear to the coming festivities. It is a great honor that he sends you such a gift."

Romelle nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral, though she could feel herself blushing furiously. _And as a gift, I would insult him if I don't wear it, but when Father sees me in it, _he _will be insulted._ She sighed. _Maybe it is some traditional dress of their people._ _Think positive, right?_

Kalindra was watching her carefully. "Is all well, Princess?"

"I just…" She paused, not certain how much she could confide in her new handmaiden. Or perhaps certain she couldn't. "Yes, well enough. A bit of culture shock, that's all."

"Understandable." The Drule bowed low. "Please, don't hesitate to ask me anything you require."

For a moment, she hesitated, then decided to test just how genuine all this accommodation was. _Yes. Testing. That's what you're doing_. "I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful, but… perhaps I could have some time alone to gather my thoughts? I'm certain I won't have much time for that soon."

Her handmaiden gave a smile that seemed sympathetic, though the fangs it revealed didn't spark much confidence. "Of course, Princess. The bell at the door will summon me whenever you wish." Bowing one more time, she departed the room.

Immediately after she left, Romelle regretted the request. Did she really _want_ to be alone with her thoughts? Here? Now? Looking at the skimpy outfit again, she sank back onto the bed and clenched her fists. This was what she had now, and she'd better get used to it.

_For Pollux_.

* * *

_*Disclaimer: Sgt. Hammer was borrowed from Heroes of the Storm and has been, or at least will be, returned unharmed._


	4. Joining Forces

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 3_  
Joining Forces

* * *

They'd been called in with hardly any notice. Not a mission briefing, per se. Colonel Hawkins had called it just a follow-up. 'Just a follow-up' did not explain the information that had arrived to Keith and Flynn's datapads that morning…

"You read the files, Kogane?" Flynn asked under his breath.

"Yeah." Keith was sitting with a large mug of coffee, fingers steepled in front of his chin. "Will be interesting, that's for sure…"

There was a huge box of maple bacon donuts on the table; apparently that was a tradition now. Only Hunk and Lance were actually _eating_ donuts, though Sven looked tempted. Hunk was starting on his second when the door opened and Hawkins walked in. "Morning, gentlemen."

"Morning, sir." Sven and Keith spoke at the same time, the others just saluted with varying degrees of seriousness.

Oh, and then there was Hunk. "Heya, big boss! Donuts are here!"

For a moment, Flynn's salute became quite indistinguishable from a facepalm.

Hawkins just chuckled, picking out a donut and taking a small bite before addressing them. "I have news for you all… and I don't have news."

"Oh, good thing you narrowed that down," Jace muttered. Sven elbowed him.

Keith was a little more circumspect. "News, but no news? That's not very… encouraging."

"Sounds about normal," Lance countered through a bite of donut.

"Totally." Hunk nodded. "Intel gonna intel."

"They're doing their best." Hawkins didn't sound wholly disapproving of the conversation track, and he wasn't—complaining about military intelligence was a tradition far older than the Alliance. But still. "On that note… firstly, I think you all deserve to know that they finished interrogating the crew of that carrier you helped capture at Echo Fox." That got everyone sitting up a little straighter. "Based on their information, Command discovered a massive breach at the New Brian Boneyard. At least a dozen ships missing, including multiple _Leyte_-class carriers."

Several jaws and one donut dropped.

"They took _what_ from _where?"_

"The fuck!"

"What? That's… that's insane."

"And it took _how_ fucking long for the brass to figure that out?!"

Hawkins let them yell—lord only knew he had when he'd heard about it. The New Brian Boneyard was a spacedock complex that served as the Alliance's primary ship graveyard. Hundreds of ships docked in a top secret location, ready to be reactivated in case of emergency. Needless to say, it was more heavily secured than some planets. Ships at the Boneyard did not just _go missing_.

He waited for the expletives to wind down before continuing.

"Obviously, Command believes it can only be an inside job, so I requested your unit's identity be redacted from the report and your records sealed until we know more." He smiled grimly. "I know, you're an Explorer Team, you can only get into so much more trouble… but we'd rather not give someone who's already sponsoring deadly attacks on Alliance personnel any reason to hunt you down."

There were a few nervous grins in response; Hunk looked down at the donut in his lap and blinked. "Uh, totally in favor of that."

"Safety first."

"One less thing to worry about."

"What about the pirates themselves?" Flynn asked after a moment, in a tone that wasn't entirely eager for an answer.

Hawkins shook his head. "A task force is being assembled to hunt them down. You're going elsewhere."

"Yay," Jace said flatly, and Sven elbowed him again.

"Elsewhere?" Keith repeated, ignoring the medic. He didn't like it when orders were that ominous.

"…That's where I'm afraid I don't have much information for you."

Oh. Well. That was certainly… a statement. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Intel has been working on decoding that crystal you recovered. It's slow going. What they are certain of is that it's pointing to something important. It may be what the Galra are searching for, so you'll be hunting it down."

"So more Galra treasure hunts?"

"Isn't that more or less what we just did?"

Hawkins looked at Lance and Flynn and shook his head slightly. "Maybe, maybe not. They're still working on specifics. But Command feels secure enough in the information they already have to assign you a new ship, one better suited for major cargo retrieval… and new teammates."

"…What."

"Oh yeah? Cool!"

The rest of the team's reactions fell somewhere between Jace and Hunk, manifesting as looks of more or less interest as Hawkins swept his gaze around the table. Keith exhaled, nodding. "Which is why Kleid and I received the files we received."

"Yes." The colonel absently juggled his donut between his hands as he spoke. "Your new ship is a _Vagrant_-class named _Jupiter's Hammer_. It's been mothballed for awhile—they're reinstalling the engines as we speak. You'll be operating out of midrange hangar L4-West. Command felt it was best to get you started early, so you can get acquainted with your new crewmates while you're getting the ship up to speed."

Flynn tilted his head. "A… _Vagrant_, sir? Not a _Vanguard_?"

Hawkins grinned slightly. "Yes, a _Vagrant_." Whatever that was about, it was clearly an engineering geek thing; Flynn and Hunk high-fived, while Lance arched an eyebrow at them.

"A mothballed ship that just got its engines back," Keith repeated, sounding wholly unconvinced. "You'll have your hands full."

"Sure, we'll have a ship to fix up while you're trying to deal with the new kids up front…" Flynn smirked, then muttered under his breath, "_Jupiter's_ _HAMMER?_ That'll be the first thing to go."

Keith eyed him. "You're getting just as many new kids as I am."

"Kids?" Lance broke in. That sounded like a kind of important point being glossed over.

Jace's eyes narrowed. "That had better be a metaphor."

"I would also like some clarification on the 'kids'," Sven agreed, looking between Keith and Hawkins.

Only Hunk, as usual, seemed unbothered. "Hey, plenty of room on the Island of Misfit Toys here, yeah? I'm good with kids."

Hawkins chuckled; he couldn't help it. "They are younger than usual for an Explorer Team, yes. But—and I'm sure this will shock you all—there's not a long list of candidates, and we're not exactly at the top of the list when it comes to requesting reinforcements. They're all very good at what they do, I assure you."

"They wouldn't have made it to this assignment if not," Keith said with a slow nod.

"Kinda don't think any stuffy old dudes could handle us anyway," Hunk pointed out.

Lance snickered. "Stuffy old dudes can't handle shit."

"Literally true," Jace agreed, getting yet another elbow from Sven.

Keith grimaced, eyeing Hawkins, who was after all the oldest in the room. The colonel noted his look and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Kogane, is this you calling me old?" he asked in a slightly chiding tone.

A round of snickers swept around the table, and Keith took a long sip of his coffee. "I said no such thing, sir."

"And I sure wouldn't," Lance chimed in with a smirk, looking Hawkins up and down. He really wasn't _that_ old.

Eyeing Lance with his best _don't even_ look, Hawkins cleared his throat. "In _any_ case, we know two key parameters for this mission: you'll be traveling much deeper into the Interior Expanse, at the least, and what you're bringing back may need some diagnostic work. To that end you're being assigned a communications officer, a gunner, a systems analyst, and an electrical engineer. They'll be reporting tomorrow." He grimaced slightly. "When we have enough information for a full briefing, you'll be the first to know."

Keith nodded for the group. "Understood, sir."

"Any questions? Otherwise, dismissed. Kogane, Kleid, stay a minute."

A couple of odd looks fell on him. "Uh, if we _did_ have questions, would you have any answers?" Hunk asked finally.

"…Probably not."

"We'll just have to figure out the details while they're shooting at us, big guy." Lance smirked. "As usual."

"We're a fucking Explorer Team," Jace agreed, sounding much less bitter than he once had; Lance grinned and slapped him on the back.

"Sure are!"

Chuckling, Hunk turned to them and held out both his hands for a high five. Lance obliged; Jace hesitated a moment, smirked, and hit his hand probably harder than necessary… then winced as pain shot through his wrist.

Lance burst into laughter.

"Fuck you, McClain." The medic grinned as he headed for the door, Sven giving him the obligatory disapproving look before following.

"You wish." Lance headed out too, with Hunk on his heels, leaving only the three ranking officers to stay and be businesslike.

Hawkins was amused, but became more serious as he looked at the other two. "I'm guessing from your comments that you two were able to look over the files."

"Yes, sir," Keith confirmed. Flynn just nodded quietly.

"I won't ask you to weigh in on Stoker's probation until you've met with him, obviously… but the sooner you can make a decision, the better. If you don't feel comfortable waiving him, we'll need to find you a different systems analyst somewhere."

"Aside from his disciplinary issues, he does seem to be the man for the job," Keith observed. Which really summed up the entire Explorer Team premise. "I like his qualifications."

Flynn nodded in agreement. "It would take something like…" He trailed off. He'd been about to say _attempted murder_, but that was actually kind of what had happened. "…it would take a lot to reject someone rated for his original posting, even if it _didn't_ last."

The colonel nodded. "If you need anything clarified about the others, go ahead and ask. I know you didn't get much warning."

Most of the necessary clarification would come when they reported, of course… but there was one thing that had been bothering Keith quite a bit. "Brennan being assigned here I understand completely, and Hayes I suppose makes sense. But Starr? Top of his class, not so much as a citation for coughing out of turn?"

Hawkins gave him a look he didn't care much for; an odd mix of skeptical and stunned. "You don't know him?"

"Know him?" Keith looked to Flynn, who just shook his head, equally confused. "Am I supposed to?"

"…He requested your command, Kogane. Asked for you by name." Hawkins frowned. "We don't get many people who _volunteer_ for an Explorer Team, we certainly weren't going to tell him no."

_What?_ Keith could only stare in shocked silence for a minute. It didn't make any sense. "I'm fairly certain that I don't know him at all."

"Hmm. Guess you'll have something to ask him when he reports, then."

"Crystal Spur fanboy," Flynn whispered under his breath.

Keith made an attempt to shoot his second a death glare while also nodding respectfully to his supervising officer; it didn't go particularly well. "Yes, I guess I do."

Looking between them and laughing softly, Hawkins saluted with the hand that wasn't presently holding a donut. "Well, gentlemen… if that's all, I'll see you when we have more information. Here's hoping your new teammates will fit right in."

* * *

All of the new kids—the new crew members—had been instructed to check in with Keith first. Which meant Keith was stuck in his office for the morning, waiting. Hayes had stopped by first, and he seemed fine. Nervous, but fine. The next appointment was more worrisome…

Stoker's qualifications were impeccable. Almost too impeccable. He'd graduated from the Academy at _fourteen_, and been assigned straight to the _Dawn of Destiny_—not only one of the Alliance's prized _Unity_-class dreadnoughts, but the flagship of the entire Orion Vanguard. He'd tested out at the highest levels in both systems engineering and special operations. It would have seemed like an elaborate joke, were it not for one key detail: Stoker wasn't human.

Baltans were a race of small, scientifically-inclined humanoids with a long tradition of ninja arts. They hardly ever turned up on this side of Alliance space; Keith had never met one. He wasn't sure he was looking forward to it. Apparently, at least in Stoker's case, the price of such remarkable talents was some… social maladjustment.

A _lot_ of social maladjustment.

Someone knocked on the door. "Commander Kogane?" It was an unfamiliar voice, but she pronounced his name correctly. "Sergeant Faraday, MP. I'm here with Specialist Stoker."

Well, he _was_ on probation. "Enter."

The door swung open, revealing a dark-haired woman in a military police uniform and… Keith tilted his head. The soldier with her was a slim young man with cold, catlike green eyes; he could easily have passed for human, if you didn't look at him too long. He flipped a short salute. "Specialist Stoker reporting, sir."

Here went nothing. "Have a seat." Stoker frowned but sat across from the desk while Faraday took up a post in the corner. "I've read your file, Mr. Stoker. But I'd like to hear your side of how you've come to be here."

"I stabbed one of my groupmates in a bar fight."

…He said that entirely too matter-of-factly. Keith arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"He threatened me."

_What now?_ That wasn't _exactly_ what his file had—

"What the specialist means," Faraday broke in with a slight grimace, "is that his groupmate outright assaulted him with a bottle."

Immediately Stoker turned and scowled at the sergeant. "That's what I _said_. The clumsy idiot missed me."

In less than two minutes, this kid was already living up to his reputation. Keith sighed and held up a hand for silence. "How about you just tell me what exactly led one of your groupmates to go after you with a bottle?"

Shrug. "He's a fool. I told him so. Repeatedly."

Wonderful. "That… doesn't clarify the situation for me at all, Mr. Stoker."

"He didn't like me being smarter than him, sir." He said it slowly, patiently, as though speaking to a child. "We had words. Often."

Well then. "That being the case, one would think you could have found other ways to resolve the incident?"

Stoker gave him a look that was pretty clearly questioning _his _intelligence too. "Sir, I'm unfamiliar with other ways of resolving the issue of an idiot throwing a bottle at your head."

"Did you mention your issues with him to a superior prior to the incident?"

"Yessir."

That actually surprised him. "And they didn't do anything?"

Another shrug. "They told me I have issues with everyone."

_I'll bet you do_. Though that was hardly an appropriate response. "That's…"

Stoker seemed entirely unconcerned. "Accurate, sir. They did tell him to stop 'baiting' me."

Keith wondered just how much it would take to bait this kid, but saying so out loud didn't seem like the best idea. "And clearly he didn't, and as much as you didn't need to do that, I suppose he had it coming or it wouldn't be in your file as self defense. So, welcome to Explorer Team 686." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "We can only move forward, correct?"

"Experience says incorrect, sir."

"…That's the wrong answer." Keith arched an eyebrow. "Would you like to try again?"

Scowl. "I'm not planning to stab anyone else, sir, if that's what you're asking. I'm just here to do a job." Something in his tone made it seem like he'd had to say that a lot in his career.

Fair enough. "I'll take you at your word, then. I assume you've already seen the mission orders?"

Stoker's tone became delicate. "They weren't sent to me."

Keith highly doubted that would have stopped a systems analyst with a disciplinary record like Stoker's, but the young man's eyes darted over to the corner and stopped him just before he said so. Right. "Sergeant, you're dismissed."

Faraday startled. "But sir…"

"It's fine. Mr. Stoker isn't going to be any further trouble, are you?"

Stoker looked between the two of them. "I'm very dangerous, sir," he said flatly.

It was impossible to tell whether that had been meant as humor or not, and Keith wasn't actually sure which would worry him more. Faraday didn't seem convinced, either way. "Sir, you are aware the specialist is a trained ninja."

"I am very familiar with Mr. Stoker's qualifications, Sergeant. As he has promised not to stab anyone else, I am going to take him at his word. Dismissed."

She shrugged before saluting. "Yes sir. I'll be outside."

Watching her go, Stoker answered as soon as the door shut. "I have seen the orders, sir. They're very… vague."

Wasn't that the truth. Keith sighed. It had been worth a shot. "You know I need to waive your probation before you're actually permitted to deploy."

"Yessir."

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

"Probably several, sir." Stoker glanced at the door again. "But I _am_ a ninja, and I've been letting Sergeant Faraday watch me anyway. She knows I've been humoring her. You can ask her if you need to."

He made a good point. Keith could think of worse Explorer Team members than a hostile ninja who was, at least, apparently honest to a fault… though he could also think of better. "All right. I won't make a final decision until I've heard what Lieutenant Commander Kleid thinks of you, but I'm inclined to give you a chance. Dismissed."

With a wordless salute, Stoker stood and departed. Keith looked after him for a few moments, frowned, then pulled his datapad over and typed in a quick message. May as well warn Flynn what he was in for.

* * *

Hangar L4-West was on a quiet part of base. What were known as the 'midrange hangars' actually held the largest ships on the Garrison; they were the middle ground between small craft hangars and spacedocks. They were a bit of a niche, and that was fine with Flynn.

The _Jupiter's Hammer_ was enormous, by atmospheric standards. It could quite literally have fit the _Firecrown_ into its gaping cargo bay. In fact, it was quite literally designed to do just that. The _Vagrant_-class had originally been intended to rescue stranded small craft. It did make sense, for an unknown retrieval mission, if the Alliance wasn't going to try to give a ten-man Explorer Team an actual stellar cruiser. Which would have been ridiculous.

_Imagine, the brass _not _doing something ridiculous._

He was finishing up an external inspection of the ship now, waiting on his new engineering crew to turn up. They worried him much more than the ship's condition. Only natural, wasn't it? They had an electrical engineer who tended to cause explosions when he was upset, and a systems analyst who was literally on probation. Was he supposed to _not_ be worried?

Coming around the side of the ship, movement caught his eye. There was a young man standing underneath the nose, looking both nervous and a bit lost. _Is that one of my wrenchlings?_ He did have the right rank patch… "Looking for something, Specialist?"

The newcomer startled, then turned to him and startled again. "Uh, um…" His amber eyes had gone very wide. "Lieutenant Commander Klay… er, no… Kleid?"

_Yep, that's a wrenchling._ "That's me." He saluted casually, which the specialist returned with a shaky hand. "So, you must be Hayes or Stoker?"

"Uh, Hayes?"

_A very _timid _wrenchling. I don't recall reading a file for one of those_. Shrugging it off, he grinned and offered a hand. "Welcome to the 686. You can call me Flynn, we're pretty casual around here."

Hayes did not appear the least bit reassured, but managed a very brief handshake as he nodded. "Yes, sir. Sir Flynn… Flynn. Vince, I like Vince."

"Vince." Flynn studied him more carefully. He didn't look like a mad bomber. He just looked like nervous new blood on a questionable new assignment… which only made Flynn apprehensive as well. Damn it, he'd just mostly gotten over having to wonder about Hunk's violence threshold, now he had another one? "You can relax, you know."

"I… I'll attempt that, sir."

Relaxing was the absolute _last_ thing Vince felt prepared to do at the moment. He'd been apprehensive enough about the Explorer Team posting as it was. Checking in with Commander Kogane earlier that morning had gone well enough—other than mispronouncing his name, _embarrassing—_but he was definitely not doing much to endear himself to his direct superior here.

Maybe if his direct superior had been a little less _huge_ he would have been a little less intimidated. But then, all things considered, maybe not.

Flynn seemed to take it well enough, just giving him a wry smile. "You could start attempting it by using my name, but that's alright." He leaned against the ship's front landing gear. "What have they told you about the mission?"

"Yes si—Flynn." This would take some doing. "All I know is, I was told my assignment was an Explorer Team and that I was to report today. Any more detail would be appreciated."

"…Honestly I was hoping they might have accidentally given _you_ more details." Flynn crossed his arms and looked up at the belly of the ship, scowling. "All we know right now is we're going to be sent out to go retrieve something… somewhere… eventually."

For a moment sheer surprise outweighed Vince's nervousness, and he blinked. "We don't even know what?" _Ugh_. He hated not knowing things.

Flynn shook his head, the odd smile coming back. "I could tell you everything you've heard about Explorer Teams is wrong, but it's probably not. This is what we get. But it'll be fun… ever worked on a _Vagrant_ before?"

"No, but I've read up on them." Vince looked up at the ship, then back down at his new boss; Flynn looked young enough that _he'd_ probably never worked on a _Vagrant_ either. "It's the model that preceded the _Vanguard_, the last one was produced a little over sixty years ago, but they're still known for being solid. Built for spaceplane rescue. It's one of only about half a dozen ships that are small enough for atmospheric operation but also large enough for hyperspace thrusters."

Talking shop seemed to make Vince more relaxed, Flynn noted. At least slightly. He could work with that. And him already having read up on the ship was an excellent sign. "Thorough, I like it."

"I like to be prepared, si—Flynn."

"Excellent." Motioning for Vince to follow, he started heading towards the aft landing gear. "What we _do_ know right now is, they took this thing out of mothballs for us and we've got to get it spaceworthy. This is your first deployment, right?"

Vince felt his face flush. "Yes, it is… it's that obvious?"

"I mean, yes? But I've also read your file."

_Of course he has. What a dumb question to ask._ That flush got hotter as he considered what was likely to be in his file. _Crap, he knows I blow things up, doesn't he._ "Oh."

Whatever more Flynn may have said was interrupted by the metallic clang of the ship's hatch, and heavy footsteps on the boarding ramp. "Yo, pit boss! I've gotta go get some—oh _hey!"_ Hunk came around the ramp and a huge grin spread over his face. "New kid!"

_Oh holy hell!_ Vince gulped so hard it physically hurt as he stared at the new arrival. Flynn was big enough, and this guy was _bigger_. He almost didn't even look real. _He's… bigger than… they're both giants…_

Whoever the new giant was, his dramatic entrance only earned a mildly exasperated look and a brief facepalm. "Vince, this is Hunk. Hunk, this is…" Flynn trailed off at the expression on the new kid's face, moved forward, and worriedly poked his shoulder. "Vince?"

Hunk. Of course his name was Hunk. Because what _else_ would it be? Most of Vince's effort was being expended on not fainting, but he finally managed a weak, "Hi."

"Nice to meetcha!" The huge man had an equally huge grin on his face; it looked like he wanted to go for either a handshake or a high five but realized either one might kill his new crewmate. "I'm the resident master blaster here. But uh, I fix stuff too. Sometimes. When I don't have anything to make go KABOOM." He turned to Flynn without so much as a pause for breath. "Anyway uh, like I was sayin', gotta go get another pile of plates for that hole on deck three. I'll be back." Waving to both of them, he headed for the bay door. "Later on, Vince!"

_Later… on… yeah… holy… _

All he could do was stare. And stare. And stare some more. And then the sound of an engine revving drifted into the hangar, along with Hunk's voice yelling "Vroom vroom!" as the sound gradually faded away.

He only got something resembling his wits back when the noise was completely gone. "Uh. Was he real?" _Maybe the stress is making me hallucinate…_

"Afraid so." Flynn smiled sympathetically. "Bit terrifying, isn't he? But you get used to him." He opted to keep the _more or less_ that went through his mind to himself.

"Uh… wow. If you say so."

"I say so." He laughed. "You can even believe me if you like."

"Is that an order?"

…Oh not another one of _these_. Flynn arched an eyebrow. "Should it be?"

Vince laughed nervously. "I don't know. I'm still attempting to relax."

"Would it help if I gave you some wiring to fix? We have _plenty_ of wiring to fix."

"Wiring?" Immediately Vince brightened, and Flynn gave him a knowing look. "I would love to wire, si… uh, Flynn." _Please just give me something to focus on_.

With a nod and a motion to follow, his new superior led him to one of the aft landing gear. It was huge, of course—six wheels nearly as tall as he was—and there were several panels open, revealing the retraction mechanisms and internal structure. A diagnostic tablet and several tools were sitting on a workbench that had been pulled up next to it.

"This gear has been showing several power faults. I believe it's a pretty standard system, but I'm sure you'll tell me if I'm wrong." Flynn smiled.

Studying the system and the wires, Vince gave a long sigh of relief. This he could handle. This was absolutely his wheelhouse. No pun intended. "Very standard, can I get right to work?"

"Absolutely." Flynn pointed past the rear of the ship; three doors were set into the back wall of the hangar. "If you need any other tools, the supply room is that open door on the left. If there's anything else you need from me, just yell—I have to go in and have a look at the engines." That wry smile again. "If all you need is for me to stay the hell back with the engines while you get settled, that's also fine."

At least he wasn't offended, Vince supposed. He cracked his knuckles, looking over the tools already laid out. "I'll get a few things and get right to work." Time to see about fixing this mess of a first impression… he headed for the supply room, feeling relief filling him all over again. He couldn't get lost in the wiring soon enough.

"Have fun." Chuckling slightly, Flynn headed back to the boarding ramp, stopping just inside the ship's hatch and frowning. That was… certainly not what he'd been led to expect from the new electrical engineer. At all.

_Here we go again…_

* * *

The next time the buzzer to his office went off, Keith didn't even look up from the service record he was studying. There was no reason to keep poring over this file. He was about to get his answers. But he couldn't help it…

"Enter."

The door softly swished open. Keith slowly raised his eyes from the datapad he was looking over, blinking. He knew him, all right. Or at least, he remembered him. "You're…"

The young man straightened and offered a perfect salute. "Ensign Cameron Starr, reporting, sir."

_You've got to be kidding_.

It came rushing back to him in an instant. He'd been on shore leave from the _Vesuvius_, dropping by the Academy to visit some old instructors. Captain Arleone in Personnel Management had asked if he'd give the class a talk—how could he refuse? He was one of the youngest Commanders in the Alliance, his career already being cited as an inspiration to new students. He'd gladly agreed.

Starr had been in that class. More to the point, Starr had been there after that class. When Sky Marshal Wade's daughter, apparently a little _too_ impressed, had grabbed Keith and kissed him out of nowhere… which in itself would have been an awkward embarrassment. Add the Sky Marshal walking in right then to pick up his daughter for lunch, and the next thing he knew he'd been off the _Vesuvius_ and awaiting his fate at the hands of politicians.

And here he was.

With some effort, Keith shook himself from the memory. "Well, now I remember where I've seen you before."

Starr blinked. "You remember me?"

"Hard to forget, considering the circumstances." He set his datapad aside and exhaled. "So, Mr. Starr, why did you request my command? Most people wouldn't request an Explorer Team assignment, especially not with your qualifications. And I would think, after the last time we saw each other, I wouldn't be a very good role model."

"Not a good role model?" the new comms officer repeated, dumbfounded. "Sir, the talk you gave was _amazing_. I'd never heard anything like it." He paused a moment, frowning. "…Also, Jenna was an idiot."

Keith studied him carefully. Maybe it had been a good talk—he didn't remember much of it, considering what had happened afterwards. A good talk still didn't seem like enough. "You understand you're only raising more questions. What did I say that makes a promising young officer request an Explorer Team? I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of what Captain Arleone intended."

"Probably, sir." Starr shuffled his feet a little. "Um, it's just… I've got this family tradition, you know? There's been a cosmonaut or Alliance naval officer in my family almost nonstop since the 1960s." Keith's eyes widened, that was _quite_ the pedigree. "I heard all this stuff about the family legacy growing up, then all my Academy instructors were all about ambition and doing what's best for my career. Then you went up there and talked about tradition and honor and duty and it just… it really hit home. So I was waiting to ask you some questions, but after Jenna, well…" He shrugged sheepishly. "I looked up all I could about you instead. Your records, your dedication, doing things the right way—you even earned a Crystal Spur! I just… wanted to serve under someone like that, sir. So here I am."

Blushing at the praise, Keith suddenly had a realization. _My god, Kleid was right. He kind of _is _a Crystal Spur fanboy._ Maybe he'd keep that to himself. "I see. Well then, welcome to the—"

He was cut off by the door bursting open, and a dark-haired kid in a rumpled Aerospace Division uniform barged into the room. He was wearing the single stripe of an aerospace cadet—distinct from an Academy cadet—and skidded to a halt as if he'd run the whole way here. "Brennan reporti…" That was when he seemed to notice there was one more person than expected in the room, and he trailed off with a sheepish grin.

"Um…" Cam eyed the intruder, but wasn't sure how to proceed.

"Uh… hello?" Keith seemed to have the same issue, but recovered much quicker. "Do you know how to knock, cadet?"

"Yeah…" Daniel made a face. He knew _how_ to knock, he just… forgot sometimes. _This is what you get for being early._

Keith looked between the two kids and sighed. He was pretty sure he knew who the cadet was, but it didn't hurt to double check. "I'm guessing you're Brennan?"

Daniel coached himself for a moment before answering. _Be respectful. Be respectful. _"If not, I'm not sure why I said 'Brennan reporting.'" _That was totally respectful_.

"…Right." Keith sighed. Definitely Brennan. Maybe if the cadet hadn't barged in like that, he would've actually heard the first introduction. "Well, the two of you are both bridge crew. So, since you're both here…" Keith trailed off as Daniel sat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, smiling at him.

Though the commander didn't react immediately, Cam did. "Dude, you don't sit when your commander hasn't invited you to."

Daniel blinked. "Who the fuck are you?" Who did this kid think he was? The bar on his uniform was that of an ensign, the naval equivalent to an aerospace cadet. Screw _that_. He barely tolerated being scolded by superiors, he definitely wasn't going to take it from someone of equal rank.

"Especially when you're first reporting, and especially when it's someone like _Commander Kogane_," Cam continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"Oh god." Daniel couldn't tell if this kid was dishing out some cringy ass kissing, or if he was just a fanboy. Neither of those options impressed him much.

Before he could say anything else, his earlier question finally caught up to Cam. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm Ensign Starr."

"Daniel." He gave a small wave as he introduced himself.

Keith had been grimacing throughout the exchange. This didn't bode well for bridge crew efficiency. Maybe he should at least make an actual proper introduction, seeing as these two obviously didn't know how. "Yes, he's Ensign Cameron Starr. Starr, this is Cadet Daniel Brennan."

Cam looked between Brennan and the commander, scowling slightly. There was still a disrespectful smirk on the cadet's face, and he didn't like it. "Dude, you're crazy. Show the Commander some respect." How someone could disrespect protocol so blatantly was completely beyond him.

"And you're a kiss ass. That's a whole other kind of crazy," Daniel snapped back. Fanboy needed to chill.

"Excuse me?!" Cam growled. Who did this guy think he was?

"Are you deaf too?" Daniel had never understood that. Why did people always say 'Excuse me?' as if they hadn't heard him? It was clear they definitely _had_ heard him.

"Boys, enough." Keith sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a little frustrated with how this was going. Time to regain control. "As I was saying, you're both on bridge crew, which means you both report directly to me. Mind your manners and your language."

"Yes sir. Apologies, sir." Cam blushed, embarrassed by his behavior. The new arrival had just been so _infuriating_.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at Cam's blush before responding. "Yeah… real sorry." He wasn't, but oh well. With this guy, he was sure he'd be apologizing for lots of things he wasn't sorry for.

His insincerity wasn't at all lost on Keith; it was obvious how he'd gotten this assignment. "However, Mr. Starr is right. I didn't give you permission to sit, Mr. Brennan."

_Mr. Brennan_. Daniel rolled his eyes. He was one of those, great. "Noted."

Keith's eyes narrowed at his attitude, but for now he decided to let it go. _Pick your battles._ _He's going to drive me to drink. _"Regardless, I believe we're done here. You'll both report to the ship by 0800 tomorrow morning. Hangar L4-West."

"Yes sir," Cam said immediately.

"Sounds good." Daniel went back to smirking. "Won't be early this time. Promise. See you tomorrow, um…" He trailed off, realizing he'd forgotten the fanboy's name. "Fanboy."

Keith just wanted them to leave before starting up again. "Good. Dismissed."

Cam saluted and glared at Daniel as he left. Daniel just smirked and rolled his eyes at the glare, then shot Keith a mock salute before walking out. This was going to be a fun assignment.

* * *

Pidge was nervous. He wasn't about to admit to being nervous, but he was nervous nonetheless.

Faraday had been called away soon after he'd left Commander Kogane's office. Suboptimal. He didn't generally like her staring over his shoulder, but he wasn't sure he liked her being gone for _this_, either. Going to a new assignment always felt a bit like… what was that game his old groupmates had joked about? Rushing roulette? Russian roll it? Something like that. He would just have to do his best and hope it was sufficient, which…

…Well, he'd been told there was a first time for everything.

The bay door of Hangar L4-West was open, revealing a ship that reminded him of a huge silver streamray. Only one person was immediately visible, working on the landing gear. He looked human—black hair, dark brown skin, unremarkable build—and did not seem to be at all aware someone was coming up behind him as he crouched next to an access panel.

To be fair, sneaking up on people was a talent of Pidge's. Much more so than interacting with them.

He stopped a few feet away from the other specialist, waited a moment to see if he'd been noticed, then spoke up. Quietly, so as not to startle him too much—that lecture had been drilled into him thoroughly. "Hey."

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

_Humans_. Fine. "HEY."

The voice snapped Vince out of his focus and he jumped, turning to see… _what now?_ There was a rather angry face glowering down at him through slightly tinted glasses. "Um…?" He straightened, noting with a little detachment that someone here was finally shorter than him. In fact the stranger was _very_ small, and looked a little too young not to belong at the Academy…

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Commander Kleid," he said with barely concealed irritation.

Vince was a bit irritated too, to be honest. He hated being interrupted. But he tried to push it aside… _this must be the other guy Flynn mentioned._ What had his name been? "Are you, uh, Stokes?"

The intruder did not seem sure how to respond to that. Finally he muttered, "None of your business."

"Uh…" It had been a yes or no question! "What?"

"Would you just…" Angry Kid paused, crossing his arms and scowling. "Would you _please_ just tell me where to find the Lieutenant Commander."

There were probably opsec protocols here, but they were on the Garrison grounds, and letting Flynn deal with this guy sounded wonderful. "Oh, he's uh… with the engines. He said to just yell if I needed him."

Angry Kid didn't move. "So… yell?" he said impatiently after they stared at each other for a few more moments.

_Why don't _you _yell? _crossed Vince's mind, but it didn't seem like the correct way to deal with this. _Who is this guy?_ Taking a deep breath, he turned to the boarding ramp and gave it the best he had. "FLYNNNNN!"

The other guy sprang back, eyes wide. "Komora sa kye?!" There was suddenly a knife in his hand. Vince hadn't even seen him draw it. But he saw the dark glint of the blade, felt adrenaline surging… the wire he was holding crackled and sparked violently, and he dropped it with a startled yell.

On the upside, the burst of lightning backed Angry Kid off more. On the downside, he'd been on this job maybe fifteen minutes and was already causing explosions. For another very long few seconds, they glared at each other through the faint ozone haze. _What is _wrong _with this guy? _

Evidently he wasn't the only one wondering that. "What was that for?"

"You're asking me?" Vince pointed to the knife. "What's _that_ for?"

"It's a knife," the stranger answered immediately, dropping into a clear defensive stance. "It's for cutting things. Or stabbing, if necessary." His eyes flickered down to the burnt wire. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" Vince's jaw dropped. "Me?!" Angry Kid just kept glaring, and there was still no sign of the chief engineer. "If I yell for Flynn again you aren't going to stab me, are you?"

"If you—" He trailed off, staring blankly for a moment. "…Since when do _humans_ take things so _literally?"_

"You said to yell!"

"Jalekya…"

Oh, now that wasn't nice… whatever it was. Vince frowned at him, eyes darting back to the knife, debating on whether he should really yell again or not; that answer had not been a _no_.

Flynn had actually heard the first yell, the _Vagrant_ was just a large ship. As he reached the boarding ramp he heard an unfamiliar voice snarling an unfamiliar word in a decidedly hostile tone; that seemed less than ideal. He jumped off the side of the ramp and turned to see…

_Faex_. "Drop it!"

_Oh thank god_. Vince would never have imagined the sight of Flynn—let alone Flynn looking furious and holding a very scary-looking firearm—could fill him with the kind of relief it did right then. He caught his eye, trying with all his might to get _help!_ across without speaking it, and got a barely perceptible nod in response.

Angry Kid did not drop the knife. He did calmly return it to its sheath as he turned, seeming neither startled nor particularly bothered by the large man with a large gun pointed at him. "Lieutenant Commander Kleid?"

"…Yes," he answered warily, lowering his gun… slightly. The stranger's nonchalance was unsettling. "Who exactly are you, and why are you threatening my electrical engineer?"

In response he drew up straight, saluting as though he _hadn't_ just pulled a knife on Flynn's electrical engineer. "Specialist Stoker reporting, sir."

Vince blinked. _Seriously?_ Okay, so he wasn't Stokes—but it seemed like he could have just _said that earlier…_

Flynn seemed to share his disbelief; it took him several long seconds to get words out. Finally he gestured to the back wall. "My office is on the right," he said icily. "Go and _wait_."

"Yessir." Stoker nodded calmly and brushed by Vince without another word.

That… had seemed way too easy. Flynn stared after him until the office door closed, then turned to look at Vince, who still looked stunned and slightly terrified. Understandable. Maybe this was the military, but having a crewmate pull a weapon on you _in the hangar_ was rather outside the normal realm of expectation.

Then again, based on Stoker's file, maybe it _should_ have been more expected.

Holstering his gun, he took a cautious step towards Vince. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Neither of those questions had easy answers right now; Vince opened his mouth and let out a couple of ragged squeaks before actual words came forth. "I'm in one piece, and uh, I don't know."

"You don't know why our systems analyst just pulled a knife on you?" He sighed, looking at the door again. "Honestly sounds about right."

"He said he wanted you, and I said you said to yell for you, and he said to yell. So I did. And he pulled the knife, and uh, well, full disclosure, the wire I was holding sparked."

…Oh. And here they were with the other problem. Flynn looked down at the wire, which was still smoking a bit, and the diagnostic screen it had landed on, which was bearing a quite large scorch mark. "Yes, yes it did." Looking between Vince and the door where Stoker had vanished, he shook his head in bewilderment. "Does the Academy not teach anger management anymore?"

"I've had a few lectures on it," Vince grumbled, feeling heat rush to his ears. _It's just never really the problem_.

Flynn studied him for a moment, then picked up the diagnostic tablet and rubbed the soot off with his sleeve before handing it back. "I'd better go deal with him… going to be alright here? That middle door is a break room if you need a few minutes, there are decent couches."

Though he appreciated the offer, a break was the last thing Vince wanted right now. Wiring calmed him. Thinking about stabby crewmates did not. "I'd rather just get back to the work."

"Okay." Flynn patted his shoulder; he seemed much less scary now. "I'll be back sooner or later."

Nodding, Vince watched him go before turning back to the landing gear. _Better him than me_.

* * *

Cam was at the gym; he'd needed to blow off some steam. That… that Brennan guy had completely ruined his first impression. Barging in like that, really? He sighed, trying not to think about that brat anymore. The treadmill had done a pretty good job of helping him work through his annoyance. He'd taken a short rinse and now it was time for nice relaxing steam. Pushing on the door to the sauna, Cam smiled. This was just what he needed.

His smile disappeared almost as soon as it appeared.

Sitting in the corner of the room was none other than Brennan. Of _course_ he was here. The universe was obviously punishing him for… well, for something. They made awkward eye contact for a minute before Cam decided that he wasn't going to let him ruin his steam too, and sat down on the opposite side of the room. He pointedly ignored his new crewmate; it would be good practice for the future.

Daniel, on the other hand, wasn't interested in being ignored. All he could focus on was the awkward silence. He wasn't a fan of silence in general, but awkward silence was the worst. It didn't last very long before he _had_ to say something. "So, uh… you got the hots for Kogane or something?" It was an honest question, considering how he'd fanboyed earlier.

"What?! I am not—I don't—I'm not even gay! And certainly not for a superior officer!" Cam protested. Daniel smirked.

"Too bad, you're kind of hot. But for not being gay you sure did fawn over his ass in there."

Cam chose to just ignore the first part of that. "I admire him, okay? He's a good officer, and a good man, and if it weren't for… stuff… he'd still be at the top of the list when instructors are suggesting role models. Am I supposed to not look up to him?"

_Of course that's all there is to it_. Daniel rolled his eyes."Oh you're supposed to look up to him, I've heard all about it. More than once." Many of his professors had tried that shit. They'd told their classes to model themselves after a few different officers. Kogane had been one of them, but he'd never met the guy before today. "Didn't know anyone actually did it."

Nodding earnestly, Cam continued, either missing or ignoring his sarcasm. "He was one of the youngest Commanders in the Alliance! And then that stupid bitch…" He fell silent, cheeks going bright red.

_Oh?_ "Ooooh, we gonna gossip? What'd the stupid bitch do? And which stupid bitch? There's a whole lot of them around here." _Maybe he's not a completely lame fanboy._

"What? We can't gossip about our commander!" Cam shook his head. "It's against protocol."

Sigh. Nope, he was back to being a lame fanboy. Hot, but lame. But calling people stupid bitches was against protocol too, so maybe there was hope if he just pushed a little harder. "You're on an Explorer Team, dude. You can bend protocol a little. Hell, it's probably expected. Now spill."

"I don't like you much, just so you know." Cam glared.

"Really? Between the glaring and the scoldings I would've thought we were best friends," Daniel retorted, rolling his eyes. Then he sighed. He was doing it again. That thing where he'd be a complete ass and people, for whatever reason, wouldn't want to be his friend. It hadn't taken long at _all_.

Cam sighed too. Brennan was an ass, but they were going to be working together. A little bonding couldn't hurt. Hopefully.

"Okay, fine. Commander Kogane came to my Personnel Management class and gave a talk. I was really impressed, so I stayed after class to ask him some questions. But one of my classmates, Jenna—Jenna Wade, she's Sky Marshal Wade's daughter. She was always a bully who thought she could get away with anything." Cam's tone dripped bitterness. He'd met a few others like her; children of high officers who thought they were entitled to just coast through the Academy. He couldn't comprehend it, and he'd have matched his heritage against any of them. "She grabbed the Commander and kissed him right there in front of everyone… including the Sky Marshal standing in the doorway, it turned out."

"Wow…" Daniel winced. "Never met that particular stupid bitch. Met her dad though." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Nice guy." They had in fact met more than once; the contempt was deep and mutual.

"Oh yeah. _Great_ guy. The look on his face, I thought he was going to have heart failure."

"Too bad he didn't." Daniel paused a moment before smirking. "That explains how Kogane got this job. How'd you get kicked here?"

Cam took a moment to reply; he knew exactly how this was going to go over. "I… like I said, I admire him. I read up on his career and thought he's the kind of commander I wanted to learn from, even if it _is_ on an Explorer Team."

_Oh for…_ Daniel wasn't sure if he should laugh or roll his eyes. "You asked to be here?"

"Yeah, I did."

He probably shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. "You may not be gay, but you totally have a thing for that guy."

Glare. "You're horrible, Brennan."

"And that's why I got this assignment!" Daniel had been trying for a laugh, maybe even a smile. He got neither.

"…You're proud of that aren't you?" Cam asked after a few moments.

"Well, yeah. I don't fit military standards, but I'm too good to throw away." Those hadn't been the exact words used by his professors or the Commodore, but that had been the gist of it. "That's like a badge of honor." Daniel smiled, but Cam just rolled his eyes

"You're crazy."

"I think you've mentioned that before."

"Well it needed repeating."

"Probably." Alright, maybe the guy really wasn't all that bad. The fanboy thing would definitely need to be worked on, but he seemed scrappy. Daniel could work with scrappy.

"So, if you're such a runty brat with obvious issues with authority…" Between his behavior in the Commander's office and, well, his mouth, him not being a fan of authority hadn't been a big jump in logic. "…why the hell did you join up in the first place?"

"A runty—a _what?!"_ Daniel had heard the question, but he was more concerned with the 'runty brat' part. What did that even mean? Was he being called small? He was taller than the fanboy was!

Cam eyed him slyly. "I didn't stutter. Maybe you should see a doctor and get your ears cleaned out? Could be part of your problem…"

Huh. That was actually a semi-impressive insult. "And here I thought you were just a fanboy with no redeeming qualities." Smirk. "I joined for the action. Mainly flying, but I guess there weren't any Explorer Teams needing a fighter pilot. Shooting is fun too."

Cam made another small but accurate jump in logic. "So adrenaline junkie."

"I prefer the term daredevil," Daniel corrected. Adrenaline junkie made him sound like, well, a junkie. "And what about you? Why'd you join? I'm assuming being Kogane's ultimate fan wasn't the initial goal?"

"…Would you _stop?_ I just admire him! Maybe you should stop mocking and try learning from him too, you could sure use it."

Sigh. If they were going to get along he was going to have to nip _that_ in the butt. "Alright, that's it. I'm declaring your love for Kogane a no-no topic."

"I don't _love _him!" Cam snapped. "For crying out loud, I just—"

"—Ah! Ah!" Daniel wagged his finger at him. "What'd I say?"

"Know what, _fine_." He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply. "You stop calling me fanboy, I'll stop defending myself with why he's worth looking up to, deal?"

"Deal. Now answer the question. Why'd you join the military?"

That topic could probably get him in trouble too; he doubted Daniel cared much about history. "Family tradition. Plus I needed off the moon."

Daniel's eyes widened slightly. Maybe he really _was _kind of interesting. "You grew up on the moon? That's pretty cool, dude."

"Yeah. Bazadva. Base Two." Cam didn't sound nearly so enthused. The moon had a certain mystique about it, to people who didn't live there. The original colonies had been kept almost fully intact. No domes, no terraforming, just a living relic being preserved for posterity. "There is _nothing_ to do up there. My Granny raised me, she was Russian… very Russian. If I hadn't gone into the military I'd just be on a nonstop vodka bender."

"Yeah? My grandma's Korean. Hates me." Well really she hated his father—totally understandable—and him by association—not as understandable. Oh well. "And I don't care how boring the moon is, it has to be way cooler than Utah. Nothing but suburb-filled desert." He smirked. "Vodka wasn't my thing though. Breaking into abandoned warehouses and blowing shit up was more my style."

Cam just stared at him, again. "And you're back to showing that you're insane."

"I was bumped straight to an Explorer Team for a reason, y'know."

"Obviously." The steam, and this conversation, had done all it could for him. He stood up, hand on his towel to make sure it was secure. If it fell he was certain he'd _never _live it down. "Guess I'll, uh, see you around. Weird runty brat."

Daniel groaned, annoyed. "And by 'around' do you mean tomorrow at 0800? …And stop calling me _that!_ What does that even mean?" _He better not be calling me small._

"You don't want to know." Cam grinned. "Later, brat."

"Whatever man."

Cam hightailed it out of there at full speed. Just like always. He wasn't running from his new crewmate. Of course he wasn't.

Watching him disappear, Daniel just shook his head, snickering. They were going to get along just fine.

* * *

Flynn had never seen much use in having an office. The bay was his domain, he didn't need a damn desk to sit and be bored at. All he'd even bothered to bring into this one was a heap of technical manuals and a neon OPEN sign that he may or may not have stolen from the Garrison Grill on a drunken bet. It wasn't exactly going to lend a lot of gravity to the situation, but it was what he had.

Stoker was sitting in the chair across from the desk, his knees drawn to his chest, staring quietly at the floor. His green eyes flickered up as Flynn entered, and he met them icily.

"You're off to a hell of a start," he scowled, closing the door behind him. "I've read your file, I know how you earned your slot here, and I know Kogane's talked to you because I got a message from him and all it said was 'good luck'. So let's get something straight here: I don't care what you want to do in bar fights, but stabbing is _not_ acceptable conflict resolution in my engine bay. Are we clear?"

He expected hostility, and quite possibly a knife. Everything in Stoker's file, let alone his introduction, said that would be the case. Instead the young man shrank back slightly, lowering his eyes back to the floor. "Yessir. It was a misunderstanding."

_A misunderstanding?_

There were several things Flynn wanted to say about that, but he bit them all back. The kid—at this moment he suddenly looked very much like a kid—seemed completely sincere. No sense pushing until he got the expected hostility; he'd take this.

Figuring out how the hell that had been a _misunderstanding_ seemed like a priority, though. "Explain."

Stoker nodded without hesitation, speaking in a quietly clinical tone. "I asked him where to find you. He said he could yell for you. I didn't expect him to mean literal yelling, and reacted poorly." Frown. "Then he set off sparks, which seemed wholly unnecessary."

How two identical stories could barely resemble each other, depending on the speaker, was fascinating. "You didn't think pulling a knife on him might also be wholly unnecessary?"

"Yessir. It was an overreaction." He looked back at the floor for a few moments. Somehow he seemed more focused than chastised, as if he were trying to remember something. "Do I need to apologize?"

"…That would be the best course of action, I think." _What the hell?_

Almost as soon as he'd said it, Stoker stood and turned to the door. Then he paused. "Should I do it now?"

Flynn rather doubted Vince would want to see him right now, but putting it off didn't seem likely to be productive. Maybe it would settle things down. "Best you do."

Nodding, the young man slipped out the door without another word. No way in hell was he going out there alone. Following a little behind the new wrenchling, he found his hand wanting to go to his sidearm, just in case… he resisted the urge. If he could _not_ need to pull a gun on a subordinate again, that would be ideal.

Sure enough, Vince did not look thrilled to have Stoker turn up again; he gave Flynn a mildly betrayed look. Stoker ignored the tension. "I came to apologize for the knife," he muttered as it became evident Vince wouldn't speak first. "My name's Pidge." He gave a short nod of greeting.

It was all Vince could do not to let his jaw drop. _Um…_ what was he supposed to say to that? The absence of the word _sorry_ wasn't lost on him, but did he point it out? No, no. His mothers had raised him to be a gentleman. "I accept your apology," he said a little stiffly, then attempted a smile. "I'm Vince. Sorry about the sparks."

Pidge just nodded. Was that an acceptance? That was probably an acceptance…

"Can you two manage to not kill each other?" Flynn asked, looking warily between them. He still had to decide whether he was going to second waiving Stoker's probation or not, and clearly that decision would take some time.

"Wait, _each other?_ …Uh, I mean, sure."

"I'm just here to do a job, sir."

…That was probably the best he could hope for right now.

* * *

"You will be the last to enter, and expected to address the hall. Whatever greeting is customary for your people will be appropriate. Remember that you are an honored guest here, and have nothing to fear."

Romelle nodded as Kalindra ran her through the etiquette primer one more time. Earlier she'd focused on every detail. Now she was mostly asking for the familiarity… something, however slight, to ease her nerves. She had been self-conscious since she'd arrived, and now—standing just outside the banquet hall, waiting for the page to announce her—she felt very underdressed.

Truthfully, the skimpy outfit was not _quite_ as unpleasant as she'd expected. It was surprisingly comfortable, the fabric feather-soft, the gold accents and strings of crystal separated from her skin by silky gauze. She certainly would _not_ be comfortable wearing this in front of her family, but at least the discomfort wouldn't be physical… perhaps it really was some kind of Drule tradition.

The announcement seemed to come far too quickly. "Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Romelle of the House of Lachesis of Pollux."

_No turning back now. I am a princess of Pollux. My dignity is not to be questioned._

Romelle squared her shoulders and held her head high as she walked into the room. She saw the upset looks on her father and brothers' faces, and the glance King Zarkon shot his son upon seeing her—perhaps he didn't approve either. However, the look on the Prince's face made her shiver.

Stopping before the head table, Romelle curtsied. "King Zarkon. Prince Lotor. Father. Brothers. Guests. It is a pleasure and honor to be here with you this evening."

Zarkon rose to his feet. "Princess Romelle, we welcome you to our world, and soon to our family. Please, child, rise and join us."

Romelle rose and nodded her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty. It would be my honor to join you."

Zarkon held a hand out to her, waving her around the table to the open seat between him and Lotor. Her father and brothers were seated on the other side of the king. Avok, her oldest brother, was whispering furiously into her father's ear, who slowly held his hand up to silence him.

Romelle moved to the empty seat and Lotor stood, pulling the chair out for her. "Thank you, Your Highness," she murmured politely.

"You're welcome." He leaned closer to her and whispered directly into her ear. "You look ravishing."

She blushed. At least someone was appreciative of her attire? "Um… thank you, Your Highness."

He responded with a smile that bared brilliantly white teeth and glinting fangs. Immediately she had to fight down a flinch; it looked so predatory, but then, the Drules _had_ fangs. They couldn't very well smile without showing them, could they? What else could she expect?

Lotor stroked her hair, then took his seat and lifted her hand, kissing it. It would be _very_ rude to shiver, skimpy clothes or not… the heat in her cheeks was spreading to most of her face, anyway. The prince released her hand after a moment, and his gaze turned to his father, who was still standing and clearing his throat for attention. Which couldn't possibly have been heard throughout the hall… it seemed directed quite specifically at one prince.

"Friends and subjects, we are here for two important celebrations. We welcome the planet Pollux as valued allies of the Ninth Kingdom. A toast first to their wisdom, and a glorious future together!"

Voices rang throughout the hall. "To the wisdom of Pollux!" Romelle didn't raise her glass—she knew that would be a breach of protocol, being after all a subject of the toast—but it made her feel all the more conspicuous as everyone around her toasted and drank.

Zarkon smiled as the goblets clinked down, a smile somehow much less disturbing than his son's. "And now, my subjects, I ask you all to formally welcome the avatar of our alliance. Princess Romelle, the first _a'kuri_ of my first and only son, who shall soon be an honored Princess of Korrinoth and our kingdom."

Now she felt even more self-conscious, as more cheers rang out through the hall. "To Romelle, _a'kuri_ of Lotor! Long may she stand at his side!"

_That word again_. Romelle was much more confident in her fluency in Drakure than she was in either her clothing or her impending courtship, but some nuances escaped her. Swallowing hard and gathering her courage, she looked to Lotor. "Your Highness, if I may… what is an a'kuri?"

He set his glass down and raised an eyebrow, then smiled again. "You must feel free to ask me anything, Princess. A'kuri is the title of honor for one being courted."

Feeling free to ask him things was out of the question, but she did relax slightly. "Thank you," she murmured, and took a drink of her water to give herself an excuse to look away.

A first course was being served now, delivered by servants in fine vestments: some kind of pale, pulpy fruit drenched in a rich red sauce, sprinkled with… something else red and unidentifiable. Romelle had never seen anything like it. Her first bites were tentative, but she was again surprised to find it quite tasty.

"Meskotha," Zarkon commented beside her, and she jumped slightly. "A delicacy from our ancestral homeworld. Eating meskotha signifies the beginning of a great journey, and brings fortune to the endeavor. Do you like it?"

"It is delicious," she said softly, but truthfully. _And I can use all the fortune I can get_.

Once the fruit was done, servants brought water and wine around. Lotor took a long drink of his water, then looked at her. "Come with me, Princess. The most auspicious time to formally begin our courtship is immediately after the meskotha is eaten." This time when he bared his fangs she had no _doubt_ it was predatory. "It's just a small ceremony."

A small ceremony. How bad could that be? She nodded and went to stand—he motioned for her to stop, then rose and pulled out the chair for her. Unsettling as he was, at least he was courteous… she would get used to his mannerisms in time. Wouldn't she?

The banquet hall was arranged around a raised stage. A hush fell over the guests as they approached it, and Romelle braced herself. She'd already been up in front of this crowd once. She could certainly do it again. Lotor extended his hand to help her up the steps, and she accepted with a slight blush.

That blush became much less slight as he pulled her forward and caught her in a deep, hungry kiss.

_A small ceremony?!_

Reflex was screaming for her to push him away. She might have even made a halfhearted attempt at it—he didn't react, but drew back a moment later. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her brothers looking stunned, her father grimly resigned. Bandor, her younger brother, looked away, and Avok turned to reassure him.

Lotor's voice drew her full attention back to him. "The first gift of many," he murmured, tracing his hand up her arm. "Did it please you?"

Her blush wasn't going anywhere, especially not when his fingers started playing with one of the fastenings on her shoulder. She'd never been kissed like that before, and this didn't seem like the place to try to figure out whether she'd actually liked it. Only one answer was acceptable here. "I… am honored, Your Highness."

He smirked slightly. She felt the fastening he'd been toying with give way, letting one string of crystal slide down her shoulder. "I could honor you further," he offered, moving on to another clasp. "We could fully consummate our alliance here and now, before the eyes of all."

_What?!_ That didn't sound like a small ceremony in the least. _No. You must be strong. For Pollux…_ she fought down the screaming desire to push him away and flee. There was nowhere to go, and no doubt she wouldn't pay the price alone. "If… if that is your custom, Your Highness…"

A flutter of gauze fell away, and he leaned forward to kiss her bare shoulder. "A ruler creates his own customs, dear a'kuri. Come, let us set a new tradition in motion today…"

She shivered as his lips touched her; she definitely didn't like _that_. Especially not here, not now, not like this… her eyes flickered up to the main table again. King Zarkon's eyes were narrowed in cold focus. Avok looked about ready to leap from his seat, while Bandor looked like he wanted to run away as badly as she did.

Her father's gaze was locked on his plate, and she gave him a smoldering glare of betrayal. _You sentence me to this and won't even look me in the eye? _For half a second, she lost sight of everything but fury. Then Lotor's hand went to her breast, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

It had been coming on since Romelle had first entered the room in that ridiculous dress—_dress_ was too generous, really. King Kova had been trying more and more desperately to keep his elder son under control, to not ruin the alliance with his temper. But some things couldn't be tolerated.

This treatment of Romelle was one of those things. In front of so many people, including her little brother? All the worse.

Avok himself wasn't certain whether the last straw was his sister's accusing look, Lotor's hands on her, or Bandor biting his lip and flinching away. Perhaps all of the above. Either way he was out of his seat before he knew it, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Enough! We were promised an alliance, not abuse and humiliation!"

His father grabbed his arm. "Avok, sit—"

"—No, Father. This was not the agreement!"

King Zarkon barely even reacted; one of his eyebrow ridges arched in a way that might have been skeptical, approving, or anything in between. He was difficult to read. His son, on the other hand, was not. He released Romelle and turned, placing a hand on his own sword with a scowl. "Insulting your hosts is a poor beginning to a working relationship."

"As is insulting your guests!" He vaulted over the banquet table without so much as knocking over a single glass, glowering up at the stage. "If you wish to make a vassal of Pollux you must _earn_ it. Draw your sword!"

Lotor slowly looked him up and down, then nodded and turned to Romelle. If he'd touched her again Avok was sure he'd have lunged. But instead he calmly refastened her sleeve and murmured something to her; the low buzz of the other guests drowned it out, but she immediately rushed off the stage with a look of intense gratitude. Then he turned to him again. "Will you duel me for the honor of your sister and planet, Prince Avok? Come, then. I welcome it."

Avok stepped up to the stage, his eyes narrowed. "I will face you in any challenge, Prince Lotor."

The Drule prince sneered. "A battle to the death? We'll see just how—"

"—Lotor." King Zarkon scowled, slightly. "You are both royal heirs, and you will behave as such… and there is no need to so offend either Kusand or our new allies. A battle to the blood will suffice."

Though he'd known that was coming—Kusand, the god of hospitality, would certainly _not_ care much for killing someone at a banquet being held in their honor—Lotor couldn't quite keep the annoyance from his tone. "Yes, Father." This Avok was large and strong and moved like a skilled hunter; fighting him to the death would be such _fun_. He drew his blade, flashing in the light. "To the blood, then."

The Polluxian drew his own sword. It was a dull gray, in contrast to the nearly glowing silver of Lotor's ceremonial blade. A weapon that had seen time and blood and battle. He respected it… immediately he lunged, trying to catch the other prince off guard, only to be easily parried.

Avok pushed him back and withdrew, his cloak billowing as he whirled around. The move reminded Lotor somewhat of a mongoose—that half-conscious thought made him halt in his second lunge, and Avok's worn blade arced just in front of his nose.

Baring his fangs in a genuine smile, Lotor stepped back and took a more defensive posture. This _was_ enjoyable. Few opponents ever forced him to change his tactics. Almost immediately the Polluxian prince was bearing down on him, in a series of short slashes that were easy enough to block. He recognized them immediately. They weren't supposed to land, just to bait him into giving up an opening. Grinning, he parried just enough to keep Avok complacent, then feinted and lashed out with a strike that nearly caught his ribs.

A soft gasp that might have been Romelle caught his attention. Avok's, too, if the way his eyes narrowed was any indication; he wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as Lotor was. A shame, really. Maybe he'd come around in time.

All Avok wanted to do was end this as quickly as possible, but the Drule prince was skilled. For a moment he considered the possibility that he might lose this challenge. What would happen to Romelle then? What would happen to _Pollux_ then?

No. Unacceptable. He gathered his wits a moment. Lotor had read his strikes before, and made it look so _simple…_ he could use that. Launching into another series of very similar strikes, he met the other prince's eyes.

Oh, yes. Lotor knew what he was doing. Avok _knew _Lotor knew what he was doing. The only question was which of them would make the first move… but it wasn't a question. If Lotor was as good as Avok thought he was, he would move, and sooner than he had the last time.

_Let him_.

If he hadn't been anticipating it, the strike would have taken his blood and his hand. But he'd been waiting. Ready. As Lotor parried and moved in beneath his guard, he spun away and countered. There was momentary resistance, the tip of his blade catching either cloth or flesh, then Lotor was on him with his sword at his throat.

Both froze, staring at each other. Avok's eyes flickered to his blade for an instant. The slightest trickle of thick bluish blood was running down it from a scratch on the Drule's cheek.

Lotor grinned. "You're certain you don't want to fight to the death?"

Avok snarled. "I've defeated you fairly, according to your rules. Let my sister be."

"Oh, she's been safe since you challenged me. But I'm enjoying having a worthy opponent. Second blood, perhaps?"

A sharp clap interrupted them. Then another. King Zarkon was standing, slowly applauding as he looked over the combatants. "Very good, Prince Avok." He bared his fangs in an odd smirk. "Your strength is clear, and _requires no more demonstration_."

Lotor sighed, but grudgingly sheathed his blade. "Allies who cower prove themselves unworthy. Those who fight prove worthy of honor." He stepped down from the stage and knelt before Romelle, who visibly struggled not to back away as he took her hand and kissed it. "My apologies, my dear a'kuri. The test was necessary."

"Indeed. And instructive." Zarkon eyed Kova in a way that very much seemed to be asking why _he_ hadn't stood up for Romelle; the king grimaced, while Bandor again flinched away at his side. "A new toast, my subjects, to honor Prince Avok and Pollux!" He raised his glass.

Immediately dozens of jewel-encrusted goblets rose up once more, catching the light, filling the banquet hall with flashes of brilliant color. "Honor to Prince Avok! Honor to Pollux!"

It could have been very gratifying… but the whole display only sent shivers down Avok's spine.

"That was a test?" he muttered under his breath as he took his seat. "A _test?_ They would have humiliated Romelle before everyone here for a test? _Barbaric_."

"Hush," his father hissed back. "Don't ruin the goodwill you've won, or who knows what they might do?"

_Who knows indeed?_ Avok went to sip his own wine, smelled something deep and coppery, and decided to drink water instead. _And we're _still _going to leave her here with them?_ _What happens when they want more? Will they take Bandor? Mother? How much more will we give up for this 'alliance'?_

Servants were bringing the feast out now, making a point of bowing to him each time they passed the Polluxian delegation. Glancing down the table, he could see them treating Romelle with similar deference. It was all very impressive, and only served to make his skin crawl more.

_What have we gotten ourselves into?_


	5. Acclimatization

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 4_  
Acclimatization

* * *

The _Jupiter's Hammer_ was a very large spaceplane. There was a whole lot of boring technical whatever involved in that, but Jace didn't know or care about the ship's history. What he knew and cared about was that the ship had a sick bay. A wonderful, beautiful, fully provisioned sick bay, capable of hosting up to eight patients with each in their own sterile quarantine.

_Better not fucking come to that. But if it does, we're ready!_

What the _Jupiter's Hammer_ was _not_ was, well… the _Jupiter's Hammer_. Or at least, when Jace had arrived that morning he'd found the _Hammer_ on the ship's nameplate crossed out in red paint, with _Bolt_ scrawled above it. Inspiring.

He'd gotten a pretty judgmental look from their chief engineer when he'd asked why the ship needed renaming. "Because it's _wrong_. Vulcan had a hammer. Thor had a hammer. Jupiter did not have a hammer, Jupiter had a thunderbolt!" A memo had gone out to the team with those exact words five minutes later.

What the fuck ever made him happy, Jace supposed. Wasn't _his_ problem.

At least Medical had finally gotten their damn act together… mostly. Jace had requested both physical and digital files. The digital files were fine. The physical ones, well… he looked at the first one and his eyes nearly rolled out of his skull.

**Name: Jace Inácio Cardoso Gregory  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 22 (1/9/2394)  
****Height: 5'9"  
****Weight: 181  
****Hair: Dk. Brown  
****Eyes: Dk. Brown  
****Skin: Dk. Tan  
****Medical History:  
**

"I don't fucking need to read my _own file_," he muttered, tossing it aside. "I already know I'm allergic to stupid." But at least they were being thorough? Yeah, he'd stick with that…

Anyway, now that he had the records and an actual sick bay, he had history to discuss and pre-launch checkups to perform. Returning his attention to his datapad, he sent a note out to the others that they would be needing appointments. Preferably soon.

**That's not a request. Doctor's orders.**

He studied the message contemplatively, added a couple of smiley faces, and fired it off.

* * *

It was early, too early. Vince was working on the _Hammer_—no, wait—_Bolt_'s front landing gear and trying not to think about all the things that could go wrong with this assignment. It wasn't going well. That was how it worked, he could fight his tendency to overthink, but it generally won… he felt wrong-footed. He'd already caused scorch marks on the equipment, it wasn't an auspicious start.

Really he was thrown off by everything, and everyone. Lieutenant Commander Kleid seemed all right enough, but he was still intense and intimidating. Specialist Garrett was… odd, and even more intimidating to look at. He seemed friendly enough, though—maybe _too_ friendly, which didn't help. Then there was Stoker and his knife…

Vince shivered, trying to force himself to concentrate on the wiring in front of him, and wondered if he was even going to survive this mission.

"Heads up, wrenchlings!" Flynn's yell from the entrance startled him out of his thoughts. "Got a job for you two."

"Wrenchlings?" Hunk repeated, poking his head out of the maintenance shaft. "Wait, when did we start being wrenchlings and how's come I wasn't informed?"

The chief had gone straight to the maintenance console, and didn't even look up at the question. "You've always been a wrenchling, I just didn't need to use a collective term for all _one_ of you the last time out. Get out of there, we're going to do something crazy."

_Ooh, something crazy! And with the new kid! This oughta be fun._ He jumped out and grinned at Vince, who was approaching much more hesitantly, then turned his attention to the chief. "What's the plan? Big Wrenchling One is ready!"

Now Flynn did look up, and seemed to decide he wasn't brave enough to say whatever he was thinking. "…Kogane wants some extra armaments, in case we run into pirates that don't exist. Again. The brass approved upgraded missile tubes but apparently asking for a disruptor cannon was 'not a realistic requisition'." He rolled his eyes and muttered something about Command's lack of imagination, then studied the two of them. "How long will it take you two to build one?"

It was kind of gratifying how he didn't bother asking if they _could_, though looking at Vince, Hunk wasn't sure the kid shared that opinion. "Ain't that intensive," he shrugged. "A week or so, as long as little dude here's got the hookup know-how, and if he didn't he wouldn't be here, right?" He clapped the younger engineer on the shoulder.

That seemed to scare him more than encourage him. Okay, something to keep in mind.

"I… um… I mean it wouldn't take very long, no, the principles are pretty simple." Vince shook his head. "But they're right, it's not realistic. We wouldn't have near enough power to run a weapon like that."

Flynn smiled. "Wouldn't we?"

Vince gulped and edged back before answering. "No sir. The _Vagrant-_class carries next to no surplus power, it's designed for efficiency."

"Very true." The chief's smile became an outright smirk. "Unless we hook it directly to the backup generator."

"What? But that…" Vince's first objection died before he could get it out. "But what if…" Nope, that one wasn't good either. "If we…" Still nope. "That… that violates about half a dozen regulations," he finally protested weakly.

_That all you got, kid?_ Hunk kept the chuckle to himself.

Flynn didn't. "Welcome to the Explorer Teams, Vince." He winked. "Get on with it."

* * *

**Name: Sven Holgersson  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 24 (9/10/2392)  
****Height: 5'11"  
****Weight: 182  
****Hair: Black  
****Eyes: Gray  
****Skin: Pale  
****Medical History:**

"Your file is _boring_, Viking. I appreciate that."

Sven raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in the padded sick bay chair. "You're welcome?"

"I can't _tell_ you the messes some of these other people have gotten into," Jace muttered, sighing and shaking his head. "Though I guess we'd better add 'susceptible to rift sickness' to your file until we can prove otherwise. About a 50/50 chance of it being a recurring issue or going away after a couple jumps."

The Viking made a face; it was the correctly uncomfortable face for the subject, in Jace's opinion. "Let's hope for the second option."

"Here's hoping." Smirk. "A navigator with rift sickness. Irony isn't dead."

"Yes… irony," Sven agreed flatly. "Very amusing." He was, without doubt, not amused.

"Could be worse. Oh hey! Before you go, got something to show you." Jace jumped out of his own chair and motioned for Sven to follow, leading him to a corner of the room. Opening a door and pushing aside a curtain revealed a sterile decontaminating shower—just one of the wonderful features of his _fully equipped sick bay_. "Isn't it beautiful?" he asked, miming wiping away a tear.

"…Yes it is," Sven agreed with a small laugh, eyeing the shower and shaking his head slightly. "That would've come in handy last mission."

"No kidding." Jace laughed too. "Hopefully you won't need this one, but you're the only person here I figured would appreciate it as much as I do."

Sven was _very_ appreciative. "Yes… and hopefully." He didn't really sound optimistic.

"Hey now. _That_ tone is uncalled for." Grinning, Jace waved him back towards the main door. "Now get outta here. I've got way worse patients to yell at."

"Yes, doctor." Also grinning, the navigator headed out.

* * *

Since the midrange hangars were on a fairly isolated part of the Garrison, they were designed to be as self-sufficient as possible. That included their own sim rooms. Hangar L4-West shared a room with Hangar R4-West nextdoor, which was currently unoccupied. So Keith had free reign. He'd been there very early, setting things up, and was a little startled when Sven arrived.

_Just in time_.

They exchanged nods, standing side by side as they waited. And waited. And waited…

"They're a bit late, don't you think?" Keith crossed his arms.

The navigator eyed him, then checked his watch. "They've got a minute—" He paused when a blonde kid wearing an ensign's uniform came rushing in, barely on time. "There's one."

Lance came in maybe half a minute behind him, already questioning the whole premise. "Sims, boss? Really?" It looked like Sven agreed with his questioning, but he didn't voice it. Lance looked past him and caught sight of the ensign. _Aha, new blood. _For his part, Cam was visibly excited about the sims—it _was_ his first mission, and he was ready to make the most of it.

"It's more for the new crewmates than for you, but we do need to see how we all work together as a group," Keith answered. "Work out any issues that may arise."

"Real thing worked fine for us."

That was… a word for it. "I would have _preferred_ to have been able to run sims with you all, too. We didn't have that time."

"Not sure how it would've helped with the situations we ended up in, boss." Lance scratched absently at a scar left on his arm from the evil vines.

"Which is why I designed this sim myself," Keith admitted. That got him a small grin from Cam. Commander Kogane really _was_ as thorough as advertised.

"Oh really?" Lance arched an eyebrow, looking notably less impressed.

Even Sven seemed momentarily doubtful. "This should be interesting, then." Interesting _was_ this team's specialty. Speaking of the team… he turned towards the ensign and walked over to introduce himself. "Hello. I'm Lieutenant Sven Holgersson." He offered a hand, which the young man shook with a grin.

"We call him Viking," Lance cut in before the kid could actually speak. "I'm Lance McClain."

Cam nodded at him, giving a quick salute. "Hello, gentlemen. I'm Cameron Starr, I'm your new communications officer." He still had an eager grin on his face; Lance grinned in response, amused by his excitement. Sven smiled too, he seemed like a nice kid. "So, what do you two do?"

"I'm the navigator," Sven answered simply.

"I'm your extremely talented pilot," Lance bragged. Sven rolled his eyes fondly.

McClain did seem to have that cocky pilots' edge, Cam mused. But there was something calming about the navigator, which didn't line up with what he'd heard about Explorer Teams. Of course, the same was true of their commander. And himself, for that matter. But then, neither of _them_ were in jobs where half a millimeter and some complicated math were routinely the difference between success and fiery death…

"Lieutenant Holgersson, aren't navigators supposed to be… I mean, um…" He blushed, realizing a little too late that this was probably a very rude question. "…uh, you know, not… the usual temperament for an Explorer Team," he said finally.

To his relief, Sven just smiled. "No, not usually. But _someone_ has to be the sane one around here. It's a burden I bear gladly."

"For now," Lance muttered, smirking.

Cam's pale cheeks had flushed bright red, and now the blood slowly drained away again. "You do seem very collected, sir. I apologize if I was out of line with the question, I was just curious."

"It's alright. I didn't mind." Sven's eyebrows had raised a little in surprise; he wasn't used to a member of this team being so formal. It was either a nice change of pace, or a warning sign.

"Who are we waiting on?"

"Brennan." Keith sighed. "He even promised to be late… after he burst into my office without knocking yesterday."

"Really?" Lance smirked. "Sounds like he has style."

Sven disagreed. "That's not what that sounds like."

Cam agreed with Sven's disagreement. "More like he needs a boot up his ass…"

As if on cue Daniel walked in with a bright smile on his face. "Sorry I'm late!" He wasn't, but oh well. It was just a sim drill. Alliance sims sucked ass, he'd seen more than enough of them in training.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Brennan." Keith's tone was half scolding, half sarcastic.

And there he was with the Mr. Brennan again. Daniel made a face. "Nice to be here… I guess."

Keith ignored him and sat down at the command station. "So, shall we get this started?"

"Sooner we do, sooner it's over," Lance responded with a shrug. _And the sooner it's over, the sooner we can leave._ He settled into his seat and eyed the new kids, then the boss, wondering just what he might have in store based on their last time out. Maybe this would be more interesting than the average sim.

"I'm ready here, Commander," Cam assured him as he looked over his station. It looked a bit messy, and there was a crack on one of the screens. Nothing he couldn't handle. This was his chance to impress his new team, he was ready for it. He watched his monitors carefully as they came to life.

"Yes sir." Sven sat at his station, ready to do basically nothing. Navigators didn't usually have much of a role in simulator drills. This must've been how Jace felt at his battle station.

"Yeah…" Daniel sat at his station, sighing. Gunnery was fine, he supposed. He'd much rather be the pilot, but at least he got to shoot things. "Let's get this over with. Sims are boring."

For a moment, Keith let a smug smile cross his lips. _That_ attitude wasn't going to last.

"Contact," Cam reported abruptly as his console lit up. "Multiple unidentified ships bearing 312. Seems to be a capital ship and several smaller craft."

_Here we go._ Keith didn't immediately respond. The fact that he'd designed this sim notwithstanding, in any real scenario he would need more information to make a decision. He glanced around the room. Daniel's hand moved over the trigger, ready to shoot. The idea of action, even fake action, got his blood pumping. Lance on the other hand was fighting back a yawn.

"No IFF, no registration broadcast, no identifying markings. Probability says pirates. With… a _Leyte_-class carrier?" Confusion and surprise laced Cam's tone.

Lance laughed. "Yeah, that's pirates."

"You've… encountered them before?"

"Starr, you have no idea."

Daniel smirked as he started to track the approaching targets. "Maybe this _won't_ be completely boring."

"Work some magic, McClain," Keith ordered, cutting them off.

That wasn't very specific. "Orders to fly closer?" Lance asked, to clarify—he was already doing it, but it didn't hurt to ask. It wasn't going as well as it could have, really. The huge _Vagrant_ was much less agile than the _Firecrown_ had been, and the sim's stick felt sluggish.

Flying closer to a carrier with a cargo ship sounded like a bad idea to Cam. He was fully expecting their commander to deny that request, but instead Keith nodded. "Stay on course."

…Well, he supposed as he blinked back the shock, this was an Explorer Team. He'd asked for this. And before he could think on it any further, movement on his own screen snapped him out of it—he had a job to do. "They've seen us. Incoming transmission." He flipped on the main comms as a message came through.

"_Vagrant_-class vessel, you are locked in our systems. We have superior numbers and firepower. Surrender now and prepare to be boarded."

"Starr, tell them we are non-hostile, but will return fire if provoked." Keith ordered.

"Yes sir." He took a deep breath; it sounded insane, but it wasn't his place to question. "Unknown force, this is the ACS _Jupiter's H_—uh, _Bolt_." He caught a glimpse of their pilot snickering. "Our intentions here are peaceful. But we have no intention of surrendering, and we _will_ defend ourselves if necessary."

The pirates didn't respond, at least not over the comms. All of the smaller craft opening fire seemed like enough of a response. Smirking, Daniel immediately engaged the point defense systems with one hand and started returning fire with the other.

Lance and Keith both exchanged raised eyebrows. Lance was impressed; the kid was quick and fearless. Keith was less impressed, mostly because he hadn't given the order to fire yet. But it had been coming, so he set it aside for the moment. They could discuss it later.

He hadn't given orders for evasive maneuvers either, but that was kind of implied when the missiles started launching. Lance growled in frustration as he tried to bring the ship about. "Fuck, these controls suck." It wasn't all the controls, he knew that, but they weren't helping anything.

Daniel laughed. The enemy fighters weren't having any trouble maneuvering, but they seemed to be underestimating the _Bolt's_ capabilities. Just because it couldn't move didn't mean it couldn't blast them out of the sky. As another fighter tried to cut in behind their wing, he loosed a missile and watched it vanish in a shower of flame. This wasn't completely boring after all.

"One more small fighter down," Cam reported. "Three targets remain besides the carrier."

Lance spared a quick look over at Daniel, grinning. "Having fun, kid?"

"Yeah, think you can keep up?" their gunner challenged.

"Keep up with _you?_ Don't make me laugh."

Sven rolled his eyes. At least they were having fun.

Cam wasn't exactly having fun either. Not that he wasn't enjoying the challenge, but… he blinked as his monitors started fuzzing in and out. There was a message incoming, supposedly. "Um, sir? I think something is wrong, I'm getting a message but it's all…" He trailed off as a garbled mess of numbers and symbols scrolled across his screen, earning a concerned look from the commander.

The concern only increased as the comms crackled. "—zzzbt or enginissiles bzzz render zzzbt down down down down—" Before Cam could hit the override the transmission cut out in a burst of static and a thin trickle of smoke.

Wait, smoke? That wasn't how comms worked. At all!

Lance eyed his own screens, which were starting to flicker a bit. "Fucking crappy Alliance simulators." He sounded bored again.

As more smoke started coming from the communications console, Cam stood up and started backing away. Sven, whose station was next to his, decided that was a good move and joined him. Keith was the only one to move towards the smoking console, placing a cautious hand on the side. He had no idea what was wrong with it, but it seemed to be getting hotter.

"Um… this isn't part of the the simulation, is it?" Cam asked. If the ship had been taking damage, maybe, though even then actual smoke seemed like a little much…

"No," the commander confirmed with a grimace. "No, it's not."

Daniel eyed him. "Dude, you broke it."

"I did _not!"_ Cam yelled, glaring.

"Hostile much? Chill out!" Daniel shook his head. Cam didn't yell back, but he continued to glare, muttering in Russian to himself.

Lance sat back in his chair, amused by the new kids. And by the busted sim, really. "I think this is a completely fitting result for us."

Keith shut off the console. "Well, that's true at least. Not the one I'd hoped for, but fitting." Hopefully they could reboot the malfunctioning station and… he hadn't even finished the thought when an odd hum filled the room, emanating from some unidentifiable source. Several lights went out. A few seconds later, with a low electrical whine, the entire sim room went dark. "Guess that's that, then. Great. We Explorer Teamed a sim." He sighed, Sven shook his head, and Lance laughed.

"What do we do now?" Daniel asked, hopeful for a dismissal.

A dismissal was not what Keith wanted to do, but he didn't see much choice. "I guess we wrap it up for now. We'll get the sims fixed and try this one again, if we don't get shipped out first."

"Yeah. I'm sure it'll go much better next time." Lance's sarcastic tone didn't leave anyone thinking it would go better next time.

"Not with these crappy sims," Daniel snorted.

"Lesson one kid, everything we get is crappy. They figure we're the only ones who can deal with it."

No sense letting that go on. "Get out of here, all of you," Keith ordered. "Before I put you on latrine. Again." He dropped back into the command chair and pulled out his datapad, starting to fill out a request for maintenance on the sim. Why did everything this team did end in him doing paperwork?

"Y-yes sir," Cam stuttered, flushed with embarrassment. Of course it would've been _his_ station that malfunctioned. He headed for the door behind Sven, who was realizing a little belatedly that he hadn't formally introduced himself to their gunner. Next time, then. He'd never been on latrine duty before and didn't intend to start now.

"Catch y'all later, I've got a date." Lance nudged Daniel on the way out. "Not bad shooting there, kid."

Daniel's eyes lit up at the praise. "Thanks. Your piloting wasn't bad either." Smirk. "A little rusty though." Immediately after saying it, he actually thought about it. _Aw shit. Don't take that badly, don't take that badly…_ Admittedly it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever said, by a long shot, but this was a new team… and clearly the coolest person on the bridge.

"Rusty," Lance repeated, shaking his head and smirking right back. "You're funny."

"I'm hilarious."

"And you know it, huh? Don't get too cocky, around here that's _my_ line." Lance slapped him on the shoulder and walked off before he could respond.

Laughing, Daniel watched him go, then turned to see Cam's melancholy face. His expression was still matching his mood. They couldn't have that… "Yo! Fanboy!"

"I'm _not_ a fanboy!" Cam glared. He thought they'd been over this.

Which they had, but it was still a perfectly good nickname and Daniel had no intention of giving it up any time soon. "Agree to disagree." He grabbed the ensign's arm and pulled. "You look like hell. Come on, let's go get that crappy look off your face."

"Hey! Wait, what?" Cam made a halfhearted attempt to pull free, but then allowed himself to be dragged. Which just proved how much the simulation had upset him. "Where are we going?"

Daniel just laughed. "You'll see."

Oh, no.

* * *

**Name: Vincent Samuel Hayes  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 18 (9/1/2398)  
****Height: 5'10"  
****Weight: 180  
****Hair: Black  
****Eyes: Amber  
****Skin: Dk. Brown  
****Medical History:**

"Now listen here, you little fuck. Let's get one thing straight. If you're gonna _lie_ on your _medical records_ I don't know what you expect me to be able to do for you."

Vince blinked, shrinking back slightly into the chair. "Lie?"

Glaring, Jace waved the paper in his face. "What exactly does it mean 'has never had a cold'? A _cold!_ Just because you weren't hacking your lungs out enough to go to a doctor?"

"I've… never had a cold," he confirmed in a small voice.

The medic kept glaring. "Not one. Not even a few sniffles."

"Nothing." Vince shook his head nervously, not looking at him. "My moms, um… would joke that they got the sperm from Captain America."

Jace had turned away for a moment to make a note. Now he stopped, slowly turning back to face him. "Captain America," he repeated, dramatically burying his face in his hands. "Porra, not _another one_."

Wince. "Not me! Them!"

"Oh, okay." He sighed, looking at the file. "They never even gave you a genetic test to figure out which mom's medical history is actually relevant to your health? Someone should've done that, but whatever, I've worked with worse." There were people on this very team with no family medical history at all, but it was still annoying.

Vince sighed also. "I can tell you? They just have this thing where it doesn't matter, because they're both _Mom_."

Rolling his eyes, Jace pushed one of the records pages at him, along with a pen. "That's sweet, but not very helpful to your doctor. Circle one."

"They don't know I figured it out?" Vince murmured, frowning at the paper. Jace didn't bother to comment. Medical wouldn't accept anything but genetic confirmation as definitive, it was a thing, but at least this would give him somewhere to start. "So um…" He quickly circled one and pushed it back.

"Valeu." Jace filed it away. "So I guess we don't have anything else to talk about. When you're the first person on this ship to get mutant space flu, I'm gonna laugh so fucking hard."

"I… don't get the flu," Vince protested. "But I give you permission to laugh if it happens."

"Oh well _that's_ nice of you." Waving him out, Jace stared at the doorway for a moment. "…Kid has no idea what he's in for here."

* * *

The hangar was quiet without any wrenchlings. Hunk and Vince were taking care of things elsewhere; Pidge was on break. Flynn was sitting on one of the _Bolt's_ lowered wingtips, watching the bay door. He was waiting for someone… before long he caught sight of a lone figure approaching. Right on time.

He had met Sergeant Faraday the day before. Since she wasn't authorized to be aboard the ship, she had to formally hand off authority over Pidge when her oversight shifts overlapped with his duty shifts. The nature of the handoff was such that he hadn't really had time to speak to her. Besides, he'd rather do it when there _wasn't_ a ninja within earshot.

Since his rather disastrous introduction, Pidge had been… okay? Flynn had noticed him going for his knife a couple of times, though he hadn't actually pulled it. But all he had to do was _look_ at Vince to make him nervously shuffle away, and even letting him and Hunk in the same general vicinity seemed like a terrible idea. It wasn't sustainable… he needed information. She seemed like the best source.

"Lieutenant Commander Kleid." Faraday saluted as she approached, which he returned before sliding off the wing. "You wanted to see me?"

"Very much so. Thanks for coming."

"Of course." She smiled faintly. "I'm sure I know what this is about, but I hope you aren't expecting too much."

"I'll take whatever I can get, at this point." Flynn sighed. "I've had this kid in my bay for three days and I'm ready to throw him down an engine core, and he's hardly even _done_ anything."

The sergeant tilted her head. "Sir, didn't he pull a knife on your electrical engineer?"

"…I mean, except for that." He blinked. He'd seen no reason to bring up the _misunderstanding_ to Pidge's probation officer. "How did you know about it?"

"He self-reported. Not that there's much I can do to him in the current circumstances. You and Commander Kogane have the reins."

Nodding, he motioned to one of the scattered workbenches. "Have a seat, if you like. How long have you been assigned to him?"

"Just a little over two weeks." She dropped onto the bench he'd indicated, sitting at attention. "He was my first case."

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "They gave you a _literal_ _ninja_ as your first case? Who did you either impress or piss off?"

Faraday laughed. "I've been wondering that ever since, sir. Though that aspect has been less trouble than I would've expected."

Now they were getting into what he needed. "How's that?"

"It doesn't seem he's inclined to use his powers for evil, so to speak. He's been nothing but obedient and honest the whole time I've had authority over him." She looked up at the ship, collecting her thoughts. "As a part of that, it has been made very clear to me that I'm only capable of monitoring him because he allows it."

Well, that was… something. Yes. Definitely something. "So what, he obeys but isn't happy about it?"

"Oh no, it isn't like that. If anything I'd say he's eager to please. I've seen several occasions where he'll attempt to pre-empt the orders he's expecting—it's just that his judgment on that count is sometimes questionable." She made a face. "For example, slipping his restraints as soon as he's released from the brig to save me the bother of unlocking them."

Aha. "That's… considerate of him?" A forgiving commander could probably call that admirable initiative. Flynn wasn't yet certain how forgiving he was going to be. "How many times a day does he usually pull knives on people?"

Faraday took a few moments to consider that; he hoped it wasn't just taking that long for her to count them up. Then she shrugged. "He'll go for a knife but think better of it… regularly. But I've never seen him actively threaten anyone."

Interesting. Maybe it really _had_ just been a misunderstanding… "What else can you tell me?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. He's been manageable enough as long as he understands what's expected of him. But, I haven't seen him under any real stress."

Maybe it wasn't a lot, but it was more than he'd had before. Not knowing how long he had to assess this kid himself, he had to take whatever he could get. "Every bit helps. I appreciate it."

She nodded, standing. "Good luck with him, sir. I hope he'll work out for you."

"So do I, Sergeant," he said quietly as she departed. "So do I…"

* * *

**Name: Daniel Augustus Brennan  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 18 (7/27/2398)  
****Height: 5'10"  
****Weight: 163  
****Hair: Black  
****Eyes: Dk. Blue  
****Skin: Lt. Tan  
****Medical History:**

"Okay let's get something straight here. I'm a medic, not a miracle worker." Jace was gracing the new gunner with his most disapproving look of the day. "I can't fix shitty judgment. Your _two_ tetanus shots _from a tattoo_ tells me that's gonna be your biggest health problem."

Daniel gave a completely unapologetic grin, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Yeah, I'll bet. The seventeen broken bones say otherwise." Frown. "Was the tattoo you apparently got in a fucking sewer somewhere at least worth it?"

With a shrug, the young man pulled up his left sleeve, displaying an angel tattooed on his bicep. Not just any angel. A bright yellow smiley angel that was nothing but head and halo and wings.

_That… is an emoji_. "No. No it was not." He looked between the tattoo and Daniel's face, then sighed and shook his head. "At least you're nice and fucking immunized against tetanus, I guess."

"Positivity isn't really your thing, is it?"

Oh, they had a master of observation here. "I'm positive I'm gonna regret having to deal with you, does that count?" He checked the file again and scowled. The kid had a very inconvenient allergy. "Any point asking if you hydrate properly? Take good care of your bladder? It's gonna _suck_ for you if you get a UTI and can't have anything with cranberries."

A wicked smirk crossed Daniel's face. "I'll suck anything you want, Doc."

Jace stared at him for a long time. That hadn't even… no, not worth it. "I'd tell you to go suck on a tailpipe, but then I'd have to do a lot of fucking paperwork. So just try _not_ to do anything to put yourself in mortal danger and we'll be fine."

"…I can't make promises like that."

That seemed like an admission that he really was that bad after all. "Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then." Sigh. "Porra."

* * *

Unity Common—not a creative name, but precise, which Pidge could appreciate—was the center of the Garrison. It was a grand circular plaza tiled in multicolored granite, split into six segments by smaller tiles of semiprecious gems. In the center, each of those segments hosted a small park of sorts, each dedicated to one of the Alliance's six founding powers. Sanctuaries, they were called—which was somewhat less precise.

It was always crowded on the Common itself, and it made Pidge uncomfortable. Every member planet of the Alliance had a sanctuary here, the others spiraling out from the original six. He had walked the path to Balto's many times by now… he barely breathed until he stepped from the colorful granite onto shimmering Baltan obsidian. The park was simple. The dark tiles, a few benches, a few native plants whose iridescent black leaves were hardly distinguishable from the obsidian around them. And the flag: black, with seven golden bladestars arrayed around a prowling silver panther, fluttering in the wind.

Balto. That was the English. In their own language, his people knew their planet as Shinor. And they called themselves Shinori, the Children of Shadows, who did not belong on this distant world of light.

But here he was.

Staring up at the flag, Pidge sighed slowly. He came here every Wednesday, just before noon. An old ritual. Not once had he ever seen anyone else at the Baltan sanctuary. He'd long ago stopped expecting to, but still, he kept coming back. It wasn't as if he had anywhere _else_ to be on his off time.

A shrill, mournful wail started to echo in the distance. Just the weekly siren test. The people meandering around the plaza paid it no mind. But he listened, committing the sound to memory, analyzing its wavering pattern as he had many times before. Reflex. There was nothing to learn from it.

There had to be something to learn _somewhere_ here. To understand these humans—they seemed so soft and undisciplined. Yet what they were doing seemed to work for them, and all he could do here was fail. Over and over. He'd failed to fit in on his first assignment, a _Unity_-class warship, its very name seeming to mock him. He'd failed at the Sibereal Prime Yard, where literally all he'd had to do was _not_ try to kill anyone. He'd told himself the Explorer Team would be different, and ended up pulling a knife on a crewmate he hadn't even met. It wasn't optimal. He had sworn an oath of loyalty to the Alliance, and he was very well aware he was on his very last chance of fulfilling it.

"Keromya si daliar," he murmured to the flag. One of a hundred mantras drilled into him from childhood.

_Failure is betrayal._

Not this time. This time, he would make it work… somehow.

* * *

**Name: Cameron Iosif Starr  
****Species: H. sapiens  
****Age: 19 (7/28/2397)  
****Height: 5'7"  
****Weight: 175  
****Hair: Blonde  
****Eyes: Blue  
****Skin: Pale  
****Medical History:**

"So, you've still got your wisdom teeth! That's cute. I heard you volunteered for this assignment so they're clearly not doing you much good."

"Uh, yeah, I do still have them. They haven't bothered me…" Cam paused. "Wait, really? I was top of my class!"

"Which obviously didn't do you much good either." Jace gestured dismissively. "I'm not gonna second-guess your dentist. Wouldn't mind knowing how you react to general anesthesia but honestly if you need that on this job we're fucked anyway."

The kid had the nerve to give _him_ a judgmental look. "You're… a charming person, aren't you?"

"Yes." _Ask a stupid question…_

He didn't seem quite sure how to react to that. "Um. Well, I haven't had general anesthesia before. But I don't have any known allergies, if that counts for anything?"

"I know." Jace waved the file at him. "I can read. It's boring reading. I appreciate that in my patients, keep it boring and we won't have a problem."

"Um… okay then. Am I okay to leave now?"

"No." Jace's eyes narrowed. "Your records say you're on prescription calcium and B12. That's good, being proactive with the quality control and all that crap." A flush crept over Cam's cheeks; he clearly knew where this was going. "Want to tell me why your last blood test doesn't seem to agree with that, Mr. Top-Of-Your-Class?"

"I'm… not very good at taking my meds regularly?"

"Well at least you're honest about it." Jace frowned. "There will be no 'not very good at taking my meds' on my watch, I will be checking in on you—by which I mean random blood tests. I hope you're okay with needles."

That was usually a pretty motivating threat, and Cam groaned. "As long as you don't go blowing my vein like the last three blood techs did…"

"I should take a sample right now for that, but I don't have my vials yet. Lucky you. Your veins'll be fine." Smirk. "You're good to go, when the rest of my supplies get delivered you'll be the first to know."

"Wonderful. Thanks." Cam took off before he could change his mind.

* * *

It felt like the ceremonies had gone on forever, and yet they were over so quickly. All too soon Romelle found herself standing in the shadow of the _Silver Touch_, Pollux's royal shuttle, watching her family approach for their goodbyes. At least today she was wearing one of her own gowns…

"Safe travels, Father. I will bring honor to Pollux and your name."

"See to it you do," King Kova said gruffly. "I have no doubt." Almost before he'd finished speaking, he turned and started for the ship. He'd spent most of the ceremonies avoiding his daughter, which she took to mean he was ashamed. As he should be—not that she could say so.

Bandor pouted wordlessly up at her as their father departed, and she smiled. "Be good, Bandor. Stay out of trouble." She knelt to ruffle his hair, and he clasped her wrist for a moment. Then Kova yelled for him and he scurried away.

Avok had lingered behind, only approaching as they disappeared up the ramp. "Romelle…" All the encouraging words he'd been mulling over for the last hour died on his tongue. They sounded trite and patronizing now.

"Brother." She smiled sheepishly. "I never did thank you for… what you did for me the other night."

"Always." He nodded and squeezed her hands. "Pollux won't be humiliated so easily. Take care of yourself, Romelle."

"I will." She drew her hands back slowly. "Keep a close eye on Bandor, try not to let Father be too harsh with him."

Oh, he'd do that and more. _Father should be worried about how harsh _I'm _going to be with _him_._ "I'll do my best."

"Safe travels, Avok. Please, send a message when you all arrive home…" She trailed off as Prince Lotor approached.

That wasn't someone Avok cared to see just now; his eyes narrowed. "Prince Lotor. Treat my sister well. You'll answer to _me_, if not."

Was it his imagination, or did the Drule look taken aback for a moment? It was only a moment in any case. Then he chuckled. "What if I want to answer to you? Perhaps we'll have that duel to the death after all?"

Avok's eyes flashed as Romelle paled. "If you want a duel, _send an invitation_."

The thought occurred to Lotor that perhaps Pollux had sent the wrong heir for him to court. Romelle was beautiful and dignified, but her brother would be so much more _fun_. Ah well. "You have nothing to worry about, Prince Avok. Your honor is proven, and your sister is in safe hands." He nodded respectfully. "Have a safe journey home."

For another few seconds, Avok just stared at him. Then he whirled and headed up the _Silver Touch_'s ramp, his cape billowing behind him.

As the shuttle's engines roared, Romelle clasped her hands in front of her. She _would_ be the perfect picture of well-mannered dignity here. And it helped to hide that her hands were shaking just slightly.

Rather than watching the shuttle, Lotor was watching her. Her unease was clear. What was he supposed to do about that? _Something_, surely. But with her being neither warrior nor slave, he really wasn't sure how to interact… the ceremonies hadn't helped. They were, after all, ceremonial. This was the first moment they'd had alone.

"You seem nervous, a'kuri." There. That seemed like a place to start.

Romelle looked up at him and nodded hesitantly. Did she dare answer? The answer was respectful enough. "I… I am, Your Highness. An enormous responsibility rests on my shoulders." _The fate of my planet_. "And I still know so little of your culture, I don't want to offend anyone. So yes… forgive me, but all of that naturally makes me nervous."

"Naturally." He rested a hand on her shoulder. It did make sense. She came from a primitive world with a primitive culture, the majesty of Korrinoth could only be overwhelming… "But we will teach you our ways. I know that it takes time to learn, and I assure you I won't be offended by any expressions of ignorance. You have my word."

_Maybe he isn't so bad…_ a smile, wary but genuine, slowly took hold on Romelle's face. "Thank you, Your Highness. That… means a lot to me."

_Perhaps this won't be so bad…_ he smiled back. "Come, it's getting late. This shuttle terrace becomes cold quickly at night." He leaned over and gently kissed her lips, then a spark of inspiration came to him. "And I believe it's time you were allowed to come to my bed, don't you think?"

What optimism Romelle had been feeling vanished, her face flushing bright red. "Um, I…" She swallowed a few times, trying to recover her composure. That had _not_ been dignified. "My Lord, um…"

He seemed truly concerned by her reaction. "It's alright, a'kuri. You are more than worthy." The words were followed with what was probably meant as an encouraging smile—those fangs were still not helping at _all_.

"Th… thank you, Your Highness?" Shivering a little, she decided to take a small risk. "It's only that… in my culture, we um, we wait until marriage to…"

"Ah! I see." He nodded and brushed a lock of her hair aside. "I have heard of such things. Cultures of needless deprivation. As I said, you will learn our ways… where better to start?"

_Where better to start…_ Romelle looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes and the smile on his lips. Suddenly she felt very cold, and it certainly wasn't from being on the shuttle terrace. _You can't refuse. This is your duty_… slowly, she nodded. _For Pollux_.

Lotor looked truly delighted. And as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder to guide her back inside, his touch was nothing but gentle.

It only made her feel sick.


	6. Expect the Unexpected

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 5_  
Expect the Unexpected

* * *

**Name: Flynn Kleid  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens**_ **(UAP 17)  
****Age: 23 (11/18/2392)  
****Height: 6'5"  
****Weight: 257  
****Hair: Dk. Red  
****Eyes: Violet  
****Skin: Fair  
****Medical History:**

"How the fuck are you on a _six month_ booster schedule?" Jace demanded as he stalked around the sick bay, filling syringes. "Did you fucking drink bleach as a child? Don't answer that. When were you gonna tell me you're fucking overdue?"

That wasn't totally fair. Dathreans—Unconventionally Adapted Population 17—had generally questionable immune systems, it was a thing. But he was too pissed about the chief being over a month late on his shots to be fair right now.

"Must've slipped my mind between dodging Galra death lasers and getting struck by thunderbolts," Flynn muttered spitefully. "Would you just get it over with?"

Jace paused, one eyebrow shooting up at his tone. "Don't tell me you're afraid of needles." The guy was a mechanic and was built, if not like a tank, at least like a decently armored scout car. Sheltered desk jockeys were supposed to be the ones who were scared of needles.

"No," he answered sullenly. "I just _dislike_ them."

"Oh, okay, that's totally different. Take your jacket off." Fixing up the last syringe he turned and pushed up the chief's left sleeve, and was greeted by a black and purple scorpion on his shoulder. "…You dislike needles. You have a fucking tattoo!"

Flynn didn't look at him. "The two are related—ow!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I haven't even stuck you yet," Jace snorted, setting aside the needle he'd definitely just stuck him with. "If you want to get measles, or pneumonia, or maybe Tyrian fever again, just go ahead and keep whining."

That shut him up.

* * *

It was amazing to Vince how quickly the disruptor cannon had taken shape. It really wasn't _that_ complicated, but it was still a very large chunk of metal and wires and electromagnetic capacitor coiling. Hunk had done most of the heavy lifting, while Vince had handled the delicate internal structure. Now they had a gray tapered cylinder about the size of a school bus sitting in the hangar off the _Bolt_'s left wing, a single external panel still awaiting installation. Several holes dotted the metal. The cannon would hook up to the ship's systems through there, which meant this was arguably the most important part of the job.

Vince wasn't nervous. Of course not. Not at all. The faint buzzing in his ears as he worked was definitely not him being nervous.

Actually, maybe it really _wasn't…_ he paused a moment after connecting one of the couplings, looking up from the panel. It sounded something like the noises a kid would make with a toy car, not the anxious hum he might have anticipated. It also seemed like it was coming from the lift Hunk was driving. Or had been driving, anyway. Right now he was just sitting there watching Vince do his thing, and…

"…Are you vrooming?"

Hunk startled, sitting up straighter. "Course I'm vrooming! Vroom vroom!" He mimed revving up the lift. "What's the point in drivin' the equipment if ya can't vroom?"

Vince blinked. He'd thought the point was to get the job done. "That's not a question most people would ask?"

"Yeah well, most people are missin' out then." The big man leaned back in his seat and threw his hands behind his head. "I can stop if it's buggin' you though."

Was it bugging him? Truthfully he hadn't thought that far, he'd stumbled to a halt over the fact that a grown man was vrooming. Which probably meant… _huh_. "Uh, I don't think it is bothering me." He turned back to the panel and started bundling wires together. The next few connections were tricky, but he put them together quickly.

"Good! I don't wanna bug anyone…" Hunk's voice raised suddenly. "Except for Number One Frenemy over there."

Vince looked up to see who Hunk was shouting about, banged his head on the upper panel, and couldn't help a small smirk as he saw their medic disembarking from the ship. Jace didn't even argue the point—he just rolled his eyes dramatically, shrugged, and departed the hangar.

Hunk burst into laughter.

"You were working together before?" Vince asked as the laughter died down. His medical briefing had certainly been… well, memorable… and between that and the _vrooms_ his curiosity was overwhelming. Explorer Teams had always seemed like more of a myth than reality, at least until he'd gotten his orders. So far they seemed almost _exactly_ as advertised.

"Oh yeah," Hunk confirmed. "He's one of the old squad. Thinks he's the only sane one on the team. Which is funny, cuz most of the old crew thinks they're the only sane one on the team." He chuckled again. "Except me, I know better."

Vince gave him a look that had a slight tinge of panic. Well, maybe panic was an overstatement, but definitely anxiety. "He doesn't randomly draw knives on you, does he?"

Oh. No question what that was about. "Nah, he just threatens you with needles. Knives are definitely just a ninja thing, as far as I know." He didn't know much, really. He'd spoken to Pidge exactly twice since he'd been assigned—both of which had been very one-sided conversations—and it was pretty evident Flynn was trying to keep the other kid away from him. Which he was probably okay with.

"Good, good…" The murmur sounded a little distracted. Vince had gone back to working on the wires. But he'd worked himself up now with thoughts of angry medics and stabby ninjas and—

_ZAP_.

An explosion of smoke and sparks erupted from the panel, wreathing Vince in lightning a moment before fading. A sharp scent of ozone lingered behind.

"Whoa!" Hunk had nearly jumped out of his seat. "You okay?"

"Yes, sir." Vince sighed. He was fine. He was always fine. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah you better be sorry, little dude. Callin' me _sir?_ Do that again and bad stuff is gonna happen." The big man jumped out of the lift, glaring playfully, though he let up on it almost immediately as Vince shrank back. "I might make you eat some steak _well done_ or something." He leaned over the younger engineer's shoulder to examine the scorched wiring.

Baffled and embarrassed, Vince took a moment to gather himself; this was better than the usual yelling, but he was still more than a little off balance. "Uh." He flailed for something to latch onto. "Well done steak is bad?"

Hunk slowly turned his head, one eyebrow going up. "You uh, you eat well done steak?"

Gulp. "My moms aren't the best cooks?" he offered weakly. It wasn't a lie…

"Now I know how Lance feels about Flynn and beer." A huge grin spread over Hunk's face. "Little dude, you're gonna be in for some _education_."

That sounded a little ominous; his eyes went wide. "Oh. Okay?" None of this was making him any less confused, especially not when he looked back at the smoking wiring and remembered where he actually was. "Um, I'm really sorry about this, I can fix it."

"I know ya can." Hunk patted his shoulder encouragingly. _Lightly_—he was figuring this kid out a bit—but encouragingly. "That's why you're here, yeah?"

"I think I'm here because I blow them up."

"That's okay. I'm the bomb guy, I appreciate a good _kaboom_. Keeps people on their toes!"

Vince blinked, but couldn't quite help a smile. "Usually I get told I have an attitude problem. So, uh, thanks." This was very weird, but it was also nice not to be railed at for once.

"Attitude problem?" Hunk looked from Vince to the disruptor cannon. That was about the last thing he'd have ascribed to this kid. "I don't buy it," he declared. "And if you can't notice someone havin' an attitude problem after buildin' a multi-ton weapon of mass disruption with 'em for a week, it ain't there."

Despite himself, Vince laughed. "You probably have a point there."

"Not as many points as Doc or the ninja! Blunt objects are more my style. And bombs." Grin. "Anyway, let's get this thing fixed up, yeah? I wanna do a test fire! …Not like we're really gonna get to do that for awhile, but you know."

Oh, he knew. He'd never really built anything like this disruptor cannon before. "I usually only get to work on the already built ones, this has been fun. It'll be great to see it in action."

"It'll be awesome!"

Nodding his agreement, Vince turned back to the wires he'd ruined and took a deep breath. One thing his little issue had taught him was how to work fast. He could do this. And it _would_ be awesome.

Hunk seemed a lot less scary now, too.

* * *

**Name: Darrell Stoker  
****Species: **_**X. shinori  
**_**Age: 16 (9/24/2400)  
****Height: 5'1"  
****Weight: 143  
****Hair: Brown  
****Eyes: Green  
****Skin: Fair  
****Medical History: **

"I don't even know where to fucking _start_ with you."

Jace was feeling much less confident than usual as he stared at the young man in front of him. _Xenofelis shinori_ was not a race that got covered in standard Alliance medical training. He'd downloaded and read the database overview, of course, but a glorified textbook entry could only tell him so much…

For his part, Pidge looked bored. He'd probably been through this a few times before. "I know how to take care of myself in human environments, Doctor."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do." Scowl. "Okay, here's what I got from the database: you're susceptible to vitamin D overdose, your bone density fucks with some scans, and you'll get sunburn just from walking out the door if you don't use the right soap—I _will_ be requisitioning a backup stockpile of that. Anything else that should jump out?"

"No."

"Great. Your personal history is a disaster. There's nothing wrong with your eyes."

The eyes in question narrowed fiercely behind his glasses. "There will be if I don't protect them from the light."

Okay, that made sense. His species _was_ adapted to darkness. Though it seemed like something he should've mentioned after the last question; Jace wondered what else should've jumped out that he hadn't. "Got it. I'm not even going to ask about all the bone fractures and toxin exposure, I don't want to _know_. This 'tasakvar' thing, there's practically no info on it, what's its impact?"

For an instant Pidge froze, his eyes flashing again with pure fury. It was gone after a moment… but then he abruptly stood. "Absolutely nothing," he hissed, pushing past the medic and walking out the door.

Jace stared at the doorway for a long moment, too stunned to even yell after him before he vanished. "…What the fuck was that about?"

* * *

Keith had been expecting a new summons from Colonel Hawkins any day now. The request that came in not quite two weeks from the first briefing was no surprise… until he read it. It wasn't a briefing, it was only for him and Lance, and it wasn't from Hawkins.

Other than _that_ though, not at all strange!

The conference room was empty when he got there, and he wasn't all that early. It was in a Support Division building, which was interesting—didn't actually _tell_ him anything, but it was interesting. Somehow. He found the room's coffee pot and got it started, checking the time as it finished brewing.

"Come on, McClain, you're supposed to be here too…"

As if on cue, Lance walked in, looking rather confused. He'd never been in this building before. He zeroed in on Keith immediately. "Why are we here?"

Keith shook his head. "Not sure."

Frowning, Lance looked around the otherwise empty room, checking the time himself. "Is it just us?"

"We're all the request came in for."

"Huh? I hate this stuff."

"Yeah." Keith frowned too. "It doesn't feel right, that's for sure."

Lance filled a cup of coffee and downed it, shaking his head. "Hope this doesn't take all day."

"Why? Somewhere important to be?"

Grin. "Always, boss. Always."

The clock hit nine; whoever had called them in was now officially late. Which meant, despite knowing he would probably regret it, Keith couldn't quite help the obvious question. "Like where?"

Lance laughed. "Where do you think? Don't _you_ have anything better to do?"

"I do have a ship to run," the boss acknowledged. "Drills." He wondered how Sven and the kids were doing; he would probably owe their navigator an apology later. "And I wouldn't mind getting in another ride on my bike today."

"Bike?" Lance repeated, arching an eyebrow. "As in bicycle?"

"…No." Keith stared at him for a moment, remembering Flynn's surprise and wondering if he really _did_ come across as that much of a stick in the mud. "My Ducati. Motorcycle."

The pilot's hazel eyes widened slightly. "Sweet, let me ride it sometime?"

As if he'd trust McClain with that? "No way. That's mine."

Smirk. "I thought learning to share was part of command training?"

"A man _never_ lets another man ride his motorcycle."

That was definitely not a code Lance had ever been made aware of; he arched an eyebrow. "Huh? Guess all the dates I've let ride mine owe me, or something." He debated saying something else about riding that would _really_ fluster the boss, but before he got there, a sharp series of avian clucks rang out from the doorway. It had the effect of someone clearing their throat for attention, and they turned. What looked something like a feathery gray linebacker in a Support Division uniform was standing there.

…_A Quasnot, great. They give me the heebie jeebies._

Keith immediately straightened. "Yes… ma'am?" The Quasnot were one of the Alliance's founding races, but he'd interacted with very few of them before. He was _pretty_ certain gray meant female.

"Sorry for the delay. Technical difficulties." Her voice was a deep, musical whistle. "Commander Keith Kogane and Lieutenant Lance McClain, correct?"

Lance nodded, then groaned inwardly to avoid rolling his eyes outwardly as Keith went for full formality. "Yes ma'am. Are you who we were to expect for this?"

"Yes. Senior Specialist Turoa Tek, Intel Division, Galra Task Force." She saluted and bowed at the same time. "My overlords would like more information on your reactions to the metal artifacts you retrieved on your last journey."

The use of _overlords_ for superior officers was a typical Quasnot quirk. It still made Keith shift a little uncomfortably. Lance, on the other hand, had to fight down a snicker—until he processed the rest of the statement, and rounded on his commander in shock. "You put it in the report?!"

"After Doc said that it could potentially be a tailored bioweapon?" Keith gave him a look. "You expected me _not_ to put it in the report?"

That was a fair point, he decided, shifting uneasily himself before slowly nodding. Fair, but he didn't _like_ it. Whatever that metal was, the warmth it had sent through him, it felt private… despite or perhaps because of the fact that he didn't understand it at all.

Turoa Tek was looking between them, seeming a bit concerned. "Will the two of you require an honor duel? We didn't budget time for that, but perhaps one can be arranged afterwards?"

Both of them turned to stare at her with just as much concern. "Uh… no, thank you."

"We're good."

"Apologies." Keith drained his coffee and put the mug aside. "What questions do you have?"

"No need for apologies," she said cheerfully. "The lab next door is set up to run some better scans on the artifacts. No dishonor to your engineers, of course—your assigned equipment lacked functionality."

"Pretty sure they'd be the first to agree with that," Lance commented.

Turoa Tek gave a chuckle that sounded like slightly off-key birdsong. "The universal lament." She turned, motioning for them to follow. Lance's eyes briefly went to the two peacock-like trains of feathers extending from her shoulders. He knew if she fanned them out they wouldn't be peacock-like at all, but a dizzying pattern more likely to induce migraines than impress. Just one of many things that made the Quasnot a bit… unsettling. Though she seemed nice enough.

Keith was unsettled too, though not so much from the Quasnot technician. More the whole principle of the thing. _Great, we're going to be lab rats. _He couldn't argue the necessity, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

"I hope there isn't a maze," Lance whispered, nudging him, and it took all he had not to laugh.

The lab was large and well-equipped. A maze, thankfully, was not part of the equation. Keith didn't recognize most of the equipment, though he thought he'd seen a couple of the machines over at Medical. "Doc would be jealous…"

"I was thinking Flynn," Lance countered, looking around with a low whistle.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Turoa Tek agreed. "I won it in an honor duel with the Border Anomalies department."

…Had that been a joke? It was impossible to tell if that had been a joke. Looking over her completely deadpan expression Lance decided it didn't really matter. "Impressive. I love a badass."

"Must have been quite the experience," Keith said uneasily, earning a slight side-eye from his pilot. If _anyone_ could appreciate an honor duel, he'd have expected the boss to be it. Oh well.

The specialist led them to a table by a particularly large chunk of machinery. Two clear containers were sitting there, each holding one very familiar scrap of metal. Keith stared at them silently; Lance zeroed in on the red piece, his hand twitching briefly. He wanted to touch it again.

Turoa Tek let the silence linger a few moments before picking up the container with the black piece. "Commander, if you'd go first?" She removed the lid of the containment unit and stepped forward to place it in the deep scanner's main chamber. "I confess to not having a broader strategy. The initial scan results will provide one."

Nodding, Keith stopped forward as the Quasnot retreated to the monitoring panel. The memory already seemed to be coming back in full clarity. He reached out slowly, resting his hand on the metal, and shivered as static immediately seemed to race through his bones. _What _is _this?_ He closed his eyes, breath catching slightly as he tried to focus on the soft whirr of the machine.

"Still tingly, boss?"

"Yeah… still tingles. But _why?"_

"Think that's her job."

"Katas mit-toras," Turoa Tek muttered in the midst of the nervous chatter, her shoulder feathers rustling slightly. That didn't seem like the best of signs. "You did not have lingering effects after touching these before, correct? No illness?"

"Nope," Lance confirmed as Keith opened his eyes and looked over at her. "Jace would've kept detailed records if we had, trust us."

She considered that, then looked back at her panel. "The metal does not react—statistically insignificant heat transfer, nothing more. But _you_ certainly do." That sent a slight chill down Lance's spine, which wasn't helped when she turned to look at him. "Lieutenant, would you touch that for me? I'd like a control scan."

Blink. "Me? Touch what?"

"Yes. The black piece—the report says only Commander Kogane had a reaction to it, correct?"

"Yeah, sure." Lance moved up and placed his hand on the black metal as Keith moved out of the way. He'd known he wouldn't feel the warmth from it, but it was still strangely disappointing…

Turoa Tek clucked softly. "You felt nothing?"

"Nothing."

They were both fully focused on her now, all resentment at the summons forgotten. For a long moment she didn't say anything else, tapping at the control panel. Then finally, "You both had the same reaction."

…Of all the things Lance had expected he might hear, that wasn't even _on_ the list. "What? But I don't feel anything."

"Let's try the other piece. I can't conclude anything yet."

Watching her switch the containers in the scan chamber, Keith stepped a little closer to Lance. "What do you think she means by that?" he whispered. The only answer he got was a shrug, which was probably all he should've expected, but still… the specialist put the red scrap into place and nodded to Lance, who moved forward again.

For a moment Lance couldn't help feeling uneasy, looking at the bright red metal gleaming in the lab's harsh light. But as soon as he touched it, the comforting warmth shot through him all over again. Just as he remembered it, or maybe even more.

"Commander, your turn."

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hand away. He couldn't quite bring himself to step back as Keith came up next to him and reached out to touch it. "Nothing…"

"Mit-toras." Turoa Tek gave a soft, screeching exhale, her shoulder feathers ruffling again. "This request is irregular, but… if one of you could come here and watch this readout?"

That did sound pretty damn irregular. Lance shot Keith a look, and this time it was the boss's turn to shrug. _Well, why not?_ He should probably walk away from the metal before the urge to touch it again overwhelmed him. "Uh, okay, sure." He crossed over to the monitoring panel, where she indicated a numerical readout labeled **MDR LEVEL** underneath one of the displays. He wasn't sure what that meant, but suspected he would find out sooner rather than later.

With a nod of thanks, the Quasnot stepped up to the scan chamber and rested a feathery hand on the metal.

The numbers shot up.

"It's doing something," Lance reported, eyebrows raising.

"Define something?"

"Oh, uh, big numbers. Right when you touched it."

Turoa Tek stepped back from the scan chamber, nodding slowly. "Yet I felt nothing… I see. We completely missed this, we were too busy scanning the metal itself."

Keith waited for a moment, but she seemed to be getting lost in her own thoughts. And strictly speaking those thoughts weren't their business, but after all this? "Does that mean you have a hypothesis, ma'am?"

"That may be an overstatement." She went back to the control panel. "Touching the metal caused each of us to display sharply elevated levels of metadynamic radiation. A sort of… paranormal energy that we can do little more than detect." Her shoulder feathers flared slightly. "We lack the science to analyze this, because it isn't science."

"It isn't science?"

She chirped in what seemed like frustration. "It usually comes about from the mystical traditions of certain civilizations. Common lacks a well-developed vocabulary for it… but in essence, magic."

Both of their jaws dropped. There were plenty of civilizations, both within and beyond the Alliance, which claimed to practice magic. Several of those could even show provable results. But it wasn't _exactly_ officially recognized as existing. "Isn't magic just science we don't understand yet?" Keith asked after finding his voice again.

"That is the belief we work from."

"So you can't tell me why I feel warmth when I touch this?" Lance looked back to the red fragment. "It's just magic?" That seemed less satisfying than he'd hoped.

"Beings responding very differently to metadynamic radiation is well known. But past that, no. This isn't my field, and it isn't what our equipment was designed for." She paused thoughtfully. "I could attempt a basic explanation, but it would involve a great deal of string theory, instability theory, metaphysical cross-contamination theory, and many other theories we also didn't budget time for."

Maybe, Lance decided, 'magic' was good enough after all. "No worries, my brain never budgeted room for that stuff either." He looked over at Keith and shook his head. "Weirder and weirder."

"I'd have to agree, McClain." Keith scratched his head and grimaced. "Just weird."

"Between the three of us," Turoa Tek admitted, "weird is as good a word as any." She closed up the containment units and looked back at them. "I'm sure my overlords will dispatch this to one of the mysticism research units. I believe I can dismiss the two of you, unless you'd like to volunteer for further mystical research."

Eyeing the red metal, for a split second Lance was actually tempted to take her up on that. His sense of self-preservation kicked in before the thought could do much more than form. "Yeah, fuck no to that."

Keith, as always, was more diplomatic. "I think we'll pass on that… kind offer, ma'am."

"I thought you might." She gave the salute-bow again; that was probably another Quasnot quirk. "Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome." Lance shot her a wink. "May you win your next honor battle."

"I haven't lost one yet," she said with a musical chuckle. "May your next journey grant you either more or less 'weird', whichever you prefer."

As she departed, Lance looked back to Keith. "What _do_ we prefer? That's a great question."

"I'd prefer some answers."

"Magic, bossman. The answer is magic." Keith snorted at that, and Lance shrugged. It wasn't _much_ of an answer, that was for sure. But then again, looking back at what they'd run into last mission… he couldn't help wondering if it was really all that crazy.

* * *

**Name: Tsuyoshi Garrett  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 21 (5/4/2395)  
****Height: 6'9"  
****Weight: 342  
****Hair: Dk. Brown  
****Eyes: Hazel  
****Skin: Lt. Brown  
****Medical History:**

"Somehow—fucking _somehow_—your entire body is not on the verge of spontaneous shutdown from too much salt and bacon. Congratulations, I guess."

Hunk looked unreasonably smug about that. "Doc, lemme tell you a little story."

"If I say no, will it matter?"

"Nope!" Grin. "Once upon a time, there was a big dude who liked grills who went to Berkeley for his chemical engineering prep. He decided while he was there he oughta have some fun, so he took a bunch of culinary science electives in between mixin' up _booms_ and learned a lot of cool things about how much salt and bacon is okay."

Jace stared at him, looking distinctly unamused. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope!" he repeated, grinning wider. "And then he catered the riots until it was time to transfer to the Academy, but that's a totally different story."

"…Of course he did." The medic felt a headache coming on. "Whatever, if it works for you I don't really care, but when you have a massive cholesterol meltdown I get to say I told you so."

"Totally."

He glanced over the records again and shook his head; he was absolutely going to regret this, but the curiosity was overwhelming. "One more thing. How the hell did you break your _ear bones_ without massive head trauma? Not that you having massive head trauma would surprise me at all, but it's not on your sheet."

The big man paused, blinked, then chuckled a little sheepishly. "Yeah, uh. That. I was little. I had a bad ear infection."

Jace crossed his arms, debated questioning the idea that this guy had ever been _little_, decided there wasn't much point in it. "Right. That can cause some damage. It specifically says _fractured_."

"It hurt a lot, so one of my brothers decided to try to help me out… uh, with a drill." He frowned. "You can probably guess this, but it didn't help much."

…Yes. Yes, he absolutely regretted asking.

* * *

The bridge crew had continued running sims, in the absence of more concrete goals to work towards. But today both Keith and Lance had been called away due to their 'metal allergy'. Which left Sven in charge. Keith had told him to make any needed adjustments to the drill, and in his carefully considered opinion, there wasn't much point running a bridge crew simulation at all without the commander and pilot.

So instead of bridge assessment, he was doing a sparring assessment. Hand to hand combat was much more his wheelhouse than space combat anyway. It was still a drill! Just adjusted as necessary. Very heavily adjusted.

The navigator had arrived at the gym early to reserve a sparring room, and was pleased when Ensign Star arrived a little early as well. He was even more pleased when Brennan walked in a few minutes later, right on time… he hadn't been expecting that.

"Hello, sir." Cam tossed his shirt and towel on a nearby bench, taking a sip of water.

"Hello, Starr."

"Yo!" Daniel called out as he trotted up. Both of them just raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

"Alright. Both of you warm up, stretch, and then square up on the mat. I want to assess how you'll do in hand to hand," Sven instructed.

"What kind of hand to hand, sir?"

"Whatever kind you wish to use." He'd had a glance at their files; neither of them had any martial art training listed outside of what the Academy taught. That would make it simpler, not needing to survey any particular fighting style.

"Sounds fun." Daniel's tone did not match his words. He wasn't a huge fan of sparring, he much preferred a comfy seat in a cockpit to a sweat-covered mat. "Ready whenever you are, Cammy."

Cammy? That was a new one. "Bring it, brat boy." Cam cracked his neck and stepped onto the mat.

"That can't be good for your neck." Daniel hopped onto the mat too. "And I've done nothing to you to deserve that nickname."

"How about the way you barged in on my reporting to the commander?" Cam was still fairly irked about that. "And flouted protocol the entire time you were there?"

Of course fanboy was still upset about that. Daniel had even tried to give him a new nickname to encourage better behavior! "How does that make me a brat? A little rude maybe. But brattish? I don't think so."

"Oh you're a total brat." Cam insisted. "I could go over every single thing you've done since, but we're supposed to be sparring." He had his fists up and clenched, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. Daniel _was_ in a ready stance, but his hands weren't up, and it was becoming clear he had no intention of cooperating.

"Whenever you're ready, fanboy."

"So do something, whiny brat boy."

"Dude." Cam was obviously trying to goad him into attacking, but Daniel wasn't impressed. "I've been called _so_ much worse."

Sven looked between the two of them, his face pinching up as he tried not to groan. This wasn't a combat drill, this was babysitting. "If the two of you could stop calling each other names and get on with it, I'd be highly appreciative."

Cam immediately responded to the order and dashed in, lightly smacking the side of Daniel's head as a distraction before kicking his legs out from under him.

The gunner landed on his ass and rolled away from his attacker, who didn't seem inclined to pursue. "Is that it? Bring it on, fanboy."

Cam smirked. "I think I just did."

"You're right, you did." He jumped up, tensing back into a defensive stance. "You learn how to do that watching Keith's ass?"

Glare. "You wish."

"Eh." Daniel shook his head. "I don't need to see that. You're kind of cute, but not my type." He darted forward and tackled him to the ground.

"If I'm not your type, why are you on top of me?" Cam shoved him off before he could answer, and kicked him in his stomach for good measure.

"Ack!" Daniel cried out, winded. "…You're reading too much into that. I'm very rarely on top." Smirking, he scrambled to his feet. His opponent was still trying to get up, and would have been an easy target… but his stomach still hurt as he went to take advantage, so he decided to wait it out.

_For heaven's sake_. Sven wasn't impressed with the banter, but at least their fighting wasn't terrible. Wasn't the best, but workable.

Cam had regained his feet, eyeing Daniel with a challenging grin. "You gonna hit me or just stand there and breathe?"

Smirking, Daniel lowered his head and ran towards him. Cam started a countermove but Daniel was faster and jerked to side, slapping his ass and spinning away. Sven shook his head. Maybe he'd been too optimistic.

"Oy!" Cam cried out as Daniel got out of range and laughed at him. _He wants to play that way?_ Glaring, he darted in while the brat was laughing and punched him hard in the gut.

"Ugh!" Daniel grabbed his arm and yanked him to the ground—he was going down anyways, and holy fuck his stomach was _definitely _going to be bruised now. Apparently fanboy was pretty strong. Though not strong enough to pull off his next move, rolling and attempting to toss Daniel away; Daniel didn't go very far, and responded by slamming a knee into his arm.

"Ow, brat!"

"I really haven't earned that nickname."

"Oh yes you have!"

"How?" Daniel stood up, sore and breathing hard; he was getting tired of being punched. He really hated sparring.

Cam stood up too, scowling. "By being you!"

Oh. Daniel thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "…That's fair."

"More than."

Nodding again, Daniel rushed forward and tackled him to the mat. Apparently the floor was where most of this fight was going to take place.

Much like Daniel was tired of getting punched, Cam was very tired of being tackled. Grabbing Daniel by the shoulders, he seized whatever leverage he had and headbutted the brat in the face before rolling off of him and scrambling away.

He needn't have bothered, because Daniel wasn't chasing him. Blood was spurting from his nose, and he'd grabbed it with a shocked cry. "What the _fuck_, man?!"

"Oops." Cam blinked. That was a little more than he'd been going for.

Sven ran forward and gently started pulling on Daniel's hands, which weren't budging from his face. "Move your hands so I can see if you're okay." After a moment to comprehend that, the kid let him pull his hands away from his bloody nose, wincing as he checked to see if it was broken.

"He looks prettier," Cam commented lightly, still slightly embarrassed but certain the brat had deserved it.

"You're such a dick." Daniel was pissed. _Who the fuck headbutts someone?_

Shaking his head, Sven looked up at Cam. "Go get tissues or something to stop the bleeding." _And so he won't yell at you while I'm trying to examine him._ The comms officer returned quickly, carrying the towel he'd brought in with him; Daniel immediately snatched it and pressed it to his face. Sven gave him a mildly reproachful look, but he'd probably seen enough. "It's not broken, just bruised. You'll be fine."

"He'd be prettier if I had broken it," Cam said, and Daniel flipped him off in response.

Sven raised a disapproving eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Looking between the two, he sighed. _They aren't that bad. No they are that bad, but Jace is just as bad, and I like him. They'll be fine. _He fought down the smile that was trying to form, because it could only be misinterpreted. _Explorer Teams_. Standing, he offered Daniel a hand to help him up.

"Thanks…"

"You're welcome." He was pretty sure their hand to hand skills had been thoroughly assessed by now, and he was ready to get out of here. Before they started up again. "Alright, you're both dismissed." The idea of saying 'good job' came and went… not only was Jace that bad, he was apparently contagious.

"Yes sir," Daniel and Cam responded at the same time. Cam grinned, then looked over at Daniel and outright smirked. "Might want to avoid the Doc."

The gunner just glared at him, towel still on his face, and walked out the door without a response.

"…Brat." Cam shook his head and followed him out.

* * *

**Name: Lance Charles McClain  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 23 (4/7/2393)  
****Height: 6'1"  
****Weight: 190  
****Hair: Brown  
****Eyes: Hazel  
****Skin: Light  
****Medical History:**

"So, Beau Terre spotted fever. Nineteen percent reactivation rate, that's pretty high among mutant chickenpox variants. Medical recommends re-vaccination after 20, which you haven't done, and they recommend the shot in the ass, which means we've both done something to piss off karma."

Lance stared. "You are fucking kidding me?"

"I fucking wish. It's the recommendation."

"I was talking about my ass."

"So was I." Jace snorted. "Which I promise isn't something I have any interest in talking about."

"You sure, Jace?" The pilot raised an eyebrow. "It's a fine ass… and man, I like sitting on it."

Crossing his arms, Jace raised his eyes to the ceiling and dialed up his most pious tone. "As your duly certified Qualification Level 4 medical professional, I am obligated to tell you the recommendation will give you the most rapid and efficient protection." He dropped the affect and shrugged. "But off the record it's not like stabbing your shoulder won't _work_."

"Good, you're stabbing my fucking shoulder."

"Not through leather I'm not." Jace filled the syringe—the quite _large_ syringe, hence the recommendation. "Ditch the jacket."

Lance complied, grudgingly. "You sure you don't just want a peek at this fine physique?"

That was certainly the least of his interests. "If that's the way you want to play this, I can insist on the ass… this'll sting like a bitch, just pretend you're back on Sorthal."

"Memories of being stabbed and poisoned? Your bedside manner is fucking atrocious, you know that?"

"It's come up." Shrugging, Jace pushed up his sleeve. "I save asses, I don't kiss them. Or stab them, if I can help it, so let's not make it necessary." He plunged the large needle into Lance's shoulder, holding his arm tight in case he flinched; this shot really was no joke.

That had been a good decision. "FUCKING FUCKING FUCK FUCK!"

Jace opened his mouth to taunt him, took one look at his expression, and turned away to get a bandage instead. "I don't even have the heart to threaten to kiss it and make it better, my man. Go punch a bag or something, working the arm'll help."

Lance glared. "Can I punch your face?"

"No. Punching someone's face is bad for your knuckles."

"Too bad."

"Sorry." Smirk. "Now fuck off. Doctor's orders." He tossed Lance's jacket at him and nearly pushed him out the door; the pilot flipped him off as he left. Well, whatever. That would work the arm too.

* * *

Hangar L4-West was in chaos. It was controlled chaos, to be sure, but chaos nonetheless. Trying to hook a multi-ton weapon of mass disruption up to a seventy foot high spaceplane was bound to be touchy enough. The late autumn thunderstorm that had rolled in for the afternoon wasn't helping. They were, after all, in a building with a wide footprint and a metal roof.

It had taken all of two minutes to resort to comm devices, because hearing anyone yell from more than ten feet away was a lost cause.

Vince was trying his best to tune out the pounding rain as he worked; it was going well enough. It wasn't actually the disruptor cannon he was working on right now. In order to install the cannon safely, two of the _Bolt_'s centerline shield nodes had needed to be moved. So he was crouched on the ship's nose, carefully linking the node into a circuit with one of the point defense laser turrets, quietly grateful that nobody else was paying attention to him.

The cannon was being moved while he worked. Hunk was running the lift crane, and probably vrooming, if it could've been heard over the racket from outside. Though hooking it into the ship's power systems would be Vince's job, Flynn was handling the actual bolting it down. Pidge had volunteered to help with that, but someone had to monitor the safety systems, so he was leaning over the main floor systems console looking sullen. Maybe he could hear Hunk's vrooming.

"Steady enough, pit boss?"

"Go down about six inches and ask me again. Might need a little more rotation." Flynn watched the cannon lower towards the hull, frowning. The turret mounting was already in place. Now it was just the delicate process of getting two large pieces of complicated machinery lined up to the very millimeter. "Hold there. Let me get a couple of guide clamps set up."

"Roger that!"

Out of nowhere, an enormous _CRASH_ shook the hangar. A screeching alarm started up somewhere in the distance, the sharp snap of a dozen circuit breakers tripping at once just barely audible. The lights went out with a crackle.

Vince jumped, yelping in shock. Part of him fully expected the shield node to go up in sympathetic sparks—it would be _typical_. But it didn't seem to… he had maybe the slightest fraction of a second to be relieved before his foot came down on the edge of the turret, and he stumbled backwards, skidding down the _Bolt_'s nose.

Yelling again, for all the good _that_ would do him, he scrambled to grip the smooth cerasilicate exterior of the hull. It wasn't working out. So he held his breath, waiting for the repulsion field to shove him back up onto the ship—it was an unpleasant shock when it happened.

_Oh crap, the power…_

It didn't happen.

He was falling.

Though intellectually he knew it was only a few seconds, the fall felt like forever. He tried to brace himself. But how did you brace for a fall like this? It was going to—

—Something hit him in the side, bleeding off much of his downward momentum. He felt himself go end over end, whatever had hit him seeming to drag him along with it in at least one full flip, then he hit the ground. Not the _floor_. Something much softer and warmer than the concrete, something that might have given a slight gasp as he impacted.

Flynn hadn't moved since the lights went out. He was crouched by the clamp he'd been lining up, mentally counting the seconds. It shouldn't be too long. Garrison hangars were built to protect the very large chunks of flying metal inside of them from lightning. Not so much their own structure; overloads happened sometimes. There was only so much you could do to stop a hundred thousand amps from wreaking havoc.

After precisely thirty seconds, the lights came back on. He exhaled and moved forward, flipping on his comms. "Everyone alright?" The words were barely out of his mouth when he came around the cannon far enough to see Vince. Or the empty space where Vince had been working, anyway. "…Vince?!" Sprinting forward, he was already typing in the comms code for Medical, anticipating the worst.

"I see 'im, pit boss. He's uh… okay?" Hunk had jumped out of the lift and was approaching quickly. It wasn't just the _one_ kid sprawled on the floor. Their electrical engineer was in a heap on top of Pidge, who hadn't been anywhere near there when the lights went out. "Little dude? Dudes?"

Though he could hear them on the comms, Vince didn't feel at all prepared to answer. He was too busy gasping for breath and staring dumbfounded at Pidge. "H… h-how did you… I mean, _thank you_… but _how?"_

"I can see in the dark," the ninja answered as if that explained everything. "Don't move, you might have broken ribs, they took most of the shock."

Now that he mentioned it, his side did ache pretty badly from the impact. If anything was actually broken he'd think he would have noticed the pain earlier? Really he wouldn't know, the worst he'd ever had before this was a few skinned knees… okay, so he liked to _avoid_ potential injury situations.

"I don't think anything's broken…" Not that he was in any hurry to move regardless, though it seemed like it would be polite to not keep sitting on top of his rescuer. At that thought he blinked. "Uh, are _you_ okay?"

"Fine," Pidge muttered impatiently. "I knew what I was doing." What he had been doing, precisely, was monitoring the safety systems as ordered. When the lights went out he'd been well aware Vince was in a precarious position. Fortunately one of the access ladders had been near enough to let him intervene mid-fall, otherwise they both really _would_ be hurt.

Hunk had reached them, still more than a little concerned. He could see they were talking, and neither seemed to be flailing in pain, but he'd sure have felt better if they answered him. "Little dudes?"

"Sorry, big guy. We're good. Ish." Maybe that was an overstatement. But Vince managed to move enough to give a weak thumbs-up; Pidge gave a reproachful glare.

"He shouldn't be moving until he knows his ribs aren't broken."

…_Tattletale_.

Scrambling down the same access ladder Pidge had used, Flynn entered hearing range just in time to catch the tail end of that. "I already called the medics."

"Ugh, can you not? He's already just waiting for me to get space flu so he can laugh."

Hunk had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. That sounded right. Flynn didn't bother to fight down his own grin. "Not _him_, he's on break, and you've suffered enough. Just the nearest med station. Just to be sure." He knelt next to the kids and steadied Vince enough for Pidge to crawl out from beneath him. "Do you need looked at, Pidge?"

"No sir. I'm _fine_." He'd gone from sounding impatient to mildly insulted.

Flynn eyed him for a moment, then nodded. No sense arguing. "Okay. Hunk, go back and get the physical harnesses, would you? Think we'd best switch." The restrictive harnesses were inferior in most respects to the electromagnetic safety systems… until the power went out, anyway. "Pidge, check the breakers, make sure they all closed back up properly."

"Yessir." He started for the back, then paused a moment. "If Vince is injured I'll do the wiring. Don't let him do anything stupid."

_Oh really…_ watching him go, Flynn found the slightest smile trying to tug at his lips. Maybe they could make this work after all…

The medics came rushing in after a couple more minutes. Vince was fine, just badly bruised. Immediately he'd rejected the offer to go and rest—he'd rather work on wiring than go back and dwell on his brush with _maiming or death_. More than understandable. He let Hunk get the harnesses set up, turning his attention to Pidge as he returned from the breaker box.

"Breakers are all reset," the young man reported over the comms.

"Good." Flynn beckoned him into normal hearing range. "Once we finish up here, I'll submit your probation waiver."

"Sir?" The ninja stared up at him, looking confused and almost offended. "For what, not letting a crewmate die?"

_Well, kind of._ "You're here for stabbing a crewmate, aren't you?"

…That was true. Pidge lowered his head slightly, an embarrassed chill rushing over his skin. The bar was low, but it had been set there fairly. "Yessir. Thank you."

Flynn looked down at him, debating whether to elaborate or not. Somehow, he didn't think it would be appreciated. "You did a good job," he said quietly. Maybe that would be enough. He seemed pleased with it, in any case, if the way his eyes widened was any hint. Was it? He opted to assume so, for now.

As another crack of thunder rumbled outside, they got back to work.

* * *

**Name: Keith Akira Kogane  
****Species: **_**H. sapiens  
**_**Age: 25 (7/25/2391)  
****Height: 6'2"  
****Weight: 225  
****Hair: Black  
****Eyes: Blue  
****Skin: Tan  
****Medical History:**

"Everything looks good, except I think they made a mistake on your last round of scans. Or did they just remove that stick from up your ass before running them?"

Apparently, for some reason, the boss had expected something else; he glared. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, there it is." Jace nodded as if he'd just discovered a key symptom. "No problem."

Keith kept glaring, which he answered with the closest thing to an innocent smile he could muster. Finally the boss shook his head, maybe deciding walking out wasn't worth it. "Can we move this along, Doctor?"

"I have to be thorough, boss." Shrug. "You're up to date on your shots, you never miss a checkup, you haven't cut anything off yet even though you play with swords on a regular basis. Model soldier." He applauded, and Keith rolled his eyes. "Hey now. If you can't even take a compliment from your doctor, I hope I never have to stick a needle in your ass. …Honestly I hope I never have to do that anyway."

"Yeah, I'd rather you not do that either."

"Perfect." He smiled faintly, since Keith was still glaring. "You can beat me up for this later."

"Careful, I might take you up on that."

"That's why I offered. I might've learned some things from the last time, though."

"Might have. Might not." The commander cocked his head. "So, are we done? Or do you have any more rude remarks to make about my medical history?"

Jace considered that for a few seconds. "I can probably find some if you want."

"Thanks, Doc." He stood, turning to the door as the medic tossed him a casual salute.

"Any time you need someone to mock you though, come on back. Walk-ins welcome."

Keith paused a moment, looking back at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm only going to say this once, Doc, so listen carefully. _Fuck off_."

It took a minute for Jace to find words. "…Get the fuck back here, I need to check you for brain damage."

"Nope. Later, Doc."

Staring after him, Jace's dumbfounded look slowly turned into a satisfied smirk. He turned away and made another note on his datapad.

**Treatment proceeding adequately.**

* * *

The castle tunnels, unlike other shelters on Arus, had been built with escape rather than only survival in mind. Several narrow passages ran for over a mile beneath the Meadows of Raimon, coming out in the foothills of the Kyva Mountains. It wasn't enough to put them in contact with any of the other shelters… but the foothills did offer plentiful cover, plentiful rolis, and somewhere to slip out and _breathe_ without being surrounded by ruins and ash.

It was windy today, and Allura's enjoyment of the fresh air was interrupted by a large, spiky leaf suddenly plastered to her face by a gust. The spiny edges hooked into her hair and stayed there. "Ugh… yukol leaf."

"Here we see the feral leaf in its natural habitat!" Larmina whispered beside her as she carefully peeled it off. "Today it's attacking rare prey, an Arusian princess…"

Allura smiled, tossing the leaf at her. It fluttered harmlessly to the ground. Scowling in the direction of the nearby yukol tree just on principle, she moved on.

"Better be careful, Auntie." Larmina climbed up a small embankment, looking around. "The rolis are even more vicious. And fuzzy." She sighted one off to her left and carefully drew her bow. She was getting decent at hitting the little beasts, but she wasn't fast. "Viciously fuzzy."

"Mmm, don't forget cute." Allura came up next to her and took the shot, the arrow whistling straight into the roli's striped flank. "But cute doesn't always save one's rear, I'm afraid."

Larmina slowly lowered the bow and grinned faintly. "Showoff."

"You'll get there. I'm seeing the improvement." She moved forward into the brush to collect her catch. "Before you know it, rolis will know to fear all Arusian princesses."

"Hmph. Only one princess here." Larmina ducked under a yukol branch and looked around for any more twitches of movement. Nothing so far. "You didn't come out here just to make sure I'm handling a bow okay, did you? You could've stayed in the caves and done princess stuff if you wanted." It wasn't that she didn't like having Auntie out here with her… but she really wasn't worth it, if that was all there was. The people needed her more.

For a moment Allura was silent, looking up and scanning the sky. The Drule bombardments may have stopped, but scout patrols were still common. After reassuring herself it was clear, she turned back to the younger girl. "I am doing 'princess stuff' up here. Using my skills to supply food." Being the princess shouldn't exempt her from such duty, she was sure. Besides… "…and getting some fresh air, as well."

Another gust of wind howled around them. It put Larmina on edge, just a little. The wind felt different than it had in the forest, and now that she was here, she found herself almost missing the strange growl that had bothered her before. "They do say fresh air is good for you. For health. And stuff."

"Yes. As much as the caves protect us, we can't live in them forever."

"What are the options?" Another roli poked its head up out of some scrub plants, and she tried to take a quick shot. The arrow clipped one long ear and it bounded away, leaving a small trickle of blood behind. She scowled, not only at the missed shot. "I don't think the Drules are just going to apologize and leave."

"No… that is one thing they're not going to do. Somehow we need to gain back our land." Allura closed her eyes, muttering almost to herself. "Just the when, how, and where are the questions."

"…Well, yeah. Just a little detail or two."

Little details. Allura moved further into a stand of trees, shaking her head slightly. It wasn't just the caves themselves she'd needed to get out of. It was, truthfully, the _princess stuff_. With her father out searching, Tanner and even Nanny missing… she had to be strong for her people, but who was there to be strong for her? Perhaps she and her honorary niece simply had to rely on each other.

"I know. It seems obvious when I say it out loud." She laughed weakly, putting a hand to her forehead. "Maybe the caves have gotten to me. But we have to find hope somewhere, there's so little in this moment… we can't just give up because it seems impossible now."

That, Larmina supposed, was true. She slid down a small slope, taking a little time and space to gather her thoughts. "You really think there's a way out of this?"

Allura was silent for a long time. Much too long, in Larmina's opinion. "…I don't know," she admitted finally. "It's hard to imagine right now, but I still believe in my father. Somehow, he'll find a way." It had been so long since he'd even returned to the castle tunnels, but she knew they would have heard if he'd been captured…

"Yeah. What _is_ he doing, anyway? Aren't the Drules looking for him specifically? Seems like he'd be better off staying underground, but what do I know."

_But staying underground won't wake the Lions from their slumber._ For a moment Allura was sorely tempted to confide in her completely. But… no. The years of having secrecy impressed upon her still weighed too heavily. "He's trying to find a way to accomplish the impossible." _I hope it is possible. It _must _be possible._

Larmina frowned slightly at the non-answer, though it didn't surprise her. _Can't tell the half-royal bastard child, got it_. There were, no doubt, practical concerns at play. The more people who knew where King Alfor was, the more danger he was in. It was none of her business. She wasn't upset by it. Not at all. Nope. "Hope for the best, right?"

"It is better than the alternatives."

Also probably true. _Whatever_. Finally Larmina sighted what she'd been looking for—the trail of blood the roli she'd clipped had left behind. Motioning for silence she began to follow the trail, keeping her eyes open for any of its friends that might jump out. After all, rolis _were_ vicious in their fuzziness.

The trail didn't go far before vanishing into some thick underbrush. She wasn't about to let that stop her, and pushed some brambles aside… and sprang back with wide eyes. "Dovayat polesta!" Immediately she slapped a hand over her own mouth, blushing bright. That had been way, _way_ too loud. And using that kind of language in front of Auntie was probably not the best move.

Mercifully though, Auntie didn't comment, instead moving closer and raising her bow. "What is it?"

"It's, um…" Larmina hesitantly pushed the branches aside again, half hoping it had been get imagination. Nope, still there. "Someone, uh, has been having way more fun than us out here."

Well that didn't seem to be an answer. Allura came up behind her, pushing a few more branches out of the way, and her own eyes widened. A dead Drule was laying there in a pool of bluish blood; the delicately filigreed sword buried in his guts left no question as to how he'd wound up that way.

Her first instinct was to scan the skies again. Silent for now, but how long would that last? "Someone is bound to come looking for their missing scout." She'd heard more than a few tales recently of ambushes being counter-ambushed. "We may want to finish our hunt elsewhere."

"Yeah, might want to." Despite her agreement, Larmina didn't move. She looked mildly ill as she stared at the body. "I guess some of the Golden Knights are still out there causing problems, huh?"

"So it seems." Allura was still scanning their surroundings, but the only sound was another whistle of wind. "May they always be thorns in the Drules' sides."

"Damn right." And there was the language again. Oh well. Just leaving a perfectly good sword behind seemed silly, so Larmina carefully stepped through the brambles and pulled it out of the scout's stomach. Dark blood splattered around it. "Eww."

Chuckling, Auntie motioned for her to move it, but she hesitated a moment longer. She had been taught some Drakure—they _were_ on the border of the Ninth Kingdom, and royal education was comprehensive. Very few of the words had stuck with her, and most of those were impolite. It was one of those words she scratched into a rock near the body.

Turning to follow Allura elsewhere, she kept a tight grip on the sword. She had very little idea how to use a sword properly, but it made her feel better somehow… a reminder that they weren't alone out here, maybe. Arus was still fighting. There _was_ still hope.

The rest of the hunt was mercifully uneventful, and before they knew it twilight was starting to fall. That was their cue to return. Carrying a light would be insane with the Drules owning the skies. But they may have walked a bit more slowly than usual, and not just because of the rolis they were dragging along behind them.

A ruined shell of a cabin hid one entrance to the tunnels. It had always been ruined. The vines creeping over the crumbling stone had been planted centuries ago, deliberately haphazard. As they ducked beneath a curtain of green they stopped to count their catch one last time. A good day, without doubt; they'd brought down a dozen rolis between them.

Allura had more. But Larmina had a sword, not to mention a few branches full of berries she'd cut free on the way back. "You may have more rolis, but I have more variety!" she announced with a sly grin.

Checking over her arrows—even those were a precious commodity now, and they'd managed to recover nearly all of them—Allura chuckled softly. "That's perfect. We can always use berries, not to mention a good sword."

"Always." Larmina looked to the sky, where the moon was shining as a faint sliver. It would have been a beautiful night… "Guess we have to go in now, huh."

The princess nodded. "One day, we won't have to go back into the caves. I'm sure of it. Sadly, today is not that day." Looking not towards the moon but towards the mountains, she murmured under her breath, "Wake, oh Lions… please…"

Larmina shot her a sharp look, catching about half of the murmur. _Lions? What lions?_ She'd heard tales of the ancient guardian beasts that had once roamed the plains of Arus, but nobody had actually _seen_ a lion since the War of Golden Revival centuries ago. Lions were a myth. But then, so were banewolves… as if answering her thoughts, the wind howled around them.

In the distance, a low growl echoed in the breeze. Or did it? The moment she tried to grasp it, it was gone… shaking her head, she pushed more vines aside to reveal the tunnels beyond. "Come on, let's go. If they see us, it'll be way worse than the caves. Just… keep telling ourselves that."

"Yes." Allura nodded slowly, slinging her quiver back over her shoulder and gathering up her string of rolis. Once more she looked up at the mountains. The dark clouds of Thunder Ridge were sometimes visible from here on clear days; now there was just featureless night. But the image of Black Lion, silent and still in its den, flickered into her mind.

_Please…_

Reaching up to brush away a tear of longing trying to form, she turned and followed Larmina into the tunnels.

* * *

_*Hey everyone! One of our writers is going through a bit of a medical issue right now, so we're taking a two week hiatus to give her some time to rest up and relax. We'll be back soon. With a mission briefing._


	7. Explorers Again

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 6_  
Explorers Again

* * *

It had been almost two weeks since the initial non-briefing when the summons came in. Intel had done all they could with the results of their last mission, and it was time for Explorer Team 686 to get their new marching orders. Flying orders. Whatever. In any case, they were finally going to learn what this mission was actually about, and most of the team was very ready for it.

Most of them. The veterans, at least. The kids were less impressed.

Daniel had been in the briefing room for all of two minutes, and was already bouncing his leg in boredom, trying to keep his mind off his sore nose. Pidge was sitting in a corner looking surly. Vince was hovering near Hunk, warily eyeing the ninja and the several members of the bridge crew he had yet to formally meet. Only Cam was sitting at attention, eager to show off how seriously he was taking his new assignment.

The room was quiet, and a bit uneasy—not tense, per se, but uneasy—when Colonel Hawkins walked in. "Morning, gentlemen." He looked around. Nobody seemed to have been murdering each other, which was often the bar Explorer Teams were held to. Though along with the new additions, he noticed something missing… arching an eyebrow, he turned to their bomb tech. "What, no donuts?"

"My roomie swiped 'em," Hunk answered matter-of-factly. "Take an IOU?"

Hawkins chuckled. "That's alright."

"I miss the donuts," Lance muttered, drawing a furtive nod of agreement from Sven. Jace glowered.

"In any case, it's time officially to give you all your mission. Unless you were enjoying 'you're going somewhere to look for something'... though," Hawkins turned and started to pace uneasily, "this is only marginally better."

"Marginally?" Lance snorted. "I'll believe that when I hear it."

Keith nodded. "Considering what we had before, sir, something is definitely better."

"Alright." The colonel kept pacing. "The crystal you recovered from Sorthal has been… about as decrypted as intel feels they can decrypt it. It is, apparently, a combination of historical archive and some kind of distress beacon."

"Distress? After what you'd have to go through to get it?" Jace muttered. "Seems legit."

"That's not a lie."

"No kiddin'."

"But having to go through all that to reach it, already being in distress?" Keith frowned. "It doesn't make sense."

Sven looked around at the others. They were good questions, but he couldn't help feeling everyone was missing the obvious. "A distress beacon for what, sir?"

Nodding his appreciation for the question, Hawkins stopped pacing. "The data discusses, and was apparently left there to signal, an ancient superweapon called Voltron. Intel believes this weapon is what the Galra are searching for. Command wants it first."

The team exchanged glances; Keith was the first to break the silence. "Voltron." He arched an eyebrow. "Must be some weapon, given the size of our ship."

Lance had other concerns. "Voltron? Sounds like Megatron's brother."

"That _can't_ be a real name," Flynn agreed. "Can it?"

Vince looked uneasily around the room, debating speaking up in this Voltron's defense. He wasn't actually going to say anything. But he did remember learning about angels in a religious studies class, and a reaction very much like this to—

"If some angelic voice of God dude can just happen to be called Metatron, some ancient alien superweapon can just happen to be called Voltron, yeah?"

Several people turned shocked looks on Hunk, and Vince gave a small sigh of relief.

"The fuck?" Lance blinked. "Metatron is a real thing? I thought that was just for the movie."

"Totally is!" Grin. "There's a great documentary on the remake, it's called _Rethinking Dogma…_"

Hawkins lightly cleared his throat before anyone else could ask what they were talking about—though truthfully, most of the team knew better than that by now. Keith blushed slightly. "I apologize for my team, sir. Please continue."

"I don't think they're sorry, Commander." Hawkins looked more amused than anything. "But yes, let's move on."

"Okay, so, we go fetch this Voltron thing and bring it back." Jace leaned forward in his chair. "What's the catch?"

"It's a large one." The colonel sighed. "What intel believes to be the actual location data was in a completely undecipherable format—it isn't native to Sorthal, they checked. They didn't think they could trigger the beacon, which probably would have been a terrible idea anyway. That leaves us with the background data, which seems to indicate that this Voltron can be found on the planet Altea. We have no records of any such planet."

"You _had_ to ask," Hunk scolded Jace, who obligingly flipped him off.

"So, go find an unknown planet with a weapon called Voltron." Lance shrugged. "Fuck, why not?"

"Yeah, wonderful." Keith shook his head. "Another wild goose chase."

Flynn crossed his arms and leaned back, looking thoughtful. "If I've learned anything from the movies these people have been making me watch, it's that this is where Holgersson jumps up and tells us he's the one navigator in the Alliance who knows where Altea is." He looked over at Sven. "Any chance of it?"

Lance snickered proudly; Keith gave him his best _what have they done to you?_ look. Their navigator just blinked. "I'm afraid not."

Shrug. "It was worth a try."

Despite that, this _was_ Sven's area of expertise. He felt responsible… which made the blank his mind was drawing all the more frustrating. And something else wasn't sitting quite right, something he couldn't put a finger on. "I'm not even sure where to begin. Do we have any other information? Or at least a starting point?"

"That's all we have, I'm afraid." Hawkins shook his head. "Intel did investigate thoroughly on Sorthal, trying to find any more leads, but they came up empty."

Keith didn't look enthused. At all. "So we just… go to every planet in range and ask where to find Altea?"

"Not exactly. Based on the age of the crystal, there may be folklore to be found regarding the planet. Stories or rumors that wouldn't make it into our stellar databases. Possibly even legends about the weapon—though if it is what the Galra are searching for, the less you can mention it, the better."

Somewhere in the middle of that, Sven found words for what was bothering him. "Sir, if I may, the crystal was quite large. Why do we have so little information?"

If he didn't know better, he'd have said Hawkins looked grateful to be asked the question. He probably didn't like all this vagueness any better than they did. "There _was_ an enormous amount of data on the crystal. Much of it was structural, so to speak. Very little of it was relevant to the location of this Voltron."

Sven nodded his understanding, but Jace snorted derisively. "We're supposed to trust what intel tells us isn't relevant?"

"Fuck," Lance grumbled, "I agree with Jace."

"Hey, you're getting smarter!"

"No, that's you."

Hawkins looked between them and rolled his eyes. "Boys, you're both pretty."

Maybe it was just as well they didn't have donuts; the round of choked snickers that went through the room might have killed someone. Keith looked absolutely mortified. Lance, on the other hand, just raised an eyebrow and nodded respectfully, while Jace gave a casual salute.

Without missing a beat, Hawkins pulled out his datapad and called up a file. "Anyway, it's a fair point. I'll tell you what I can. First, the crystal included a historical record of events on Sorthal. Intel believes the bulk of that data was in a graphical format, hence the crystal's size. Much like the location data, the format was too alien for them to reconstruct the visuals. They did manage to pull much of the accompanying text. I can give you the overview, if you'd like it."

Several nods answered him. Even Pidge leaned forward, his surly expression fading slightly. Lance, having apparently recovered from his burn already, waved for him to continue. "Might be some folklore that could be handy in finding it, maybe?"

"Maybe." The colonel scanned his datapad for a moment. "Alright. Sorthal was originally home to two sapient races, the Sorith and the Thalesse. They evolved on different continents and were peaceful, but incompatible, so each pretty much kept to their own land. Then some kind of… deep space monstrosity descended on the planet. The Thalesse were almost completely wiped out within a week."

_Deep space monstrosity?_ Keith, Sven, and Jace exchanged looks, the monster on Kithran immediately springing back to mind. Vince audibly gulped. Nobody said a word, and the colonel had everyone's _complete_ attention when he spoke again.

"The Sorith were scrambling for a contingency plan when the Voltron weapon arrived… somehow. The record is clear that it was unknown to Sorthal at the time. But it arrived and destroyed the monster." Hawkins' dark eyes narrowed. "The monster, let me emphasize, that had just laid waste to an entire continent."

"Wow…"

"Holy fuck. It killed the monstrosity by itself?"

"Yes." He looked around the room. "We have no proof, of course, that this isn't an exaggerated myth. But we have no reason to assume it _is_. What we know of Sorthal supports it. The crystal confirms that the Voltron weapon's operators constructed the temple you found as a kind of waypoint, with the assistance of the few remaining Thalesse." Lowering his eyes, he paused a moment before continuing. "They suspected their population was too devastated to recover, but swore to protect the temple as long as they could. The Sorith promised to leave their continent as a memorial."

Flynn clenched his fists and hissed; Lance cleared his throat, blinking heavily. They glanced at each other and exchanged brief nods in the silence. Then Lance raised his head, eyes narrowed. "The fucking Galra can't have this thing." Answering nods ran around the room.

"Yes," Hawkins agreed. "To be clear, if you locate this weapon but find it unrecoverable, your orders are to deny it to the Galra at any cost. But that's very much a last resort."

"Uh, are we _sure_ we've got a big enough cargo bay?" Hunk asked. "Kinda suck to hafta blow this thing cuz we can't fit it aboard, yeah?"

"You've been equipped with intel's best guess, as far as transport goes… not to mention the largest ship with any sort of versatility. If it's not sufficient, as long as the weapon isn't in immediate danger you'll contact us and we'll figure out a plan B."

"Intel's best guess?" Lance muttered. "Expect that plan B message."

"Sir, you haven't told us the nature of the weapon." Several people jumped as Pidge spoke up quietly from the corner. "Or what to do if Altea doesn't want us to retrieve it."

Keith eyed their systems analyst and nodded approvingly. Hawkins nodded also. "We don't know how long the Galra have been searching for this weapon, but we've seen raids from them for a bit over a century. That, combined with the lack of any other records of Altea or Voltron, leads Command to believe they are no longer active." He grimaced. "If that turns out not to be true, well… that's when we start looking for plan C."

Sven arched an eyebrow, exchanging glances with Jace. "We seem to have a lot of named plans without actual plans attached to them…"

Their commander seemed equally unimpressed. "I'm not liking this mission already, sir."

"We're gonna run out of alphabet," Lance agreed.

Flynn, for his part, had been wondering from the beginning why this whole mission wasn't an intel operation. Now it was starting to make sense. "The more backup plans you add to this, the more I see why it's going to an Explorer Team."

"You did all seem quite adept at improvising on your first mission," Hawkins said with a wry smile. "I'm sure it'll rub off on your new teammates."

"Always happy to corrupt people, sir." Lance grinned.

Daniel had been doing something unusual so far—behaving—but he couldn't help a smirk at that. As if he needed corrupting? He was already there. "Sounds like it's gonna be fun!"

_Improvising_. Keith's thoughts immediately drifted back to their escape from Sorthal. _Is that what we're calling it now?_ For that matter, 'fun' was not the word he would've chosen for this either.

All of that had only answered half of Pidge's question, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by at least two team members. Hunk wasn't going to say anything—it would ruin his Big Dumb Hunk vibe. Cam, on the other hand, had been quiet and attentive through the whole briefing, and jumped at the chance to prove his usefulness. "Pardon me, sir, but you didn't answer the first part of the specialist's question. What is the nature of this weapon?"

Eyeing the comms officer, Hawkins exhaled slowly and tried to decide how to answer that. It was a fair and valid question, in his opinion, especially for the team that would be _searching_ for it. The brass seemed to feel otherwise. "Intel claims they can't discern that—it's like nothing they've ever seen or heard of. They focused most of their efforts with the graphical format on getting an image of the weapon, but the results left… quite a bit to be desired." Calling the product of intel's best efforts _wholly useless_ seemed strong, though he was certain nobody would disagree.

Cam frowned. "Can we see it?"

He'd already been pulling up the new file on his datapad. Maybe, he mused as he studied it again, it wasn't _wholly_ useless. It certainly had one distinctive element… "Here you go." He linked the image into the room's projector system. A smear of five colors shot through with streaks of silver appeared on the screen.

Immediately, Lance's eyes fell on the bright red blur. It was exactly the same shade as that metal, the apparently mystical metal… he had no clue what it could mean, and went for sarcasm to ground himself. "What is that, a five year old's artwork?"

"There's no need to insult five year olds, caralho," Jace objected. "Especially now that we're working with some."

All four of the kids glared at the medic for that, but Lance nodded sagely. "Point, point. What is that, Jace's artwork?"

"…Well played. And fuck you."

Lance just smirked.

Hunk leaned forward, squinting at the screen as if that would somehow make it better, then gave up and shrugged. "So we're lookin' for some deadly abstract art? I'm up for it."

"But look at the colors," Keith said quietly. "Black… red… blue, yellow, and green. It matches the colors in that temple." It made sense, given what the colonel had told them about the temple's history, but at least it was something. Maybe. Hopefully?

It didn't reassure Jace at all. "If we run into another fucking Garden of Murder, we're calling intel out to walk through it. Call it plan F, for 'fuck this'."

"Fuck yes," Lance agreed.

Daniel perked up a little; _that_ actually sounded interesting. "Garden of murder?"

Lance waved him off. "You don't want to know, kid."

"See, that makes me want to know."

"I was stuck with him." Their pilot jabbed his thumb at Jace. "It was horrifying."

Remembering his medical exam, Daniel nodded slowly. "That sounds about right."

Smirk. "Newbie is onto you, Doc."

"Hey, he's not as dumb as he looks." Jace shrugged. "I respect it, I guess."

Hawkins was usually inclined to give his teams plenty of leeway, especially after telling them they were going to be hunting down something they'd never even seen. Keith was less willing to let this go on. "Boys. _Enough_."

They fell silent, though Daniel made a point of rolling his eyes. Hawkins waited a moment, then took the picture down and shook his head. "I'll be straight with you, gentlemen. This mission is exactly as ridiculous as it sounds, and there's no sense pretending otherwise. But hunting down this kind of long shot is precisely what the Explorer Teams were created to do. On the slim chance you find it? It could change everything." A slight grin crept over his face. "If you do, I did get Command to authorize you to attempt to restore and test it out. You'll certainly deserve that much."

"So we find it and take it for a test drive…" Cam laughed softly. "At least they trust us to give it back."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Ha, like _you'd_ break protocol."

"Shut up, brat."

"Make me, fanboy."

The death glare Keith gave them both was something to behold. It was Flynn who shut them up, though, glancing between them and then between Lance and Jace. "Faex, there's more of them."

Lance eyed Jace, considering that, then shook his head slightly. _Nah, we do it better_. Jace looked back at him, debating flipping him off, but then just shrugged and tossed another salute.

"Sorry, sir." Cam blushed. Daniel remained silent; he wasn't sorry.

Chuckling, Hawkins flipped the projector off. "If you have no other questions, gentlemen… this room is open until six, if you'd like to use it to devise your strategy. Though if you have a conference room with a dead hydraulic line in your new ship, you're welcome to use that instead."

"It _wasn't_ a conference room," Flynn said indignantly. "It was the crew quarters, they sprung a hydraulic leak _in their bedroom—_" He could've kept going, but Hunk slapped a hand over his mouth.

"What the pit boss means to say is, thanks, Colonel Bossman!"

"I don't think that's what he was gonna say," Lance observed lightly. _Can he just say hydraulic again?_

Keith winced. He'd nearly forgotten about Bob the hydraulic line. "Does this one have an RIP sign anywhere, Flynn?"

"Yeah," Jace snorted, "he RIP'd the fucking nameplate."

"…Huh?"

"Don't get him started."

"Oh, do get him started," Lance countered. That was accompanied by a playful nudge, drawing a blush that was mercifully mostly hidden by Hunk's hand.

Not that he was going to suffer _that_ indignity for long. Rolling his eyes and making a mental note to give Hunk _several_ extra shifts later, Flynn recovered and pushed the big engineer's hand aside. "I corrected the name. It needed it. Don't you read your messages?"

Keith did, in fact, read his messages. He just hadn't realized the nameplate had actually been changed. Hawkins, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow. "What was wrong with the name?"

"Thor had a hammer," the chief engineer answered flatly. "Vulcan had a hammer. Jupiter did not have a hammer, Jupiter had a thunderbolt. This is my hill and I will die on it, thank you _very much_."

"Ah, I see." He chuckled. _Explorer Teams, never boring._ "Well, gentlemen, if intel comes up with anything more I'll let you know. But I wouldn't count on it. Good luck." With that he departed the room, leaving the 686 to do their thing.

* * *

Eventually, they'd managed to come to an agreement on the strategy session. First, they may as well use the briefing room Hawkins had so kindly offered. The _Bolt_ did have conference rooms, several, but they'd be seeing plenty of those in the coming months. Second, they needed breakfast first. It was tradition. The briefing room's coffee pot had been set to work.

Food had fallen to Hunk, of course. There was a spirited debate going on about the merits of simulator training when he returned to the room. "Don't say I never did anything for you guys." He chuckled, plunking down a box of donuts and a tray of still-sizzling bacon. "I ordered a dozen delivered to Colonel Bossman too, wish I could see his face."

Cam, who'd been interrupted in the middle of arguing that the commander needed to see them work in a controlled environment, completely lost the thread as he stared at the donuts. "What the hell are those things? They're _huge_."

"They're beautiful," Daniel declared, grabbing one. Sven took one too, as did Vince after a long moment of contemplation. Donuts and bacon seemed like an odd mix.

Jace rolled his eyes. "They're circular murder. Eat up."

Picking out a donut of his own, Lance took some bacon as well and waved it in the medic's direction. "Sure you don't want some, Jace?"

"Stop waving your meat at me, McClain." That got him a wink.

Keith sighed, taking some bacon and glancing around the team. Somehow, Pidge had snagged a piece of bacon without anyone seeing him move, and Cam had given in and acquired a donut. That seemed to be everyone who was interested… "Well, once everyone settles down we can get started."

"Boss," Lance objected through a mouthful of donut, "us? Settle down?"

"We're settled enough," Flynn agreed.

Fair enough, Keith supposed. "In that case… everyone knows our orders. Our obscenely _vague_ orders."

"Totally." Hunk took a huge bite of his donut. "We've got two names, what more do we need?"

"A fucking map," Jace snorted. "But okay, who's got ideas for where we go to find a planet that doesn't exist?"

"The super secret planet emporium?" Lance suggested with a shrug.

Keith frowned, dialing up his most confident tone. "There are places out there with knowledge and information." _Hopefully_. "We just need to decide which would be the most… fruitful. Suggestions?"

A few uneasy glances shot around the room; suggestions weren't coming easily. Finally Cam tilted his head. The veterans clearly had a low opinion of intel, so… "Maybe we should start at Sorthal anyway? See if intel missed anything?"

Six voices responded in unison. "NO!"

He flinched back into his chair, wide-eyed. "Why not?"

"We can't go back there."

"Ever."

"Also, fuck that place."

"There was lightning."

"And ice water."

"And murder vines."

"And boxes."

"And an illegal escape from the planet that I _told_ them not to do."

"Okay, okay." Cam still had no idea what was going on, but was convinced he would only regret asking for further elaboration. "Not Sorthal."

"Absolutely fucking not." Lance hesitated. "If we're assuming the metal is related to this Voltron, how about Terina? They must have had a visit." Smirk. "Plus they're hot."

Sven rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "They didn't seem to have much interest in history. Even Ioan only knew something about beasts from the clouds."

"True, but we only talked to two of them. And it's not like we're overflowing with ideas."

"That is true."

"It's better than nothing," Keith agreed, entering it into his datapad. "Anything else?"

The mention of Terina had jogged Hunk's memory. "What about the Bataxi? They're like… door to door saleslizards, aren't they? Maybe this Altea's a planet they've got a port on."

Flynn nearly choked on his coffee at that description, and took a few moments to recover. "Have you _ever_ tried to get information out of a Bataxi about where they set up their 'temples'?"

"…No?"

Keith looked to his second. "Is it hard?"

"It offends them. Back on the _Magnusson_ we tried asking for directions once, we were never allowed at that port again."

"…Okay, so asking them is out. Any other suggestions?"

"That seems a bit over the top," Lance muttered so only Flynn could hear.

"They invoke five different gods to fill a fuel tank, you're expecting subtlety and nuance?" the engineer murmured back, then raised his voice. "What about Gliskor?"

Now _that_ was an abrupt turn, though it made some sense. The Glis were the oldest of the Alliance's founding races—their interstellar empire had risen and fallen while humans were still living in caves. They had provided the star charts of the vast Interior Expanse that were still in use to this day. Keith nodded slowly. "I suppose that's a possibility."

"They might know something," Sven agreed, thinking carefully. "But they pretty much provided the stellar database, why wouldn't it be in there? And if this weapon wasn't around before their empire collapsed, they wouldn't be in any better position to know about it than anyone else. It would have to be what, 20,000 years old?"

Jace shrugged. "They did say it was ancient, that sounds ancient to me."

Lacking any suggestions or opinions on the matter of hunting down possible folklore, Daniel had opted to focus on the best donut he'd ever eaten rather than the meeting. He'd just finished eating and started listening again, only to be greeted with very large numbers and complicated ancient history… he decided to just grab another donut.

Vince, though, had been thinking. The Glis weren't a bad suggestion, but their information _was_ old. But there were certainly other civilizations carrying the torch in modern times… _oh. Oh_. "Oh!"

When Sven turned to face him, he realized he'd spoken out loud and covered his mouth with both hands. He definitely hadn't meant to do that. Hunk eyed him too, offering an encouraging grin. "Got somethin', little dude?"

_Welp_. No getting out of this one. He cleared his throat of a stubborn bit of donut and nodded tentatively. "There is Kaliega."

"Kaliega…" Keith was obviously struggling to remember where he'd heard that name before. "That is an interesting suggestion."

"That is a _wonderful_ suggestion," Sven corrected, eyes shining eagerly. Jace glanced over at him with some concern; the last time he'd seen that look on the Viking's face, he'd been talking about severing boar-tah spines.

Lance frowned. "What's a Kaliega?"

"It's the homeworld of the Lygoth. They're the best astronomers and stellar cartographers in the modern Alliance." Sven was trying to figure out how he hadn't thought of this himself; he'd wanted to visit Kaliega since the first moment he'd heard of it. "Their Cathedral of Stars is legendary."

Keith weighed the options for a minute. He remembered Kaliega now; the Lygoth had the opposite problem as the Glis. They were a relatively young race, and this Altea might very well predate them. But then, he didn't think the Sorith were anywhere near as old as the Glis, so… "We'll go to Terina, it's a long shot but a short trip. I think our first stop after that will be Kaliega. If we don't come up with something there, then we can try Gliskor."

"Why do star dudes trump 20,000 years of knowledge?" Lance asked, more curious than challenging.

"The Glis don't _have_ 20,000 years of knowledge," Pidge said abruptly, sounding mildly contemptuous. "They _lost_ 20,000 years of knowledge."

That was not an entirely accurate summary of the situation, but it was close enough. It got him a nervous look from Vince, a raised eyebrow from Flynn… and a broad smile from Sven, who was willing to take support anywhere he could get it. "I like that one."

Keith motioned for silence. "I'm sure we could do with exhausting all our other options before we go harass an ancient race." Under his breath he added, "because that's _exactly_ what we'd end up doing, I'm sure…"

"Kaliega is also closer to Terina than Gliskor is," Sven added. That also was not entirely accurate, the difference was really negligible by interstellar standards. But the route to Gliskor from the Rim was more complex, hence slower… and he really, really wanted to go to Kaliega.

Flynn smirked. "Parikullax is closer than both of them, if we want to go get blacklisted by _door to door saleslizards_ just to start this thing off correctly." Beside him, Lance snickered.

"How about we not." Keith gave them both a reproachful look. "The Bataxi are likely to be in charge of some of the ports we'll need to visit, it would be best if we _not_ anger them."

"Besides," Jace snorted, "we'll get in enough fucking trouble as it is without going and looking for it."

Hunk chuckled. "It's our superpower." He grabbed another donut and looked around the table, shaking his head. "What's the rush, anyway? We're goin' on a sanctioned epic road trip for who knows how long and you're all worried about actually findin' the thing fast? Sheesh."

"Yes, we are," Keith answered with a frown. "We have our plan. Terina, Kaliega, and Gliskor. Hopefully at least one of them will have some information…" He exhaled slowly. "God help us if they don't."

"Yeah," Daniel snorted, "I'm sure we're on the top of God's help list."

"They'll totally point us directly toward…" Lance paused, making a face. "Boltron?"

"Voltron, McClain." Keith rolled his eyes.

"Oh, right. Because that makes much more sense."

"Yeah, the _Bolt_ is the ship. Or something." Jace leaned back in his chair. "I'm kinda with giant donut dumbass, they're shipping us out on this crazy-ass joke of a mission, we may as well take a few rest stops. Who's gonna know?"

"We will," Cam answered, looking slightly scandalized. "And it would have to go in any reports we send back." Next to him, Daniel rolled his eyes theatrically.

The medic wasn't having it either. "I've already got reason to stab you at will, kid. Just saying."

Glare. "I took my meds. Leave me alone."

"Besides," Sven smacked his arm, "if you stab him, you're the one who has to fix him."

"Fix him? I didn't take that level of surgery, but I could arrange something."

For some reason, Sven had not expected that, and just stared at him with his most disapproving look. Most of the kids stared too. Lance snickered, though his mind was elsewhere. He should be with Hunk and Jace on the issue of side trips, but it didn't sit right, somehow. The memory of warmth tingled in his fingers… he wanted to find this thing. He _really_ wanted to find it.

Which did raise another question… "If we actually find this Altea, assuming it _is_ all ancient alien ruins and crap, how are we supposed to find this weapon when all we have to go off of is Jace's finger painting?"

Jace started to respond; Sven took one look at Keith's expression and elbowed him, hard. After a moment's thought Hunk spoke up. "Well, if we think the weird metal is actually _part_ of this Voltron—that is what we're goin' with, yeah?"

"Probably?"

"Seems reasonable."

"I think that would be the best, at least until we find reason to think otherwise." Keith nodded. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, we know it still reads as metal. Wouldn't be too hard to set up the scanners to look for a big chunk of metal that ain't givin' off any energy readings. And once we find that, we know what we're lookin' for _is_ all technicolor, it oughta stand out. Hopefully."

That was a lot of hoping, in Keith's opinion, but so was everything else about this mission. It was better to have a nebulous plan than no plan at all. "Alright. Flynn, when will we be able to launch?"

"Soon?" Shrug. "The ship is about ready, we just need to do a weapons test and final hull inspection. It's probably safe to request a launch slot for next week."

"Good." After over a month of waiting and wondering, having a concrete task before them felt good—even if calling it a concrete task was a bit of an overstatement. Wet concrete, maybe. But they had their goal, now. "I want everyone to enjoy these last few days on the ground, but get packed sooner rather than later. When we get our slot I expect you all to be ready."

Answering nods went around the room. Pidge shifted. "Are we finished then, sir?"

"Yes. Dismissed."

With a few salutes of varying seriousness, and a few extra donuts to go, the team headed out.

* * *

It was hard to tell how much time had passed since her arrival to the shelter, deep within the tunnels. Between a few cave collapses, and more than a few moments when it looked like the Drules had breached the shelter network, it felt like forever to Nanny. But there had finally been some movement, attempts to find the rumored extension tunnels that allowed for movement between shelters. It had taken some time for the few that were aware of such things to get their bearings after the shocking attack. More time yet to find the doorways that accessed the tunnels; they were well hidden for obvious reasons. Then of course, the wait to make sure opening the doors would not alert the Drules above.

Still, there was tangible progress, and it gave Nanny hope. Golden Gods willing, it would be soon that she could regroup with the young prince, and they could make their way back towards the castle.

In the meantime, she had made use of herself tending to the wounded and preparing food for others—what little they had. The shelters had been stocked with some rations, but it was only so much that was still edible. Now that the new tunnels were opening up, it offered some hope to gain access to fresher food from hunting or foraging. Risky, certainly. But necessary. Expedition teams were already being formed.

Nanny had an expedition of her own in mind. As the others had been making plans to improve conditions in the tunnels, she started to plan her departure. First, she made sure there was enough food prepared to last a bit, so her departure would not be too sudden for whoever was taking her place. Then she gathered some food for her own travel. After all, there could be a delay in getting back to the castle shelters. It wouldn't do to succumb to hunger as she traveled, and the young prince might need food as well when she caught up with him.

Finally ready, with focus in her eyes and a lantern in her hand, she started to make her way down the connecting tunnel. She had seen a few knights travel this one, and they had come back unharmed. It must be safe to travel. Humming softly to herself as she traveled, she watched the rough stone walls carefully, hoping to find a sign of where this tunnel would meet up with the next shelter.

Time seemed to blur together as she traveled the tunnels, the featureless walls, the packed dirt floors, the endless walking. It seemed to much farther than she'd hoped would be necessary. Checking her surroundings, she realized that it had been some time since she last saw a person rushing past her. When she'd started, a scout or two would rush by every so often, sometimes carrying food and water. Now, she couldn't even hear any echoes from distant reaches of the tunnel. Was there a turn somewhere she hadn't seen?

"Maybe others are sleeping… yes. Sleeping." Nanny swallowed hard, trying not to let nerves get the best of her. "Best keep moving, I'm bound to reach the end sooner or later."

Sleep, though, was encroaching on her as well; she kept going for just a bit more before the need to rest found her. Fighting it more wouldn't help her, nor the prince when she found him. Setting down by the side of the tunnel, she dimmed the lantern to a low glow before sleeping.

When she woke, she became even more nervous; the light of the lantern wasn't nearly as bright as before. Attempting to remember her basic survival techniques, it dawned on her that her sleep patterns might be off from the long weeks underground. Left to her body's own devices, she'd slept more than she should have. Even her lantern's low, steady burn had run its power down. Shivering slightly, she ate a small bit of her rations before continuing. She needed to reach the end of this tunnel before she ran out of water, food, and light.

Keeping her light on a lower setting, she hugged the side of the tunnel to keep her bearings. Pausing at times to listen for movement brought only silence. More endless hours of walking, her legs aching… she should have turned around when she first realized how extensive the tunnels were. No, she couldn't have, Prince Tanner needed her. She just had to keep going…

She was starting to get tired again. Surely she couldn't have been walking for a full day? But her body needed to conserve energy, of it needed sleep, she would sleep. But as she dimmed the lantern to near darkness, the tunnel didn't get quite dark enough. A sliver of light, just barely visible on the far wall. Stumbling towards it, she could hear voices. Low, hushed voices, a murmur on the other side of some rocks.

Her legs were on the verge of giving out, and she leaned heavily on the wall to steady herself. As her hand pressed upon one rock, it gave way. With a startled cry she tumbled into a new chamber, and a small group of equally startled people. Dazed from her fall, she didn't fight as some of them gathered her up; others looked to see where she'd come from before closing up the hole. After pressing her for who she was and where she had come from, they brought her to an elder.

At once she recognized a former friend, Elder DeFlor. He used to visit the castle long ago, though he hadn't for some time. Still, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Maybe there was hope for her mission after all.

"Governess… how is it that you've arrived to these parts?"

"I was separated from my charge when the attack happened," she explained, wincing again at the memory. "The refugees from the city went to different shelters I was hoping to find him, and the rest of the group I was with."

DeFlor seemed puzzled, calling for a map. Laying it out, he nodded to her. "Now… which city is it you've come from?"

"We were in Falastol." She gave him a pleading look. "Elder… please say I've found the others from there."

"Governess…" He didn't need to say it. She could see it in his eyes, the mix of sympathy and worry. "We are from Halonia. Quite far beyond Falastol."

Halonia? Nanny stared, uncomprehending, for a moment. She knew where Halonia was. She knew how far she must have traveled, and for nothing. Sighing, she gave in, burying her face in her hands.

_I'll keep looking. I _will _find him._


	8. Sugar and Space

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 7_  
Sugar and Space

* * *

Barring any last-second issues with the ship, the 686 had been given a launch slot on November first.

_Why_. Why would they _do_ that?

It was Halloween, and Daniel was having none of it. He'd been up late. Way too late. It wasn't _his_ fault, Devil's Night was more his style, and for the first time he hadn't had to worry about being expelled if he got carried away. He was already on an Explorer Team. What was the worst that could happen?

Hangovers. Apparently. It wasn't fair, if he was going to have a hangover he should've at least had something to drink… he'd managed to stumble from his bed to a chair after waking up, around three in the afternoon. He might not leave the chair again until it was time to—

"Oi! Whiny brat!"

He blinked. The voice was familiar; it didn't belong outside his quarters. But he was too tired to care how it had gotten there. "I'm not answering the door if you call me that."

"Fine," Cam retorted. "No candy for you, then."

Oh no. Sighing, he stood and trudged to the door, but didn't open it. The security window showed someone in an old-fashioned space suit standing outside. If he squinted, he could just make out the features behind the faceplate. "I'm exhausted, and I don't want candy."

"Not my fault you were out all night getting into trouble." Spaceman Cam, or whatever he was supposed to be, reached up and pounded on the door. "Come on. Team bonding and stuff."

_Ugh_. Daniel really just wanted to go back to sleep, but clearly that was out. "Fine." He opened the door and glowered. "But I want all your Twix."

"Nope. You get your Twix, I get mine… no, wait. I'll give you all the left ones, they always taste burnt to me."

"The left ones are amazing. You heathen."

"Whatever." Cam waved that off, eyeing his rumpled pajamas scornfully. "Get your costume, we need candy."

"_We_ don't need candy, _you_ do." Get his costume? Why did spaceboy think he had a costume? He hadn't planned on dressing up at all… _oh! I know what I'll wear_. Last year's costume was still in his closet. He went back to the bedroom to pull it out.

"Yeah, I need candy," Cam grumbled after him. "We're going to be on a ship for how long? And free candy is always the best tasting candy." Really, if they had the opportunity to build a stockpile without paying for it, it would be downright irresponsible to pass it up… as he considered whether pointing that out would make his crewmate more or less cooperative, said crewmate emerged wearing a long white shirt, feathery wings, and a halo. "…You're kidding me. You are _no_ angel, Brennan."

"Call me Daniel." Was his name really that hard? "And it's Halloween, I can be whatever I want. Let's go…" A sheepish look crossed his face for a moment. "But uh, let's avoid the Bridgewater district."

Handing him a sack, Cam pushed him out the door before he could change his mind. "Why's that? Did you egg the academic housing?"

"No, no." Daniel accepted the sack and the pushing, it was that much less effort he had to put into movement. "Um, _something_ may have happened to Corporal Fuchs's car last night. And if he sees me he'll definitely think I did it."

_And wouldn't that be a tragedy?_ Cam laughed. "Maybe I should make you walk up to his door dressed the way you are."

"So I can be wrongfully accused? No thanks!"

Cam scoffed. "You _did_ it, just admit it."

"Second rule of not getting caught is not admitting shit."

That was the second rule? What was the first one? Maybe he didn't want to know that. "Fine, fine. I want to hit the Heights anyway." Grin. "Score big."

"Ugh, that's so far away…" That earned Daniel an elbow; he was too tired to deal with it and folded immediately. "Okay fine. All your left Twix, don't forget."

"I won't." Cam frowned as they exited the dormitory block. "We'd get even more with a bigger group. Who can we wrangle who'd want to hang out with you?"

"You keep insulting me and I'm going home."

"I think I'm starting to like you." Glare. "Else I wouldn't insult you so much."

"Fine…" Daniel glared right back. "Maybe the other new guys? You did say you wanted _team bonding and stuff_."

"Ooh, yeah. That'll work." Apart from the briefing they'd barely even seen the kids from engineering. Or really anyone from engineering, for that matter. "I think I heard something about a test fire today, they're probably on duty… but it's _Halloween_. To the ship?"

"To the ship."

* * *

The _Bolt_ wasn't fast on the ground. That was probably for the best.

Flynn was sitting in the pilot's seat, trying to keep focused on where he was going rather than the death grip he was maintaining on the controls. Alliance cross training meant he had some basic flight experience. Enough to know what things looked like from the cockpit. Enough, if called upon, to taxi the lumbering _Vagrant_ to the test range.

He really, really didn't _like_ it. But Hunk, who could usually be counted on for this sort of thing, was off having a Halloween party with Lance. Apparently running around the Garrison in a Godzilla costume was even more entertaining than blowing things up with a disruptor cannon? He would _never_ understand that man.

Flynn himself had been invited to the party. Several times. But he'd had to fit the test firing in somewhere before launch—he hadn't expected Departure to schedule them _quite_ so quickly—and the holiday wasn't really on his radar in any case. Part of him was disappointed; he didn't care at all about Halloween, but he did like hanging out with Lance.

Part of him was relieved to have the excuse, because well… he was noticing a bit too often that he did like Lance. Sighing, he brushed that thought aside. He really didn't need the distraction right now.

Vince was sitting at the gunnery station, looking about as on edge as Flynn felt. If it weren't _Vince_, he might've taken it as commentary on his driving, but that didn't seem likely. Pidge was back in the bay manning the diagnostic console… neither of them were too terribly upset to have him on the other side of the ship. Much as it seemed he meant well, he still wasn't all that pleasant.

"Almost there…"

It was not, in fact, lost on Vince how uncomfortable Flynn seemed at the controls. It was almost reassuring, in an odd way; someone around here other than him _could_ be nervous! He shifted, watching the taxiway as the _Bolt_ took a wide turn to the left and rolled onto the spacecraft weapons range.

The comms crackled. "ACS _Jupiter's Hammer_, visual contact. You're late. Subrange six is yours."

"We're late by _two minutes_, go to hell," Flynn snapped. Vince's eyes widened in shock… then he heard the soft click of the comm switch. "Sorry, Range Command. Traffic was heavy. Subrange six is ours, acknowledged."

Vince couldn't help laughing, and Flynn shot a wink back over his shoulder before pushing the ship forward again. Subrange six was on the far end—why wouldn't it be? Though really, the way the test range was laid out, only the ends could accept a ship as large as the _Vagrant_. On the plus side, nobody else was taxiing in the area. They rolled past a couple of Fractal fighters, probably checking out their notoriously unreliable pulse cannons, and a _Tracker_-class gunboat dousing a target with five simultaneous streams of plasma. Finally, subrange six's markings came into view.

He was not breathing a sigh of relief. No, certainly not.

Maybe a little.

"Ready for the fun part?"

Nodding vigorously, Vince looked down at the gunnery panel. Since Pidge was the actual systems analyst, it fell to him to do the shooting. It shouldn't take _that_ much experience to line up the crosshairs on a stationary target. In fact he was inordinately excited about it, though he kept wondering… finally he dared broach the question he'd been debating the whole trip. "Surprised Hunk's not here, really."

"He's off dressed as a fire-breathing lizard, getting drunk." Flynn shrugged. "So, he'll get his explosions one way or another, I suppose?"

"What?" He knew Hunk was kind of crazy, but… _oh_. "Oh, right. Halloween."

"Not your thing either?"

"Not really." Vince hated crowds, and Ma giving out _apples_ had never endeared him to the neighbor kids growing up. "Love candy, though." He would have to go raid the day-after sales before launch tomorrow. His moms weren't _here_, and what they didn't know couldn't get him lectured about rotting his teeth.

The _Bolt_ moved slowly into position, orienting on the glowing holographic target about a kilometer downrange. That was considered the absolute minimum for ship-to-ship combat… among sane crews, anyway. Flynn remembered certain carriers and shook his head slightly, then looked back over his shoulder and grinned. "Well, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go find some candy. You set?"

Vince grinned back. "Heck yeah."

Nodding, Flynn flipped on the internal comms. "Pidge, we're in position."

"Yessir. Scans are set."

"Fire one when ready."

The gunnery panel was actually pretty intuitive. Multiple cameras fed the console with a 180-degree view, currently centered on a distant spark of azure light. A simple command increased the zoom, and Vince dropped the disruptor cannon's reticle over the target. "Firing!"

A low hum emanated from somewhere behind them, distinct from the idling engines. He immediately recognized it as the backup generator. The hum rapidly increased in volume, and the ship's hull rattled slightly. The backup generator wouldn't do _that_. The cannon rotating? Maybe, it might have needed a couple of degrees? Vince held his breath, it seemed like this was taking forever, and every moment the cannon didn't fire was—

—Lightning flashed forward, and a sharp _crack_ of thunder rocked the ship. The glowing target vanished completely.

_Oh, wow…_

"Impact registered," Pidge reported. "Structural damage unknown. Disruption successful, target disabled in 1.08 seconds. Energy readings within expectation. Onboard systems nominal. Charge time 8.3 seconds, suboptimal."

"Not surprising, running it off backup power." Flynn frowned. That firing delay was acceptable—if not ideal—against capital ships, but against anything smaller and faster the cannon would be useless. "Let's try this… Pidge, put the backup generator on standby."

"Yessir."

The low hum sprang back to life, this time remaining steady. Vince nodded to himself; it was the move he'd have suggested, too. As the bright blue glow of the target flickered back to life, Flynn looked back at him and nodded. "Fire when ready."

"Firing!"

Compared to the last shot, the thunderclap was almost instantaneous. The poor target was gone again.

"Charge time 1.61 seconds. Probably sufficient." A disruptor cannon couldn't be expected to fire much faster than that under any circumstances. It wasn't the nature of the beast. "Sir, firing from standby drains the reserve capacitor. It can probably only handle four more shots before recharging."

Flynn nodded slowly. _That's not so bad_. The decision to put the disruptor cannon on backup power was calculated; if they lost engine power with hostiles present, the generator sure as hell wasn't going to save them. So long as the engines _were_ in play, recharging the reserve capacitor was trivial. For now, though… "May as well take those four shots before we go home, then. Vince, fire two, let's see what the cycle rate is like."

"On it. Firing!" He was getting used to the thunderclap, at least, and set up the second shot without hesitation. "Firing!" The second call was not followed by a second flash of lightning for a few more seconds.

"You don't have to yell twice, mechka."

Vince blinked, turning to the comms and wrinkling his nose. "What did you call me?"

"I called you mechka," Pidge answered flatly.

"Doesn't sound nice," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"That's enough, Pidge." Flynn's eyes narrowed. "Status?"

"Cycle and charge time combine for an 11.82 second minimum firing delay. Second shot registered less energy, impossible to gauge effect since the first shot removed the target."

"Hmm." The delay was acceptable, but he'd certainly like more information… he keyed up the main comms. "Range Command, can we get a second target on subrange six, about a hundred meters back from the primary?"

"Copy, _Jupiter's Hammer_, secondary target online." A red pinpoint of light flickered to life beyond the blue one.

"Okay, Vince. Two more."

Vince nodded, lining up the shots and thinking for a moment. Then a sly grin tugged at his lips. "Firing! Firing!"

Flynn had to bite back a very unprofessional snicker.

"Impacts registered. Both targets disrupted. Second target resisted 0.7 seconds longer than the first. Approximate efficiency reduction of 40% when firing at maximum rate. Data is banked for further analysis." Pidge's tone remained as emotionless as ever. "Also, mechka yelled twice again. Inefficient."

Indistinct grumbling came from Vince's seat; Flynn decided not to request a clarification. "He's efficient enough, Pidge. Let's get back to the hangar and do that analysis." He smirked as he brought up the main comms again. "Range Command, _Jupiter's Bolt_ reporting test complete."

He wouldn't have bothered, but really, they'd just been shooting _literal thunderbolts_ down the range.

Before braving turning the ship around, he turned back to Vince. "You and Hunk did a hell of a job on this."

_Oh crap, a compliment._ Vince felt his ears flush. "Uh, thanks, sir."

Grin. "Your weapon worked perfectly and your gunnery was fine, so if you keep looking that nervous I'm going to assume it's because of my taxiing." He swung the pilot's seat back around and started the _Bolt_ into a wide, ungainly u-turn. "Wouldn't blame you, mind."

For a moment Vince just stared at him, putting that statement together. Then he laughed, relief flooding through him. "That's fair." He sank back in his seat and watched the taxiway go by. It was an uneventful trip, and soon enough they were rolling up to the hangar.

Technically, Flynn was well aware he should be backing the ship into its berth. One look at the turns he'd have to make was as long as that thought lasted. "Hell with it, Lance can turn it around, he'll appreciate the chance to show off…" Bringing the ship in forward, he soon caught sight of two people standing in the hangar. In the _middle_ of the hangar. Brennan and someone in an old-fashioned space suit, presumably Starr. He glanced back at Vince. "Think I can hit them?"

The younger engineer blinked, stammering. "Uh… p-probably?"

"Probably can, as long as I'm trying not to." With a sigh he brought the ship to a halt halfway over the threshold. "Let's go see what's going on."

Cam and Daniel had been watching the ship's rather shaky approach, much too busy arguing to think about getting out of the way. "That's not McClain driving, is it?"

"I hope not." Daniel shook his head. "Nah, he was pretty good on the sim, and if he could handle _those_ crappy things…"

"True." Cam smirked. "I should push you into the thruster wash, see if those wings will really help you fly."

"…What?" Even for Daniel that sounded excessive. "You're a weird dude, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Yeah, but I don't think about pushing people into thruster washes!" He hesitated. "Actually no, I take that back. I'd like to see Kogane get pushed into a thruster wash. That would be funny."

"What kind of angel are you supposed to be?" Cam flicked one of Daniel's wings. "The Commander is a great man, there's no reason to—"

"—Seriously? What did we talk about? No fanboy man crushing on Kogane in my presence."

Glare. "_You_ brought him up _first!"_

"So? Just because his name comes up doesn't mean you have to go all weak in the knees."

"Radi vsego svyatogo…" Cam pushed his helmet up so he could glare better. "You're doing that on purpose, and it's not—"

"—Are you two _trying_ to die?"

They both jumped a little; neither had paid any attention to the ship stopping, nor to the chief engineer jumping down off the boarding ramp. Vince was trailing a little behind him. Cam immediately saluted; Daniel didn't. "Sorry, sir. We were just waiting to talk to Hayes and Stoker."

Flynn stared at him. "Can't you do that without standing in the middle of the hangar when the ship is coming in?"

"Well we figured the pilot was decent enough, we could avoid it," Cam explained with a shrug, and Daniel snorted. That got them both a glare_._

_I'm so glad they're Kogane's problem_…

He'd barely finished the thought when his own problem came up from the rear boarding ramp. "Sir, we aren't even all the way in th…" Pidge trailed off as he caught sight of the other two. "Oh."

"Faex, I know we're not—I am not _that_ bad! I just don't like turning!" Flynn glared at him too, then turned back to the bridge kids. "So what did you two need?"

Cam had briefly debated stealing Daniel's halo at the chief's glare. "Apologies, sir. We came to see if they'd like to go trick or treating with us, unless they're still on duty?"

"You were cool for like, half a second," Daniel muttered under his breath; Cam jabbed him in the ribs.

Vince's eyes had widened at the invitation. "Trick or treating? At our age?" _But candy_…

"Never too old to get free candy," Daniel declared as if reading his mind.

Grin. "Good point."

"So, you two coming?" Grinning back, Daniel glanced over at Pidge for a moment. He didn't look at all impressed.

"I'm not going anywhere. I have _work_ to do."

The chief looked between the grumpy ninja and Vince, who was looking back at him and obviously trying to appear businesslike rather than pleading. He smiled faintly. "Go ahead if you like, Vince. Pidge and I can do the analysis."

"Thanks!" With a huge grin, Vince hurried over to the others. He wasn't about to admit out loud to being relieved Pidge wasn't interested… but as he turned to toss Flynn a belated salute, the thought definitely crossed his mind.

"Have fun." Laughing, Flynn turned back to the _Bolt's_ boarding ramp.

Pidge rolled his eyes as he watched the others leave. _Humans_. Dismissing Vince to go play dress-up, or whatever trick or treating was, struck him as poor prioritization… oh well. It wasn't his place to object, and test analysis wasn't that intensive. He could've done it alone if necessary. "I'll go get started, sir."

"Alright, I'll be there once I get this thing all the way in."

The diagnostics console had been pushed off to one wall. Not that the ship couldn't run its own diagnostics, but regulations said performance analysis should be run on an outside system. Logical. He walked over and started to download the testing data from the ship; numbers filled the screen. Pidge liked numbers. It was always easy to tell where he stood with them.

By the time the _Bolt_ came to rest, he had the first level of analysis started. Disrupting a holographic target into nothingness was only a benchmark. It was up to the computers to turn the voltage data and wave patterns and milliseconds into a usable model of effectiveness. After that, they could—

"So what _does_ mechka mean?"

Pidge glanced up from the screen, frowning slightly as his superior approached. "It doesn't translate, sir." He went back to watching the numbers, but could feel Flynn's eyes on him. After a minute it was clear that answer hadn't been sufficient. "…It was nothing inappropriate." _Probably_. As if he were really any judge.

Mechka were vaguely seal-like creatures native to Balto—cute, timid, and not particularly bright. It was common as a friendly insult, and he'd been given to understand that giving out mild insults as nicknames was a human social expectation. Vince had struck him very much as a mechka. He hadn't foreseen anyone asking about it; he'd never asked his old crewmates what a Pidge was.

"…Alright. I believe you." Flynn circled around, leaning over the back of the console and watching the wave patterns as the computer tore them apart. This part of the process was entirely automated, and slow. "You could have gone with them if you wanted, you know."

Of course he could have. Pidge scowled. "I didn't want to, and they didn't want me to."

That got a frown. "Have you even talked to Brennan and Starr yet?"

"They've said hello." He'd even said hello back! Human manners were inefficient and annoying, but he did mostly have the basics down. "I'm used to people not wanting me around, sir. No point expecting this to be different than anywhere else, kir sa tye? Better not to risk any incidents."

Flynn gave him a rather odd look then. It was part judgmental and part appraising, both of which he was quite used to. It was part sympathetic, which he wasn't. Immediately he decided he didn't like it; he liked his commander's response even less. "Sure. I get that, they didn't want me where I come from either. But it's not so bad here once you get the hang of it."

_You get it?_ Pidge snorted. If the first part of that statement had been accurate, he wouldn't have said the second. Getting the hang of it was the _problem_. But there was no sense pointing that out, either… dismissing the conversation, he focused on the screen again. "Modeling is halfway complete. We'll have it in five."

"Alright." Flynn's eyes narrowed slightly. "How about you take your hand off that knife? Better not to risk any incidents, and all."

…_Oh_. Pidge blinked, letting go of the hilt he'd started clutching somewhere in the middle of that. "Yessir."

"Good." Leaning back against the wall, Flynn fell mercifully silent, letting Pidge go back to focusing on the numbers.

He liked numbers.

* * *

Much like his second and the resident ninja, Keith wasn't particularly interested in Halloween. Unlike them, he hadn't scheduled some inescapable duty for the evening. That had been a _mistake_.

He'd allowed himself to be talked into going to the Rambling Barrel for Halloween night. He'd even somehow allowed himself to be talked into dressing up—sort of—really he was just wearing his normal biker gear, but at least he'd made the effort. He had, within a few blocks of his housing unit, looked at the elaborate costumes up and down the street and been struck with a bout of second thoughts. He had, unwisely, hesitated.

Now he was literally slung over Hunk's shoulder being paraded down the street, and nobody seemed inclined to intervene. "Put me down, Garrett! This is undignified!"

"Boss, would you stop squirmin' already? I don't wanna drop you." Hunk's voice was slightly muffled, owing to the fact that he was currently a hulking eight foot tall reptile with claws and spikes that looked very capable of doing damage. It was really a remarkable costume. Keith was sure he'd have appreciated it more if he weren't a _captive_. "You got all dressed up and everything, too late to back out now!"

Walking alongside them, Lance snickered. He hardly looked any different than normal—he had on a black vest rather than his usual leather jacket, and his Axels had been replaced by a slingbolt rifle in a bulky holster. "Time to relax and have some fun, boss."

"Seriously. It's Halloween, who's worried about dignified?" Someone in a gaudy Elvis costume had stopped to give them an odd look. Hunk turned and pressed a button inside his glove, causing a five foot jet of flame to erupt from his costume's mouth. Elvis fled.

"What was _that?"_ Keith demanded, feeling heat rush over his back.

"Just some fire, boss." Lance was suddenly right in front of him, grinning in a way that wasn't reassuring at all. "That dude's _face_."

"Fire?" Whatever said dude's face may have looked like, Keith was pretty sure he'd agree with it. "I'd better not be on fire!"

"Relax, boss," Hunk chuckled, as if there was any relaxing to be done in this situation. "It's cold-charge ionic py-faux-technics, totally harmless. Just a little warm." He pressed another button, and the suit gave a very convincing roar.

_Kuso…_ "I can _walk_, Garrett. I'm not some damsel in distress!"

"But boss, you look so good as the damsel." Lance's eyes went to his leather-clad backside for a moment, and he felt his cheeks burn. Mercifully, he didn't continue on that track. "Almost there. Juanita's probably wondering where we are… you sure Flynn's not gonna change his mind?"

Hunk sulked, somehow, despite wearing a giant lizard costume. "He ain't comin' bro, he's gotta do work and stuff. Any holiday but Halloween and I wouldn't miss the test firin' either. Lousy scheduling."

Very lousy. Lance sighed. _Be more fun if he was here._ The bar was coming into view now, at least. He'd document things. Hell yeah he would.

A woman was waiting outside for them, but it wasn't Juanita. She was short and muscular, wearing a frilly dress made of camouflage silk and gauze. And eyeblack. And a tanker helmet with a glittery tiara fastened to the top. "Yo, Crusher! 'Bout time!" She trotted up and peered at Keith. "Who's the lightweight?"

Hearing the unfamiliar voice, Keith briefly wished he _had_ caught fire. Of course Hunk took that opportunity to finally put him down, dusting him off with a huge greenish paw. "Hey, Hammer. This is Keith, he's my boss." He indicated Lance with his suit's tail. "And this is Lance, he's the crazy-awesome pilot. Boss, Lance, this is my roomie! Her name's Hammer."

"Ah-ah! That's Siegerella to you, Hunkzilla." She did an exaggerated twirl. "Nice to meetcha!"

It was some kind of miracle Keith's cheeks didn't explode from all the blood rushing into them. "Um, nice to meet you." He was glaring at Hunk the whole time he spoke.

Lance on the other hand was eyeing Hammer up and down, nodding approvingly. "Love the bazooka."

She saluted him with the bazooka, which was definitely made out of a pumpkin. "I can tell _you'd_ appreciate a good gun. And shoot first with it!"

Grinning, he did a spin of his own and then gave an exaggerated bow. "I always shoot first, Siegerella."

"Yeah," Keith muttered under his breath. "Any time, anywhere…" Sighing, he stopped glaring at Hunk and straightened out his gear, stomping his feet to make sure the pant legs fell back into place. "So we're really doing Halloween… at a bar?"

Lance arched an eyebrow. "Did you wanna go trick or treating?"

"Pretty sure we're too old for trick or treating."

"Nah." He glanced at Hunk and shook his head. "I don't like candy, though."

If he'd been looking to Hunk because he expected backup, he didn't get it. "…You _what_, bro."

Even Keith seemed stunned. "You don't like candy? You're the crazy one."

"I wasn't aware anyone here _wasn't_ crazy." Lance shrugged. "I mean chocolate's okay but what's the other stuff's excuse? Candy corn is gross."

"You don't like candy corn?" Hunk shrugged too, which had very little effect inside his suit, but made him feel better. "More for me! Let's go find Comic Lady, yeah? Hopefully she grabbed us a good seat."

"I'm sure she has." They headed in with varying degrees of enthusiasm; Keith almost froze again two steps in the door. The bar was filled with people in costume, orange and black decorations, jack-o'-lanterns and heaping bowls of candy corn on each table. He felt distinctly out of place. But it wasn't like he'd be able to escape now… he wouldn't be winning any contests, oh well.

Juanita had, indeed, been wondering where they were… but there was no mistaking the huge Godzilla that walked in the door. She gave a sharp whistle and jumped up on her chair. "Hunk! Lance! OVER HERE!"

It said something about the scene at the Rambling Barrel that she hardly even got any strange looks. Except for Lance himself, who raised an eyebrow. "I think Juanita started drinking without us."

"Eh." Hammer shrugged. "Bet we can catch up."

The table she'd grabbed was a good one, about midway between the bar and the stage; she was wearing a red and black jester's outfit and pigtails, which seemed appropriate for her job, but she'd thrown in glittery fairy wings and a comically oversized mallet-wand. "About time you guys got here…" She hopped off her chair and studied Keith and Hammer curiously, she'd been told the guys might bring friends. _What_ friends had not been specified.

Hammer did a one-handed curtsy. "Hey, a Harley! I'm a fan of Harleys. Especially sparkly ones."

She giggled, blushing a little. "Love the tiara."

"Thanks!" Grin. "I'm Siegerella, and this," she slapped Keith on the back and nearly knocked him over, "is uh… Big Bad Biker Bro."

Juanita waved. "Isn't that just motorcycle gear?"

"Uh… I mean, yeah…" As Keith stammered, a server came by, and he almost desperately flagged her down. Time for a drink. Hopefully a strong one, at this rate.

Hunk chuckled and pushed one of the chairs aside; he absolutely couldn't sit in this costume. "His name's Keith, Comic Lady. He's me'n Lance's boss." He ordered a drink too, because what was Halloween without a little Jack… o'lantern? Lance didn't order anything, instead pouring from the pitcher of beer already on the table. It looked like Comic Lady had indeed started drinking without them.

She slapped him playfully on the thigh as he sipped his beer. "Really, Han Solo? Isn't that a little on the nose for you?"

Smirk. "It's a fucking classic."

"Ain't costumes all about gettin' in touch with your inner whatever?" Hunk triggered another Godzilla roar, and even Keith managed half a smile. He was okay with getting in touch with his inner motorcyclist, he supposed.

Hammer was reading the holiday flyer on the table. "Oh hey, DJ Flipz from Typical Hamster is the celeb judge for the costume contest! I didn't know she was local."

The drinks arrived; Keith winced a little as he sipped his. Clearly he should've been more careful what he wished for, someone had been way too heavy-handed with the alcohol. "Typical Hamster? That's a band?"

"What?" Lance looked at him. "I thought everyone knew Typical Hamster."

"They're a legend, boss!" Hunk pushed up his costume's upper jaw so he could drink, fumbling the glass a little in his claws before getting it sorted out. It also let him raise a disbelieving eyebrow at Keith, who gave a guilty shrug.

"I guess I… live under a rock?"

"Boss, that isn't a shocker."

"That's why you're here!" Hunk lowered the mask with a wink. "Broaden your horizons and stuff!"

Keith sighed, looking around the bar again. _This is going to be a long night…_

"I'm getting us the Spooky Shots Platter," Juanita declared, heading for the bar and returning with a tray full of pitch black shots. Those got several distrustful looks, then finally Hammer shrugged and reached for one.

Hunk swatted her hand. "Uh-uh. Han's shot first!"

Oh, well that was a challenge he couldn't pass up. Lance picked up a shot, also shrugged, and downed it. "Not bad."

"Cheers, lightweights!" Hammer raised hers in a salute before swallowing it.

It was definitely going to be a long night, Keith decided, shaking his head. "Thanks, but um, I think I'll pass," he muttered as the platter was pushed in his direction.

"No no no, boss, drink up. It's Halloween!"

"Come on Keith, have some fun. They're great, taste like licorice and smoke."

The two halves of that sentence did not seem to go together; he shuddered. "Licorice? The only way I drink licorice is…" He noticed Hunk and Lance perk up and immediately thought better of what he was saying. "…Well, I won't go there, but thanks anyway."

If he hadn't known better he'd have said even the Godzilla mask was frowning at him. "Boss, you can't just say that and _not_ have us ask where you were goin'."

"Seriously, you can't stop a thought like that mid-train."

Sigh. They wouldn't let this go, he was certain of that, so what the hell. "Bombs. Uh, as in Jager. But that's a bit much for tonight, we have a launch tomorrow."

The admission got him a few looks of new respect, then Hunk doused him in 'fire'—it really was just glowing hot air. "Boss it's _never_ a bad time for bombs. Any kind."

Now he was certain that wasn't true, but it also wasn't worth arguing. Juanita at least didn't seem too worried about convincing him. "More for me then!" She grabbed two shots, downed them both, and twirled around clumsily; her wings smacked Keith in the face and doused him with glitter. Lance and Hunk snickered.

"Come on boss, loosen up. It's a holiday."

"I am loose, McClain." He took a sip of his now sparkly rum and sprite. "Believe me, if I weren't I'd have run for it the moment Garrett set me down."

"We woulda caught you." Hunk signaled for a server, ordering them the biggest tray of Nacho Ordinary Nachos—a hangover tomorrow really _wouldn't_ be great. "If you're not gonna drink you have to join the costume contest."

Keith held up his glass. "I am drinking!"

"That isn't fucking drinking." Lance snorted.

"And what is _fucking drinking_, McClain?"

"This shot!" The pilot grabbed one and pushed it into his hand.

Why had he agreed to come here? But he had. _One won't kill me, I suppose_. "Fine." He downed the shot, flipped the glass, and slammed it down on the tray, staring at Lance the whole time. "Happy now?"

Grin. "Now you're gonna be easy to get on stage for the contest."

Well hell.

Juanita took two more shots and twirled around again, managing to smack Keith with even more glitter. Lance snickered, surreptitiously getting a picture of the boss—Flynn had to see this—but also glanced at Comic Lady with a bit of concern. How long had she been drinking before they got there? He'd have to keep an eye on her.

Things settled down a little as the nachos arrived: black corn, orange cheese, pumpkin salsa. They weren't bad. Unfortunately, it didn't take much longer for the bartender's voice to crackle over a loudspeaker…

"All competitors to the stage for the costume contest!"

"And that's our cue!" Hammer announced, slapping Keith on the back again. As he nearly pitched over Juanita grabbed his arm and started dragging him along in a cloud of glitter. He managed to shoot a glare back at Hunk and Lance as they followed; he'd been expecting all his trouble here to come from _them_, not their _friends_. Neither had the decency to look guilty.

About two dozen people lined up on the stage, in all manner of elaborate costumes that had Keith feeling distinctly out of place. Even more than he already had been, anyway. When it became clear nobody else was coming up, the lights went out.

A spotlight flared to life, following what seemed to be a cardboard SUV or something similar rolling up to the stage. Then three people jumped out, dressed as hamsters wearing bizarre brightly-colored clothing, and launched into a techno-metal rendition of Dead Man's Party.

That had… _not_ been what he was expecting.

"See?" Lance nudged him as Hunk danced along. "They're great."

Before Keith could find a response to that, Juanita spoke up. "Are they really hamsters?"

"…No." Lance took the glass she'd been drinking from out of her hand as Hammer gave a low whistle of worry.

As the song ended, the lead hamster waved to the crowd, then turned to the contestants. "Welcome to the party, everyone! Happy Halloween!" She gave the cardboard SUV a little shove; it went rolling off the stage and crashed in a fiery 'explosion' of orange confetti. "Whoops." As the crowd snickered she paced up and down the stage. "Everyone's looking good, let's get this party started, shall we?"

Getting this party started sounded wonderful to Keith, the sooner it started the sooner it was _finished_. It couldn't be that painful, probably. Then the first contestant was called over the loudspeaker—Count Sackula, a vampire in football gear—and he reconsidered that optimism. "Did everyone name their character something bizarre tonight?"

Lance scoffed. "Dude, it's Halloween."

"Don't worry." Hunk patted his shoulder. "I gave 'em a nice respectable name for you."

Oh no. "And that _is_ what scares me…"

"Siegerella!"

He tried to shake it off, clapping and whistling with the others as Hammer stepped forward and twirled around. As she returned to the line, a sparkly glass army boot remained on the stage in front of her.

"Han Solo!"

Lance strutted forward, winking to the crowd and taking a few fake shots with the slingbolt. "Drama queen," Keith muttered, shaking his head with a slight grin.

"Quinnker Bell!"

That was Juanita, who stumbled forward but gathered herself enough to twirl around. More glitter rained down. As she staggered back into position, Lance and Hammer stepped up to steady her.

"Evel Keithnievel!"

Lance choked, Hammer laughed hysterically, and Keith shot Hunk—who would have outright doubled over, if his costume had allowed it—a death glare that put his fire breath to shame. "You _didn't_." Sighing, he stepped forward and looked out at the crowd. "Um… uh…" Well, may as well take a page from Hunk's book, since this was all _his_ fault. "Vroom vroom?"

The crowd broke into just as many cheers as they had for the others, which struck him as completely absurd as he scrambled back to the line. _I can't believe I just… ugh… at least Kleid wasn't here to see this. Commander Crystal Spur INDEED._ He'd barely finished the thought when he noticed Lance tucking his datapad into his vest pocket, and groaned.

"Godzilla, Hunk of the Monsters!"

Hunk stomped forward, roaring and spraying orange and blue 'flames' everywhere. The crowd went crazy.

A few more contestants came afterwards, but really, who was going to be able to compete with _that?_ After the last one—a pretty convincing mad scientist, complete with her own faux pyrotechnics—stepped back, Typical Hamster huddled to discuss.

The bartender came up and handed out shots to everyone on stage while they were waiting. But it wasn't a long discussion, as well it shouldn't have been.

"Let's be real here, everyone." DJ Flipz broke from the huddle, carrying what looked like a pumpkin crown set with candy corn as she paced the stage. "It's Halloween, and everyone should be a winner, so we're buying a round for all the contestants—but only one can have the crown!" The crowd whooped in agreement. "We've got some really incredible costumes here, but if there's one thing Typical Hamster loves most in our music, it's _authenticity_. Who's with me?" More whoops. "So really, we can't help but award first place to the most authentic costume here…" She stopped in front of Keith, who was standing with his arms crossed and barely even looking at her as he awaited Hunk's inevitable victory. "Congratulations, Evel Keithnievel!"

Hunk's jaw dropped. So did his costume's. Lance and Hammer both spit out their shots, and Juanita stared in confusion. But nobody was as shocked as Keith, who just stood there blinking as he tried to process what he'd just heard. "Wait… what?"

DJ Flipz motioned him forward. "Come and claim your crown!"

It appeared Keith had completely short-circuited. Hunk, though, was recovering very quickly. "Dude. I ain't even mad." He stepped up behind the boss and shoved him forward. "Go get your crown, bro!"

Hammer grinned slyly, gesturing with her bazooka. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!" Hunk picked up the chant, then Lance and Juanita—well, Juanita was chanting _Kevel Eithnievel,_ but it was close enough.

Blushing bright enough to match the pumpkin crown, Keith recovered from Hunk's shove and looked at the hamster in front of him. "Um… hi?"

DJ Flipz reached up to put the crown on his head, then kissed his cheek with the hamster costume's fuzzy nose. She turned to the crowd and lifted his hand up. "Your champion!"

They'd picked up the chant too. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!"

Lowering his hand with a laugh, DJ Flipz winked at him before approaching Hunk. "I don't think they usually give second place in this contest, but all your drinks are on us." With a furry thumbs-up she retreated to her band, and they launched right into a techno-metal version of Thriller.

As the contestants dispersed from the stage, Keith tried to sneak off behind a pillar, but Hunk was having none of it. "Evel Keithnievel! Evel Keithnievel!" He was puffing flames in time with the chant.

"Oh, _stop_," he grumbled; he was blushing so hard he could hardly even feel his cheeks anymore.

Mercifully, Hunk obeyed as the others caught up. "Boss, where're you going? The table's that way." Lance pointed.

"To the bar. I need a drink…" And this time he didn't care _how_ heavy-handed they went on the alcohol. Which was probably just as well, considering he somehow found himself holding another Spooky Shots Platter the moment he flagged down the bartender.

"All your drinks are on the house, champ."

"Yeah, um, thanks." He headed back to the table. Lance had ordered Juanita a large glass of water, and was getting her situated with it—as well as carefully ensuring no more alcohol was within arm's reach. He did snag one of the new shots. That was _definitely_ just as well, Keith didn't need them all. Sinking into his chair, he downed one without even tasting it and shook his head. The pumpkin crown was still there.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Jace was packing. It wasn't hard, since he'd barely _un_packed. Plenty of time to finish up, head out with Sven, probably have to explain to him what Halloween was and why it was ridiculous… someone knocked on the door as he was finishing up. "It's open."

The door swung open. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, just gotta tape up this box…" He looked up and blinked. Sven was standing there wearing his usual polo and khakis. And a Viking helmet. "…Nice hat?"

"Thank you." Sven reached up and adjusted it slightly.

"You… have a Viking helmet. And you wonder how you got the nickname."

"I got the nickname before any of you saw the hat," he pointed out. "And I wear it every year, I wasn't going to break with tradition." In fact he usually dressed up in full Viking gear, but he hadn't felt like being ridiculed quite that much.

Had he shown up in full costume, Jace certainly _would_ have mocked him. Him showing up in half-assed costume was having a whole different effect: he was actually feeling mildly shamed. If even the guy who didn't like funny t-shirts could do the Halloween thing… he shrugged, thinking fast. "Sure, why not? Uh, give me a minute, let me dig something out."

"Alright." Sven raised an eyebrow, watching the medic vanish behind a couple of boxes. He heard tape being cut, some rustling, some snipping.

Jace popped up from behind the box after another minute. He had not found a costume, exactly. He _had_ stuck cardboard cat ears on a baseball cap, and drawn whiskers on his cheeks in black ink. "Meow."

"…Did you just meow?"

"Would 'meow, motherfucker' have been better?"

"It would have been more in character."

Smirk. "You're not wrong."

Sven couldn't help a smile. "You ready?"

"Let's do this." He closed up the box and joined him at the door. "Want to hit Vermilion's? They usually have a big Halloween bash, plenty of drunk idiots to laugh at. You can drink grog, I'll knock stuff off the bar, it'll be fun."

"Let's do it." Pause. "What is grog?"

"No fucking clue."

They headed out into the streets, which were nothing short of chaotic. Some younger Academy students were trick or treating. Most others were just taking the opportunity to dress up and act out. Nearly every corner hosted a street vendor of some sort—whether an exchange trying to make a few last holiday sales, or a soldier who did some arts and crafts on the side. It reminded Jace a little too much of home, but at least here it was only one night.

About halfway to Vermilion's, a familiar voice rang out behind them. "Hey! Aren't the two of you a little _old_ for trick or treating?"

Vince was relieved to see familiar faces, even if one of them was Jace; it felt like Cam and Daniel had just been bickering nonstop since they picked him up. Not that they were stopping now, either. Daniel shot Cam a look. "Did we not already talk about how being too old for free candy is BS?"

"Yeah, but that's us. _They_ are considerably _older_."

"Why do you get to decide what's too old for free candy?"

"Because you're annoying."

The point wasn't wrong, Daniel supposed, just irrelevant. "How does that correlate to this situation?"

"And who the fuck's trick or treating?" Jace demanded as they walked up. "We're just out to watch the idiots." He nudged Sven and grinned wickedly. "Looks like we found some!"

Sven sighed, looking over the kids before cracking a smile of his own. "How's your nose, Brennan? It's looking better."

"Much better, no thanks to fanboy over here."

"Excuse me, what?" Jace's eyes narrowed and Cam went pale. Vince blinked, looking between them in confusion.

Daniel cleared it up quickly. "He headbutted me. Like an asshole."

"Assholes don't headbutt, take a fucking anatomy class," Jace retorted, though they weren't listening.

"We were sparring! You were supposed to _dodge_."

"A headbutt? I was supposed to dodge you grabbing me and throwing your head into my face?"

As they started up again, Vince and Jace both gave Sven questioning looks. He sighed. "I was assessing their hand to hand capabilities last week…"

"They have capabilities?" Vince muttered, then his eyes widened and he slapped his hands over his mouth. _Oops…_

Jace snickered; Cam shot him a betrayed look. "We're gonna be besties too, huh?"

"We are," Daniel turned to Vince and smiled, "I like him."

"Not an endorsement…" Cam sighed and looked at their crewmates more closely. "Okay, I get your costume, Lieutenant, but Doc… chto za khren? _What_ is on your hat?"

"They're cat ears," Jace answered, deadpan. "Meow, motherfucker."

Daniel and Vince laughed; Sven sighed, smiling faintly, though he was facepalming inside. Cam just nodded slowly. "Oh… okay."

"So, since apparently the _kids_ are out here trying to make off with free candy, they need a couple of _adult_ chaperones." Jace crossed his arms. "Can't have them headbutting each other and disgracing the good name of the 686 and shit. Where're we off to?" Frown. "And Hayes, where's your costume?"

"I don't have one," Vince admitted sheepishly. He hadn't planned to be out doing this, after all. "I'm in uniform, so uh, I guess I'm a GA officer?"

"Oh fuck that." Jace stalked over to the nearest corner vendor, handing over a credit chip and returning with a sparkly witch's hat. He jammed it onto Vince's head, maybe a bit more emphatically than necessary.

"Ouch!" Well, it _was_ Halloween. He put the hat at a jaunty angle and grinned. "It works."

"Yeah," Daniel smirked, "now we can say you're Sky Marshal Wade!" That drew a groan from Cam. Vince just shrugged. As long as he got candy he really didn't care what they called him.

"Anyway." Cam slung his sack over his shoulder. "We're heading for the Heights. Rich people give out the most candy. So, we ready to move?"

"Lead on, Cammy." Daniel smirked.

About another ten minutes of walking was enough to reach the Heights—a misnomer, really, considering it was an artificial extension of the shore that barely stood above sea level. Local legend said the full name of the subdivision was actually the Hurricane Heights. That was how all the rich people ended up there; they were the only ones building on such precarious oceanfront property.

It _was_ really very pretty, though. When it wasn't at risk of being swept out to sea.

Jace gave a low whistle, looking around at the perfect lawns and large houses. "These your people?" he muttered to Sven.

"My parents' people." The houses were all too familiar; the only difference was the occasional palm tree. "Not mine."

Grin. "Fair enough." His grin faded as they started for the first house, which had several plastic flamingos stuck in the yard at precise intervals. Each one was wearing a tiny witch's hat. "…Que porra."

"Rich people are weird," Vince mumbled. Sven nodded enthusiastically.

"Second that." Daniel reached up and adjusted his halo slightly—it hadn't been quite crooked enough. "Okay, let's go I guess."

"Just remember. Free candy!" Cam pulled down his faceplate and strode up the walk, ringing the doorbell as the other two caught up. Sven and Jace remained further back, exchanging small grins. The kids _were_ kind of fun.

This house, as it happened, belonged to one retired admiral Maeve Audovacar. Trick or treating had been a little lighter than usual tonight; she arched an eyebrow as she opened the door, a little surprised by how old this group was. But no matter. It _was_ Halloween, and she certainly wasn't short on candy.

"Trick or treat!"

Smiling, she distributed candy between them, taking in their costumes. "So, what have we here? An angel, an astronaut, and a…" She tilted her head at the young man in uniform, but the witch's hat… "What are you?"

Vince stammered a little, eyes wide, trying to force an answer out. _I just want candy!_ Fortunately, Jace was standing within earshot and always ready to help.

"He's Sky Marshal Wade!"

"We gotta get him a nametag or something," Daniel muttered.

Audovacar had burst into laughter. She was quite familiar with Sky Marshal Wade—both from her time at the Garrison, and the fact that he called the municipal authorities in any time her grass got so much as a fraction of an inch above standards. "Here," she chuckled, distributing some more candy. "You boys can have extra for such creative costumes."

Vince's eyes somehow went wider. "Thank you!"

"Thanks, lady!"

"Thank you, ma'am!" Cam didn't even bother bringing up that he wasn't an _astro_naut. He'd probably be getting a lot of that tonight, anyway. "Your lawn is glorious."

Daniel rolled his eyes at Cam as they headed back down the driveway. "Would look better without the flamingos…" To his surprise, that didn't get a snarky response. In fact, though it was hard to tell for sure through the suit's faceplate, he thought their comms officer was smirking. Should he be worried? Eh, whatever.

Even more surprising, Vince's costume wasn't just a hit with the first house. Nearly every time someone asked who he was, extra candy seemed to follow. They _really_ should've made that nametag. The trek through the Heights was long, but an easy enough walk, and soon enough they found themselves approaching a cul-de-sac with the biggest and fanciest house yet.

Jace gave a low whistle. "Someone's just _daring_ the fucking hurricane." Sven nodded in agreement.

"Why does this house reek of pretentious?" Cam asked, stopping on the sidewalk and staring at the grass. Not a single blade was higher than the others, and the white concrete driveway was spotless. Probably-recently-pressure-washed spotless. Even the jack o'lantern looked kind of like it was judging them.

"Probably because some pretentious military guy lives here." Daniel groaned and tried to keep to his feet. It felt like they'd been out forever, and the bags under his eyes were much more pronounced than they'd been earlier. "Dude, I'm tired, can't we be done?"

"_You're_ in the military, suck it up." Jace glowered. He was into this now. Just to test the new kids' endurance out, of course… "Go up there and get that candy!"

Groaning again, Daniel didn't have much resistance to offer when Cam grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the door. "Next year, I'm totally egging _both_ of your houses."

Vince followed the two, shaking his head. They were _something_, that was for sure. Not that he was going to complain about the bulging sack of candy they'd hauled him out here to collect. He caught up as Cam let go of Daniel and pounded on the door, completely ignoring the doorbell.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in full dress uniform opened the door almost immediately, cool blue eyes giving them a quick once-over. A slightly too small witch's hat was perched awkwardly on his head. "Trick or treat!" Vince said with a grin, then blinked as he noticed something missing. _Why am I the only one saying it?_ Glancing at his companions he noted they'd both gone very tense.

"Um, trick or treat?" Cam finally managed to stammer. Daniel did not. All he was doing was glaring at his fellow bridge kid as if to incinerate him where he stood. He had _not_ signed on for _this_.

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" Sky Marshal Wade asked sternly. He shrugged it off before they could answer, dropping an Academy recruitment pamphlet in each of their bags. Then he turned away, reaching for a large bowl of candy sitting on a table next to him.

"Kids at heart, sir." Cam sounded like he actually _had_ been run over by a _Vagrant_. "Thank you, sir."

"Never too old for free candy," Daniel agreed, swallowing hard. _Don't recognize me, don't recognize me…_

No such luck. As he turned back to them with the candy, Wade's eyes narrowed. "…Aren't you Daniel Brennan?"

_Oh, no_. Vince and Cam had both edged away from him slightly, so Daniel did the only thing he could really do. He smiled. Innocently. Angelically, even. "Yes, sir." _This is all fanboy's fault._ It was all he could do not to look back at Sven and Jace for help. One did _not_ show the Sky Marshal weakness. One smirked confidently in his face, then punched whoever was responsible for the encounter later.

Wade looked between the three of them, eyes narrowing further. Then he dropped a heaping handful of candy into Cam's sack. "Excellent cosmonaut costume, young man. Exquisite detail."

Cam blinked; the first person to get it right all night, and it had to be _him_. "Um, thank you, sir. It's an old family heirloom."

"And you, impeccable style." Vince squeaked out a thanks as the man gave him a huge handful of candy too. He still wasn't sure exactly what was going on here, but the basics were clear enough.

As for Daniel… Wade scowled slightly and set the candy aside. "Why are you still here?"

_Oh not good_. Vince looked between them, grimacing, just wanting to get out of here as fast as possible but feeling somehow glued to the ground.

Daniel wanted to get out of here too. Not start a fight, not get into more trouble, just run for it and never look back. And yet, what came out of his mouth was, "Probably because you couldn't get me kicked out."

_Fuck!_

Wade's expression went white-hot, though in another moment nobody was even paying attention to him.

"You never know when to shut up, do you?"

"You dragged me here! I said I didn't want to!"

"Both of you shut up! Let's go!"

Sven and Jace had stayed back, as usual, and neither of them recognized the man who'd answered the door. But they could both recognize serious trouble when they saw it.

Casually, Jace sauntered up to the door and grabbed Daniel by the wings. "Don't mind him, sir. He's under medical supervision for defective brain cells." As the Sky Marshal sputtered he started dragging the kid away.

"Yeah," Cam agreed, "don't mind him, um…" He trailed off as Sven grabbed him, attempting to drag him along too.

Too late, he'd spoken too much. Wade squinted at him, trying to see through the faceplate. "Starr?"

_Oh, crap_. "Good night, sir! Thanks for the candy!" Grabbing Vince's arm, he turned and ran for it, Sven right on their heels. As they caught up to Jace, Daniel stumbled on the pristine driveway. Their medic wasn't having any of that. Slinging the kid over his shoulders without a second thought, he broke into a sprint alongside the others.

They didn't stop until the house was out of sight.

Sven leaned against a stop sign and shook his head, adjusting his helmet. "Definitely need constant adult supervision…"

"No kidding." Vince looked around at the others, panting a little. "Who was that guy?"

"Sky Marshal Wade," Daniel answered, kicking Jace lightly in the ribs. "Doc, uh, you can put me down now."

Jace complied, looking between Daniel and Vince. "Who? Fuck."

"No kidding. I'd throw away that candy he gave you two, it probably has razor blades in it." Their gunner sank to the sidewalk, groaning again. "I can't believe you made me go to that guy's _house_, he _hates_ me!"

"He hates everyone," Cam muttered.

"He didn't hate Vince."

"He would've if he'd had enough time to." A sly grin spread over Cam's face. "Know what I think we need after that? A _drink_. Doc, Lieutenant, can you get us some beer?"

Sven and Jace exchanged skeptical looks. _Technically_, all of the kids were underage. But soldiers got a waiver—anyone old enough to potentially die in defense of the Alliance was old enough for the occasional adult beverage. Maybe that was why even Sven didn't look completely scandalized at the suggestion. The only question was whether they really trusted _these_ particular kids with it.

Maybe they shouldn't, after that, but what was an Explorer Team for if not making bad decisions?

"Well, we were gonna go to Vermilion's until you yelled at us." Jace shrugged. "Plenty of time left in the night, if fallen angel down there can get his ass up. Or I can carry him again."

"I oughta take you up on that, it would serve you right…" With a great deal of effort, Daniel picked himself up off the pavement. "I'm game."

Cam grinned. "Let's roll."

As they started down the sidewalk, Vince slowly shook his head. His life had never been this interesting before. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd even get used to it eventually.

* * *

Analysis of the disruptor cannon had gone well. Getting back to his apartment had gone… well, it had gone. Yes. The streets were chaotic. What few holidays were celebrated on the Garrison were celebrated with unbridled enthusiasm.

What Flynn had unbridled enthusiasm for was his job, or things tangentially related to his job, or really basically anything that required him to crack open a complex metal object and improve whatever was inside. So while the rest of the world enjoyed their costumes and free candy, he was sitting on his floor trying to reassemble a damaged drone motor.

It wasn't going terribly well… it would have gone better if he'd had all the pieces. He did have plenty of spare parts around here, it was just _finding them_. Projects upon projects littered the apartment—he always seemed to be deployed before he had the chance to put anything away.

Someone knocked hard on the door.

"…I didn't do _anything_ this time," he protested to the damaged drone, standing and tossing his grease-stained sweatshirt into a corner. The Canaveral Chargers lacrosse shirt he was wearing underneath wasn't terribly dignified, but at least it didn't look like he'd spent the last hour wrestling with an internal combustion engine. "If that banshee upstairs called me in again, I swear—" Yanking the door open, fully expecting to see uniforms, he briefly short-circuited as the reality appeared. "…You aren't a cop."

Lance screwed his face up in abject horror. "I've never been more insulted."

"For what, thinking you might've been a cop? Or for saying you aren't one?"

"For thinking I might've been! Rude, Flynn." He laughed. "So, uh, gonna invite me in?"

He probably ought to, he supposed. "We haven't exactly established a secret identifying knock, flyboy. Get in here, I guess." He stepped back, eyeing his clothes. And his gun. "Does that slingbolt actually work?"

"Unfortunately, no. You wanna make me one? Then it would." Lance entered and glanced back at the door. "And we totally _should_ have a secret knock."

Flynn rapped his knuckles lightly on Lance's forehead. "We launch tomorrow, don't think we need it. What are you doing here? Am I harboring a fugitive?"

"More like a gentleman." Though at least it was a more understandable mistake than thinking he was a cop. "I had to take Juanita home, she got sloshed, I mean _sloshed_. Left her with her roommates, and the streets are a total madhouse. So could I crash on your couch?" He paused, looking around the apartment with a small frown. His excuse might have a small problem—it looked more like he'd walked into a workshop than an apartment. "Do you _have_ a couch?"

Flynn blinked, following Lance's gaze. "Um, somewhere. Who's Juanita?" He walked over to the far wall, which was the last place he'd seen the couch; it was buried under some metal plates and who knew what else, but he doubted it had run away. That would be worrisome even by _his_ housekeeping standards.

"Oh, you don't know her, right." Lance grinned, appreciating the view of the engineer's backside as he started moving things around. "She works at the comic book shop, Hunk and I sort of made friends… what is all this stuff?"

Shrug. "Spare parts you couldn't pronounce, patching foil, spare parts _I_ can't pronounce, ionic flux dampening array…" He paused at that last one, looking at the spindly device before setting it on a shelf. "Been looking for that, actually."

Lance looked around with new appreciation. "You're like a hot Doc Brown from Back to the Future, you got a Delorean in here too?"

Not one word of that—well okay, maybe one—meant anything to Flynn. And he knew what _that_ meant. "I'm going to have to watch another movie now, aren't I?"

"Fuck yeah." He paused a moment, to sound casual. "You know, you should've come tonight. You missed a riot, the boss won the costume contest."

Flynn was still studiously trying to ignore the fact that Lance had just called him hot; he called everyone and everything that. And he'd been expecting the comment. So it didn't all register right away. "I had work to—what?" It finally hit, and he dropped the scrap he was holding. "Kogane? _That_ boss?"

"Yep! He wasn't even _in_ a costume. Hunk's breathed fire." Smirk. "I do have pictures of him covered in glitter, wait'll you _see_."

"Hunk's actually… of course it did. One thing at a time, I've almost got this." He'd reached a lumpy cover with quite a lot of engine grease streaked across it, and pulled it off to reveal an equally lumpy but clean and comfy-looking couch. "There we go."

The couch itself was not the first of Lance's concerns; he blinked a few times. "You have a couch cover?"

"Obviously? I'm an engineer, not a barbarian."

The pilot raised an eyebrow. "Only little old ladies have plastic couch covers."

"Good thing it's not plastic." Flynn tossed the mess of heavy fabric at him, and he staggered back a step as he caught it. "You can sleep on it if you want."

That sounded like a challenge. "I don't mind some grease," he said with a smirk.

Flynn smirked right back. "Your decision."

"Well, I'm here at the grease monkey's apartment, aren't I?" He put the cover aside and looked at the pile of parts on the floor. "So what're you building?"

"Trying to fix up a scout drone, figured it might be useful somewhere on this duck hunt. Think they forgot some of the motor when they tossed it in the scrapyard, though."

Sometimes, Lance mused, the curse of brilliance was only being able to use _one_ of the many snarky comments supplying itself. "Right, how dare they throw something away without all the parts…"

"You know," Flynn shot back with feigned indignation, "I don't know how I'm supposed to be ready to launch tomorrow, if you're going to be here all night being all _you_ and mocking my hobbies and questioning my interior decorating."

"I don't know where you're even gonna sleep. There a bed somewhere with another old lady cover on it?"

Making a mental note to buy some flowery plastic furniture covers and put them in the bridge at the first opportunity, Flynn gestured to a sleeping bag in a corner. "I thought about renting a garage instead of an apartment, but it seemed impractical." He dropped onto the newly excavated couch and shrugged.

"Of course you did." Lance dropped next to him, grinning. "Whatever works, really. My place is pretty spare, given I'm not there much."

"Suppose you would have to keep it presentable." The words had barely even finished leaving Flynn's mouth before he regretted them. _Why would you _say _that?_

"Presentable to who?" Laughing, Lance looked around the room again. There was some kind of organization to the chaos, he could see patterns… he shook his head slightly. _He's fucking brilliant_. "Your way of keeping busy is more respectable than mine."

"That's not saying much." The engineer winked, and decided the subject had gone quite far enough. Besides, he really did want to see this fiasco he'd missed. "So, Kogane covered in glitter?"

Lance burst into more laughter, digging out his datapad. "It was epic." He found the videos and handed it over—Keith covered in glitter, Keith wincing as another wave hit him, Keith sparkly and wearing the pumpkin crown as an oversized hamster kissed his cheek…

"…Faex." Whatever attempt Flynn might have made to keep his composure never had a chance. As he wound down from the laughter, Lance showed him a few more shots—Keith vrooming, Keith resignedly sipping his sparkly drink—and he started up all over again.

"Juanita just kept dousing him with it, it was great." Lance tucked the datapad away. "Best part of the night."

"Was he _drinking_ glitter?" the engineer demanded as he got his breath back again. "And you and he both mock my drinking choices? Shameful. Also probably unhealthy."

Grin. "To be fair, it's her fault the drink was full of glitter… I think. We'll have to get Jace to check him for glitter-itis."

"Oh that'll go over well." He returned the grin. "Speaking of, I'd offer you a beer now but I'm sure you'd not approve of it."

"No problem, I'm still a bit buzzed anyway. And you know it's our duty to our commander to make sure he's well, whether he likes it or not." Sitting back a little, Lance gave him a playful nudge. "But come on, see? See what you missed out on?"

Yes. Yes, he saw. "I told you, I had _work_ to do. I had to drive the ship without you, so I've been sufficiently punished."

Considering the layout of the hangar area, and knowing Hunk usually did the driving, Lance's eyes widened. "Shit, you parked the wrong way in, didn't you?"

Flynn elbowed him lightly. "_You_ had to go get drunk and make Kogane get glitter all over him, you do _not_ get to criticize my parking." Which was a lot of syllables just to say yes.

"Fair enough." He grinned wickedly. "I get to show off tomorrow."

"You're welcome."

"Always knew you had my back, Flynn."

"Fixing flyboys' problems is what I do best."

Oh, now he wasn't going to get away with that one; Lance arched an eyebrow. "Hey, this is a _you_ problem I'll be fixing."

That got him a raised eyebrow right back. "No, your lack of opportunities to show off is definitely a _you_ problem that _I'm_ fixing." Flynn gave him another lighthearted swat and winked. "So is your being too… I don't know, _whatever_ you are, to go home."

Lance waved that off. "Face it, you'd be getting bored yelling at those engine parts of I hadn't shown up."

"I wasn't yelling at them! How rude. You have to treat the engine parts with compassion and understanding." Frown. "…Also I really don't need the old bat upstairs to call in another noise complaint on me, I'm at seven this year and I wasn't even here for half of them…" He rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "You almost put one malfunctioning drone through a ceiling and everyone gets all paranoid."

…_Stop it, he is not _endearing_, what the fuck._ "One drone, huh? Really only one?" Lance waggled his eyebrows in a challenge. "You can do better than that, dude."

Oh, he probably could, if he _wanted_ more visits from the police. He and Sergeant Rollins were already almost on a first name basis. "What if I told you I had to shoot the one drone down?"

Lance hit his arm. "With what?"

He pointed to the other side of the room, where his scout rifle was racked. "The cops weren't impressed."

"I'm fucking impressed." Grin. "We've gotta take that to the range again when we get back, see you on some moving targets."

"Obviously." _Stop blushing_. "Anyway, am I supposed to be entertaining you now?"

There were a lot of things Lance wanted to say there, too. He had _ideas_ for entertainment. But he didn't dare say most of them… so he bit his tongue until the first instincts faded, then shrugged. "How about we watch Back to the Future?"

Flynn stared at him, then shook his head and stood up, clearing a few things from in front of the television—which did _not_ have a cover on it. "I suppose I knew that was inevitable."

Grin. "Figured that out all by yourself, huh?"

"I've been told I'm the smart one."

_Hell yeah you are_. That was what Lance's brain provided, but his mouth came up with something else. "That's why you couldn't find your own couch?"

At _that_ Flynn chucked the nearest throwable object at him, just on principle. It happened to be a light screwdriver, and the pilot caught it just before it could smack his cheek. "Yes! That's exactly why."

"Geez, tough crowd." Lance was still grinning. "Just get that movie turned on, will you? You won't regret it."

"Somehow, that doesn't entirely reassure me." He tossed the controller over and retreated to the couch. "Have at it."

"What, you don't trust me?" Pulling up the movie catalog, he found what they were looking for quickly. The _original_, of course. None of the reboots had the charm.

"I'm letting you crash here, aren't I? Even though you're the last person I should be encouraging to crash anywhere?"

Oh now that was uncalled for; Lance stared at him, aghast. "I _never_ crash!"

"Holding you to that." Flynn winked and settled in as the movie started.

It didn't take too long for him to have some _objections_, but he decided to save them for the end. Especially since he couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise, what with all the times he was nearly shoved off the couch because a good scene was coming up… though gradually that trailed off. He'd gotten distracted trying to sort out the theoretical physics at play when he realized there was light snoring coming from the other side of the couch… he blinked. Lance was curled up on the cushions, cuddling the remote and the screwdriver.

"…Guess Halloween is exhausting? That _cannot_ be comfortable." He hadn't kept his voice down, but Lance didn't even twitch. _Okay then_. Shrugging, he carefully pulled the screwdriver away before their pilot put his own eye out, then went to the next room to fish a blanket out of the closet. It was a little chilly in the apartment, in his opinion. But as he draped the blanket over his impromptu guest, he felt a glimmer of warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

He was kind of adorable like that…

_Don't. Don't you even begin to think that way. You are still his _superior officer_, you know better_. He turned away, shaking his head slightly. _Also, he's _him _and you're a grease monkey who uses couch covers. Let's not forget that either._

Shaking it off, he stopped the movie and retreated to his sleeping bag. It didn't matter, anyway. Tomorrow they launched, and he would have work to do. Things to focus on. Bomb techs and ninjas to try to keep under control. Getting caught up in work would help put this nonsense to rest. It had to.

"Good night, Lance," he murmured.

* * *

A single oversized runway, designated 9/27-Heavy, served all of Galaxy Garrison's midrange craft. There weren't enough of them to merit more than one. There frequently weren't enough of them to even merit the one, but launching _Vanguards_ or _Condors_ or, god forbid, a Glis _Aliktat_ off a standard size runway was out of the question. Never mind landing. They would overrun and plant themselves in the Atlantic and that would really ruin everyone's day. So Runway 9/27-Heavy it was, running just alongside the midrange hangars, controlled from the Garrison's main tower thirty miles away.

It was a pain in the ass.

Sergeant Steve Lincoln was on 'heavy duty' today, and he resented it. Enormously. Trying to track the various small craft was hard enough without having to keep a whole different taxiway system in mind, and he was over it before it had even started…

"Tower, this is ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_ at Hangar L4-West, requesting entry into the pattern."

_Bolt?_ What _Bolt?_ His papers said _Hammer_. But screw it, there was only one midrange craft scheduled for takeoff today, and there was probably only one _Vagrant_ active on the whole damn base. The Garrison didn't pay him enough to nitpick. "_Jupiter's Bolt_, radar contact. There isn't a pattern. You are the _only_ craft on the midrange system, just get yourself to the runway however you see fit and call me back."

"Acknowledged, tower." He heard a muffled whoop before the channel closed, but didn't worry about it.

Maybe he should've worried about it, because the next time he glanced at his radar… "_Jupiter's Bolt_, why exactly are you doing donuts on the apron?!"

There was a crackle of static. "Just turning the ship around, Tower. Apologies. Moving to the runway now."

He was positive he heard someone in the background muttering about wanting donuts. _Oh for god's sake._ Sending an _Endeavor_ on its way off the main runway, he found himself glancing back at the _Bolt's_ icon, which was stupid. He didn't care what they were doing. It didn't matter to him one damn—

"—What are you trying to do, hit decision speed on the taxiway?"

A voice that wasn't the _Bolt_'s comms officer responded. "Dude, you said however we see fit!"

There was a sound that might have been somebody being smacked, then the comms officer came back. "Uh, what he means, Tower, is sorry, we'll slow it down."

It was not within Lincoln's authority to revoke a launch slot, but hell if he wasn't tempted. Barring that, his other option was to get these assholes out of his control area as soon as humanly possible. So fine, they could do it like that. "No, go ahead. Get to the runway immediately, you have takeoff clearance for two minutes."

"…Roger that, tower."

Rolling his eyes, the sergeant returned his attention to the main system, where a second _Endeavor_ was awaiting clearance. "_Sunangel_, hold short at 33, traffic will be taking off from 27-Heavy."

"Acknowledged, tower."

He barked a few more taxiing instructions to the small craft as he watched the _Bolt_ race towards the runway. He'd never seen a midrange ship move that fast outside of a takeoff roll, and it was still handling the turns better than most. Maybe, he mused, he'd be tempted to show off a little off he could do that, too. But he couldn't, so he still wanted them off his radar.

"Tower, _Jupiter's Bolt_. Confirm takeoff clearance?"

"Confirmed, _Jupiter's Bolt_. Move your ass."

"Hell yeah! Moving ass!" That was the other voice again. As the _Vagrant_'s engines fired up, a burst of music flooded the comms before they closed. It sounded like Ride of the Valkyries, though Lincoln was pretty sure the traditional arrangement didn't have screaming and electric guitars.

Watching something that big take off _was_ pretty impressive, he had to admit that. A little over halfway down the runway the huge ship tilted upward, lifting from the runway and pulling up its wheels. A flash of blue flame erupted from the engines, a second-stage burst common to spaceplanes, leaving a trail of embers hanging in the sky for a few more seconds. Despite himself he smiled. A little.

"_Jupiter's Bolt_, godspeed and good riddance."

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to his nice, _normal_ duties.

* * *

With a heavy sigh, the old knight looked at his leg for the easily the hundredth time since he'd been awake today… which hadn't been all that long. It throbbed with discomfort, which was still better than it had been before. At least now he could move about for a reasonable period of time, though he still needed an equal amount of time to rest. Luckily, there were many good folks who were happy to offer him aid as he made his way to the castle shelters. It had been a long journey. But it was his duty. His leg may be injured, but his mind was still sharp and would be of good use to his king.

He felt grateful now that he'd worked with King Alfor on his hobby of hunting for Lion tales. Because of that work, he knew of several hidden tunnels he was able to help access to make his way about. That had gotten him most of the way here, and the last of the caves he had entered already had a tunnel open to the shelter of the Castle. He'd smiled broadly when he saw it, despite the circumstances… his travels would soon be over. And he hadn't come empty-handed. Many of the prized relics he'd been holding had been lost or abandoned in the attack, but he was sure the few items he'd been able to save might offer Alfor some slight relief from the weight of war.

Soon he could see the opening to the Castle of Lions shelter. The growing ache in his leg was becoming overwhelming, but the sight of the end of his travel gave strength to move until he reached the mouth of the cave. For a moment, he just leaned against the tunnel wall, staring out at the ragged mass of people. It looked like any of the other shelters, but he knew these tunnels well. This was where he needed to be…

"Coran? Is that you?" A familiar face suddenly emerged out of the corner of his eye, rushing forward from the crowd.

Smiling through his exhausted eyes, he turned to the voice and bowed as best he could. "Princess… I am so glad that you are well. I've come as soon as I could to hopefully be of service to your father."

Allura motioned to a few nearby knights for assistance. "I'm sure you can be. For now, Father is out in the field directing troops and scouts. Please, let me find you a place to rest."

Coran could hardly refuse that; the knights carried him to a spot near where the king's other remaining advisors were gathered. An equally sparse team of medics attended to him there, checking over his wounded leg and setting it as best they could. Settling in, for some time he just watched the movement within the shelter. Observing, getting the lay of the land. Noting how much his princess was rushing about, he made a motion to her when he was finally able to catch her eye.

"Princess, please… come and rest a bit by me. You will help our people more if you don't overwork yourself to dust."

Sitting down beside him with a slight smile, Allura took a moment to just stop and breathe. He wasn't wrong. "Oh Coran, I know, I just…" She lowered her eyes. "I'm just… trying my best to relieve everyone's stress and make sure they are well."

"And you are doing admirably. But you must do the same for yourself, you know." He patted her shoulder. "Now my dear, tell me, what gives you some distraction from these events around us?"

Allura pondered that for a moment or two. Distraction? She'd hardly had time for distraction. "I'm not so sure I can be distracted from this… sometimes I do read a few of my father's notes about the Lions' stories. Trying to make sense of the family hobby, you could say." She laughed softly.

Coran chuckled as well. "It certainly _would _be a family hobby if you were to pick it up as well." Tapping his chin, he smiled back at her, privately pleased he would be able to produce what he'd brought with him sooner rather than later. "Maybe that is something you should do more… the levity of it could be helpful."

Giving him a look of mixed confusion and curiosity, the princess briefly pondered the suggestion. Levity wasn't quite how she'd have described the lions' mysteries… but then, compared to the reality of the tunnels, what wasn't? Still... "I've already read all his notes at least twice, Coran. I don't see how I can add anything to his hobby at this point."

Coran smiled and reached into his coat. "Ah, then perhaps you are not so curious as I'd hoped in regard to this little puzzle piece I was able to keep with me?" Pulling out a small book, he opened it up and pulled out a bit of paper. "I found this not too long ago, and I have to say, it's quite puzzling. Since King Alfor isn't here, perhaps you'd like to see what you think of it?" He held it out towards her.

Allura took the piece carefully, inspecting the age of the paper. It felt strong, yet had the scent of some of the oldest pages within the family library. Looking at the texture, she then could see why it seemed to be holding up despite its age. Only those of the highest stature had access to such paper, capable of holding up to the rigors of time. Yet this was clearly a fragment of something larger. The edges were burnt. She could imagine that this piece was part of a book that was set to flame, but the paper would have been difficult to burn—bits could have flown off as the fire was stoked. To have found such a thing was remarkable.

The ink, if the original color was black, was now faded to a reddish brown. Reading it, Allura immediately grasped what Coran meant by 'puzzle'.

"The point of view is odd," she said quietly. 'Most tales as old as this appears to be are framed from Black's perspective, but this seems to be Green speaking. And speaking in plural form… they never speak in plural. Or am I wrong?" She continued to study it, frowning at something unfamiliar at the bottom of the page. _Voltron_. "Is this a verb? I've never come across this word before."

"I know, it is the first time I've come across it as well." Coran smiled. "So, while we wait for your father's return, shall we ponder the mystery?"

Allura gratefully returned the smile. "Yes… I think this can provide enough distraction until then."


	9. Cultural Exchange

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 8_  
Cultural Exchange

* * *

The _Vagrant_-class had five crew rooms, and they weren't all created equally. Flynn had flatly refused to take a senior officer's stateroom to himself, given the team dynamics, and apparently either logically persuaded or guilted Keith into agreeing with him. So they were sharing one, while Sven and Jace took the other; Hunk and Lance had laid claim to general quarters, which was much less comfortable, but had much more space. That left the two junior officers' quarters for the kids. Daniel and Cam were in one, and Vince… well… he didn't actually see much of Pidge, but his stuff was on the other side of the room. They were both being kept pretty busy.

At least the first leg of the trip had been short. According to Hunk, they'd taken a spatial rift the last time they'd traveled here… which sounded _terrifying_. The _Bolt's_ hyperspace thrusters had gotten them there in just about the same time, no half-understood extraplanar phenomena required. The landing on Terina had been gloriously uneventful, and now it was time to get their marching orders.

Vince was the last one in to the briefing—not late, just not early, either—the conference rooms were fairly large, but the whole crew in one room was still a little much. There were donuts on the table, of course. He grabbed one and sat down next to Flynn, watching their commander pace.

"Okay, let's get things sorted out. Preferably better than last time." Their first trip here had been a bit of a rude awakening, and Keith had no desire to repeat the process. "Garrett, are your bombs taken care of?"

"Yup! Got 'em stashed in the smuggler's hold."

"Exce… what?" The commander looked at him, then over at his chief engineer, blinking. "We have a smuggler's hold?"

"No."

That didn't tell him anything. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

Flynn sipped his coffee. "Not particularly."

"…Okay then." Plausible deniability it was, he supposed. "You'll be overseeing the inspection this time, you're the one who's going to end up in a cell if it isn't dealt with properly…"

"It's _fine_, boss." Hunk sounded mildly offended. It was true that they _technically_ didn't have a smuggler's hold. Three heavily shielded storage lockers masquerading as empty bunks in general quarters seemed like it still fit the spirit of the thing.

"I'm holding you to that." Frown. "I want _you_ in your quarters during the inspection. And if they need to look at the crew quarters, the word 'chicken' had better not so much as cross your _mind_."

Hunk shrugged. If he never had to deal with any alien inspectors again, he'd really be just as happy as his boss with the situation. "You got it."

"Now, our mission here is to get information. We have to assume there's _somewhere_ we can go for answers, we just have to find out where. I'll be going, of course. Lance, Sven, I want one of you to come with me—you have experience with the Terinians." So did he, true, but their experience had gone substantially better.

"I'm in." Lance grinned slightly. "Hunk, can I borrow one of those Hawaiian shirts you brought along?"

"Won't fit you, bro, but if it makes you happy?"

"Oh, it will." He hoped it would make the locals happy. "Kid, you're coming along, right?"

"…No?" Daniel muttered, backing up a step. He didn't like birds. He _really_ didn't like birds.

Cam brightened. "I'd like to go." He was eager to look around a real alien planet. Besides, as the communications officer he felt obligated to go assist with communications… even if he wasn't fully sure what he could do in this situation.

"I would, but I need to have a look around the spaceport, I'm afraid." Sven made a face. "My razor neglected to make it into my bags." He accompanied that statement with a glare at Jace; clearly the medic had either been responsible, or was having too much fun with it.

Keith nodded. "Okay. Brennan, you're coming with us, then. I'm not leaving you alone on the bridge."

In any other circumstance, Daniel would have had _plenty_ to say about that. Not being trusted alone on the bridge was really kind of a badge of honor. But the thought of having to go out there superseded anything else. "Huh? What do you mean I have to go? I can stay here without staying on the bridge! There's rec rooms! Perfectly good rec rooms!"

Truthfully, Keith wasn't sure he trusted Daniel anywhere on the ship during the required inspection, either. Then again, he couldn't do much worse than they had last time. He was about to accept the protest when Cam spoke up, smirking. "Oh come on, Danny. Where's that daredevil spirit of yours?"

"Yeah, come on, kid. I'll keep you out of trouble." Lance winked.

"Dude, I _can't_ go out there. I'm, uh, I'm allergic. Uh, to the Terinians."

He probably should have known better than to try to get away with that with Jace present. "Brennan, they're birds, not cranberries."

Great. "…Okay _fine_." He glared around at all of them; nobody seemed too intimidated. Nobody except Vince, who he hadn't even been aiming at. Whoops.

"The rest of you, I'd say to do as you see fit, but I know better. Just…" Keith shook his head slowly. "Just don't do anything that'll lead to us needing an illegal escape from the planet. Can you handle that?"

"Totally."

"Probably."

"Fifty-fifty?"

Keith glared.

"Easy, Kogane." Flynn drained his coffee and leaned back. "As long as the local wildlife doesn't try to kill us again, we'll be fine. The bar isn't high."

That was… probably true, actually. Sighing, he stopped pacing and looked over the team. "Okay. Fifteen minutes to get prepped, then we get to work. Dismissed."

* * *

Vince had not been given any orders. So he found himself wandering the long corridors of the _Bolt_, searching for a reason to avoid going back to his quarters. Pidge would probably be there, and he didn't want to deal with him. That wasn't entirely fair, the ninja _had_ saved his life as many times as he'd threatened to stab him. It was just uncomfortable.

Not that anything would've really prevented that, he supposed. He'd known going in that Explorer Teams were a bit on the crazy side, but it was the things he _hadn't_ anticipated that kept throwing him. For instance, growing up with two mothers and the girl next door as his best friend, he was used to… a very different demographic than the one that existed on the ship just now. He'd have been reeling a little anyway. The presence of an unpredictable alien ninja as his bunkmate just wasn't _helping_ anything.

Really he wanted to go outside, to get a look at an alien planet. But the thought of just going off alone made him nervous.

The sound of footsteps on the deck plating snapped him out of his musings; he looked up to see a very determined navigator heading his way. A small sigh of relief escaped him. _A sane person!_

A sane person who didn't seem to have actually noticed him, though. He spoke up hesitantly. "Sven, hey… what's up?" Wait, was it okay to address an officer like that? He grimaced slightly. _Awkward._

Sven startled a little before making eye contact. "Hello!" He'd been preoccupied with his own thoughts—he couldn't believe he'd forgotten to pack a razor. He was becoming quite scruffy looking by now, Jace had mentioned it. A lot. As if he had _any_ room to talk, Sven had never once seen him clean-shaven, and _yet_. He took a moment to rub his growing facial hair and shrugged. "I'm off to the market behind the spaceport, hopefully I can find a razor."

_Oh, right_. Vince touched his own face in response, wondering if that would start happening to him soon… he seemed overdue. In any case, the market sounded like it could be fun. "Can I come?"

"Absolutely!" Sven smiled. He'd be happy for the company, and of all the kids, so far he was pretty sure Vince was his favorite. Not that he'd say it out loud. But he had been the one to bring up going to Kaliega, that was worth all kinds of points.

"Awesome!" Vince grinned, excitement in his voice. He was going to get a glimpse of another world after all.

They left the ship and began making their way through the port, speeding past the docking stations to the open market behind it. Both team members were immediately thrust into a world of bright colors and trinkets. It was quite a bit to take in.

"Wow," Sven murmured, looking around in amazement. They'd passed by here the last time, but passing by hadn't prepared him for stepping into the midst of things; he was overcome with how breathtaking it all was.

"Wow…" Vince echoed, blinking and looking around in awe. His eyes bugged out at a few Terinians as they walked by, a rainbow of shimmering colors and bright eyes. _Amazing…_

Sven had slowed his walk, trying to take everything in, and smiled when he noticed Vince's expression. "A beautiful people, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they really are." The whole place felt like it was humming from all the chirping around him. "It's kind of surreal…"

"Yes, it is… and I hope I never get used to it." Sven shook his head, refusing to get any more distracted. He was here on a mission. "Now, which one of these shops do you think sells razors?"

Vince looked around for a minute before responding. "Would they even shave? I mean, I'd want to keep my feathers?"

"No they wouldn't," Sven agreed, frowning slightly. "But with this market being so close to the port, they might sell things for other races. And the Bataxi certainly will."

_Oh, duh, Vince. _"True." He'd barely even noticed the scurrying saurians until Sven mentioned them—the Terinians kind of stole the spotlight. Looking around more closely he spotted an open stall with an array of glittering stones, and decided that looked like a great place to start the search. "I'll check over there."

"Alright." Sven himself found a small shop that looked promising. "I'll be in here if you need me."

Vince nodded, looking over all the trinkets and stones, trying to find anything that looked like a serviceable blade. He kept getting caught up in all the colors and glitter. It didn't take long for him to start to feel overwhelmed, and he decided to go find the navigator again. Safety in numbers.

Sven's shop seemed to be a joint venture between a Terinian and a couple of Bataxi. It was filled with things that were obviously meant to be souvenirs, but many didn't look to be of Terinian origin. Which was promising. Pausing at a small statue, he picked it up to have a closer look, immediately noting it was a bit heavier than it appeared. It had two birds, both colored in shades of black and dark purple. They were sculpted to look as if they were in mid-flight—the carving was less detailed than it was evocative, the sweeping lines making it look like the birds might lift off from his hand at any moment.

Wandering up to him, Vince took note of the small statue in his hand. "There are too many things to look at… what's that?"

"It's just a statue." He smiled. "It reminds me of some I've seen in Norway depicting Huginn and Muninn."

The young engineer paused a moment; he'd heard those names before but couldn't quite place them. "Is that from Norse mythology?" he asked a little hesitantly, hoping he'd guessed correctly. He had, if the navigator's giant smile was an indicator.

"Yes. They're ravens, helping spirits to Odin. They would fly around the whole world every day and report everything they saw back to him." Sven restrained himself to giving the brief description, slightly surprised the kid had even been able to place them in the correct mythology. Most couldn't.

"Right." Vince nodded, it was coming back now. "I took a mythology overview course but I don't remember much. If it isn't electrical, a lot of the time it falls out of my head."

"I understand that. I took one engineering class and quickly learned that it was _not _for me." Sven chuckled slightly. He'd switched his cross-training focus to piloting _very _fast. "Mythology on the other hand always resonated. I love history, and the myths that go along with it."

"Well, I did enjoy the navigation class I took, but the math was too theoretical for me." Vince generally liked math, but that had been a _lot _of math, and there had been more letters involved than numbers.

Sven gave a small laugh. "The math is one of my favorite parts." Really everything about navigation was his favorite, but technically that did make the math _one _of his favorite parts.

"Myths are great, one of my moms is an expert in African history, and she talks about their myths a lot—guess I should have listened better," Vince admitted sheepishly, as the other man looked immediately intrigued.

"Oh, but that sounds interesting! You'll have to tell me about the parts you do remember sometime." Looking at the small statue in his hand, Sven made a decision. "I'm going to buy this." They both started walking towards to the Terinian teller at the front of the shop.

Vince smiled and shook his head as Sven checked out… and nearly jumped out of his skin when one of the Bataxi took the expended credit chip and shattered it with one swift strike of her tail. _Sheesh!_ He didn't speak again until they were out of the shop."I'll think on it, I'll tell you if I can remember anything specific enough. She thinks it's important to know our cultural history…" His smile faded, a familiar pang running through him. It always did. Knowing he didn't know where half of his genetics even came from… he loved his moms, obviously, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder. It kind of felt like something pulling constantly inside of him, but with no indication of where to go.

"It is important to know our history," Sven agreed. "It's how society keeps from making the same mistakes over and over..." Finally he noticed Vince's faded smile. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged, trying to seem casual. "I just wonder sometimes. Where the sperm…" As soon as the word came out he blushed furiously, maybe that had been too casual. _What did you just say to him? _"…comes from," he finished weakly when it became clear the navigator wasn't going to rescue him.

Sven ignored the blush, and tried to empathize. "I'd wonder too, if I didn't know where half of me came from. Have you ever considered having your DNA run for ancestry?"

"Oh… no, no. I can't do that, it would hurt the moms' feelings."

Sven blinked. "May I ask why?" He wasn't trying to be rude, but he was a little confused as to why that would hurt their feelings. It seemed like knowledge should be a good thing.

This time the casual shrug was a little more convincing. "They pretend they don't know which of them I'm genetically linked to. Despite it being glaringly obvious. They're just weird like that. Moms, you know?"

"Mothers _can _be quite… weird." Weird had not been the word Sven had wanted to use. Vexing worked much better for him, but he figured it wouldn't be polite to lump Vince's mothers in with his own frustrating one. The kid's affection was clear in his tone.

"Tell me about it." Vince hesitated a moment, then decided what the hell, he'd already brought up _sperm_, may as well be completely honest. "It's kind of strange not having any women around, to be honest."

That was an interesting point, actually. "I hadn't really given that much thought," Sven admitted, "but that's probably because before I joined this team, I was in a room by myself studying asteroids." There hadn't been anyone around him at all in his Deep Space Defense Agency cubicle, man or woman. So when he finally got an assignment where he'd be interacting with other people almost constantly, the fact that none of his teammates were female had never even crossed his mind.

"That sounds kind of fun, if you ask me."

"I did not find it to be fun at all. The _math _was fun, but otherwise it got incredibly boring incredibly fast. I became a navigator to get off of Earth, and somehow—" _Ha. As if you don't know how._ "—I ended up stuck alone in a room on Earth."

"Well, now you're in the middle of an open market surrounded by sentient birds." Vince gave a large grin, and Sven couldn't help but grin back. Apparently this kid was an optimist.

"Yes, I am. It's wonderful."

"Yeah, definitely a perk of being on an Explorer Team." _Might even be worth putting up with weird demographics and deadly ninjas._

They looked around the market a bit more, studying all manner of trinkets and souvenirs, until finally Sven glanced at the time and blinked. "We'd better get back to the ship." He wasn't sure when exactly they were leaving, but it was better to be early back to the ship than risk being late. And if they stayed out here much longer he might go back with whole bags of shiny trinkets he didn't really need.

It wasn't a long trip, and they wandered slowly back through the docking area, looking with interest at the alien ships around them. Sven was torn, he was almost sad to be leaving the hustle and bustle of the market, but a nap in his quarters after being almost blinded with color sounded lovely. Thinking of his quarters made him think of the statue, and where to put it, and after a moment he had an inspiration.

"Here." He paused and turned to Vince, holding the statue out to him. "I want you to have this."

"What?" Vince stammered, taking a half step back in surprise. "Why?" _Oh, real polite, Vince._

Sven smiled, unbothered by the lack of manners. Jace was far less polite even when he was trying to be polite. "I'm not really sure.. I just feel like you should have it." A small smirk crossed his lips. "Maybe it'll be a good reminder to listen to your mothers' stories."

All Vince could do was laugh, and it took him a few moments to stop himself. "...I mean, um, thank you very much for the gift." Taking it from the navigator he examined it a little closer, running his fingertips along the smooth lines of glossy stone. _This really is a cool statue._

"You're welcome." Sven gave a long exhale. The landing field where the Bolt was parked was coming into view. "This has been fun, it'll be good to rest for a bit before takeoff though. I'm glad you came along."

"Thanks for letting me come." Vince smiled, then something else hit him. He stopped, looking around at the ships, then back towards the market, then back at Sven. Or more to the point, Sven's scruffy chin. And his now-empty hands, since he'd turned the statue over. "Uh… Sven. You didn't get a razor."

Freezing in his tracks, Sven turned back around and just stared at him for a moment. He looked at his hands himself as if to confirm it… no. Definitely no razor. "DARNIT!"

Vince giggled at the rare outburst. Which caused Sven to glare at him, but the glare quickly faded as the navigator realized he wasn't all that mad. _It really is kind of funny. _Shaking his head, he submitted to the inevitable, and just started walking back to the ship. Scruff it was.

* * *

Sunwing Roost was the nearest real city to the spaceport. They'd gotten directions at the spaceport from a Terinian Portguard, and transportation on a cart driven by a dour male Bataxi. They were headed for something called 'the Kurcuri'. It had taken a few tries to get across to the Portguard what they were looking for, but apparently a Kurcuri was a sort of military college. Hopefully it would give them what they needed.

It took maybe twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of the Roost, and with a thanks to the Bataxi they disembarked from the cart. "Now, you had all better be on your best behavior." Keith eyed his team suspiciously. All three of them, really. Maybe Lance most of all.

Not that Lance cared. "Yeah, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." In place of his usual jacket, he was wearing the most eye-searing shirt in Hunk's collection. Personally he thought he was really rocking the hot pink flamingos and random fruit.

Daniel eyed them both skeptically, then turned back to look at the Roost. It was an odd mix of simple wooden huts and large, arching stone structures. And _birds_. He tried half-successfully to suppress a shudder as a bright yellow Terinian passed them. "Fucking birds…"

"They're pretty nice, you know." Lance gave him a slight push as they started down the street.

"They're creepy."

A stunning male Terinian with iridescent blue wings took to the sky not far away, and he watched with appreciation. "I think they're hot."

"Stop whining, brat boy." Cam was watching for the landmarks they'd been given; he needed to focus. He also needed to not pass up an opportunity to call Daniel a brat, naturally.

Daniel ignored him, looking up at Lance with a raised eyebrow. "I think thinking that way is a good way to get your eyes pecked out."

That got him a laugh and a warm squeeze of his shoulder. "Risk is what makes things interesting, kid!"

In most other circumstances, Daniel would've agreed with that, too. These were not normal circumstances. "Not when it comes to birds, Lancey-pants. Not birds."

Someone up ahead snorted. If he didn't know better, he'd have said it was Keith… nah, no way. Their pilot snorted too, then his hazel eyes narrowed threateningly. "I never want to hear _Lancey-pants_ out of your mouth again."

Smirk. "Or what?" This was way better than worrying about creepy birds.

Lance just pushed a sparkly pineapple aside and tapped one of his guns. "You'd never see it coming."

He did make a convincing argument there; Daniel laughed. "Fine, no more Lancey-pants. I'll just have to think of something else to call y—" Distracting himself had worked a little too well, and his words gave way to a shriek as he nearly ran into a neon purple Terinian.

"Whoa!" Lance grabbed him, then grinned brightly at the Terinian. "Sorry, he's not planet trained…"

It didn't seem like the Terinian spoke Common, but his tone was probably clear enough. She gave an amused chirp and rustled her wings before continuing on her way. Daniel didn't stop wincing until she was well past.

"Dude," Cam scolded, "don't hurt the locals."

"What about them hurting me?!"

"Oh come on, she was friendly. I told you they were." Lance grinned and clapped his shoulder again. "Just stick by me, kid."

Well, his taste was weird, but he _had_ saved him from the one creepy bird. Daniel nodded. "Okay."

Turning a corner, a very different building came into view. Maybe it was multiple buildings, it wasn't easy to tell… either way, the architecture was stunning. Intricately cut wooden panels and swooping stone arches were seamlessly woven together, with what looked like brightly colored gargoyles in a few spots. Then one of those gargoyles spread its wings and took flight, revealing itself to be a Terinian in some kind of dark armor.

"That must be the Kurcuri." Keith paused a moment. They'd been told they wouldn't be able to miss it… this seemed to fit the bill. "Hopefully someone there will be willing and able to help us out."

"Hope so. They're a pretty casual sort of people." Lance frowned. "Where do you think we need to go, precisely? Doubt they have a Voltron office."

"A professor of history, I think. Get some information on those ruins and the battle that was fought there." He shook his head. "They have to know something. Let's move. Brennan, try not to get us in trouble with the locals."

Daniel scowled, trying to hide behind Lance without looking like he was hiding behind Lance. "You're the one that made me come!" Keith ignored him, and a passing Terinian chirping in approval at Lance's shirt sent him scurrying for cover.

Their directions had been to the administrative building, or at least the administrative section—it was still hard to figure out if the complex was all one building. Either way, they headed up a ramp and in the doorway, where a mass of white feathers was sitting in a small nest behind a desk. As they approached the Terinian drew its wings back to reveal its face, peering at them curiously.

"Excuse us." Keith bowed his head slightly. "We'd like some information?"

The Terinian at the desk considered that for a moment, then turned and gave a stuttering series of chirps and whistles. A small bright green one emerged from a doorway and gave a commanding squawk, motioning for them to follow.

Considering their last visit, Lance was a little surprised at how many of the locals here didn't speak Common. Maybe only those closest to the spaceport bothered to learn it. Seemed reasonable enough. Those here apparently learned other things, like _cleanliness_—the facility was spotless, a sharp contrast to Ioan's messy and disgusting hut, and he was more than a little relieved.

"I'd love to learn their language," Cam whispered as they passed a small group. They seemed to be deep in a melodic conversation, though a few paused long enough to chirp at Lance as they went by. "It sounds so cool."

"I was told I needed to sing if I really wanted to court one of them," Lance offered.

"Sing?" Daniel repeated skeptically.

"Yeah, think they like 1980's pop-rock?"

Cam blinked. He didn't even know if _he_ liked 1980's pop-rock. "Well, I don't think I want to court them… just speak to them?"

Shrug. "You're our communications officer, maybe we can find you some books on it?"

Just then they reached where they were going, their guide indicating a door and stepping back. A large Terinian with glossy red feathers was sitting at a desk. She rose quickly, nodding to their guide and beckoning them forward. "Come in, Earthlings. I am Skyguard Ruxandra, the Common English interpreter and liaison. How may I assist you?"

Now they were getting somewhere. Keith smiled, bowing his head again. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm Commander Keith Kogane, these are some of my crew. We'd like to speak to a professor of history, if possible? We have some questions about your planet."

Ruxandra paused, ruffling her wings in thought. "What sort of questions? We haven't such a thing as a 'professor of history' here, but if I know what you seek I can take you to the correct expert."

"This should be good," Lance muttered under his breath. Both the kids gave small nods of agreement.

Despite his crew's doubts, Keith had been ready for the question. They would have to explain it to someone eventually. "Well, we'd heard of some ruins in the mountains, and something about beasts from the sky?"

The Skyguard's silvery eyes sharpened, focusing on him much more carefully. "The Vanquished Nest? May I ask what brings Earthlings here with questions about that?"

"The Vanquished Nest?" Lance repeated. "Now that's a fucking cool name." He was trying not to think about what the name actually meant.

Daniel couldn't help it. "I still think Lancey-pants is a pretty cool name." _Shut up! He's protecting you from the birds!_

Fortunately, the pilot just laughed. "At your own risk, kid."

Keith had studiously ignored the whole exchange; he was getting pretty good at it by now. "We're mapping this region of space," he explained, "and are just worried about any possible dangers for travelers and such. If these… beasts are still in the area, they could pose a threat."

She gave an odd, subdued chirp. "They are no threat to travelers… those of good intentions, anyway."

"Really?" That seemed like a very concrete statement, compared to the ancient warning on the walls. "Could you tell us about what they are or anything?" He noted Daniel giving him a very skeptical look, but ignored that too.

"There are no scholars here who can help you with the beasts from the sky. No more than any others. They are legend, the reason this facility exists… come with me."

Apparently they were going to spend a lot of time following birds around today. Well, if it helped. They followed her through a few more hallways, then stepped out into a courtyard. It was bright and green, but the mountains and the overcast were just visible in the distance. The Skyguard stopped, looking up at the mountains, singing something soft and haunting. Keith couldn't help a shiver—Cam, on the other hand, was fascinated.

_So cool…_

"Our people fear the cold," Ruxandra said abruptly. "We once built great nests in the mountains to survive the winters."

"The cold does suck," Daniel mumbled, and Lance nodded in agreement.

"Long ago, fire rained from the sky over the Coldflight Nest. Our oracles took up their ceremonial arms and attempted to fight what seemed, at the time, to be mountains of steel." She wrapped her wings around herself, eyes still on the distant clouds. "We now know them to have been warships, of course. The oracles hadn't a chance. But as they died, the beasts appeared."

_It sounds like a myth_. Lance looked up at the clouds. _But then, so does Voltron_. Maybe that meant they were on the right track after all.

Keith was thinking the same thing. "The beasts… how many of them were there?"

"Four or five. The reports conflict." Ruxandra lowered her wings and shrugged. "Our people were mostly concerned with fleeing."

"Smart of them."

"Understandable." Keith nodded. "Do the… reports tell of anything else? What the beasts looked like? We'd like to know as much as possible."

She shook her head. "When one of them emerged from the clouds, it brought the lightning with it, and chased the attacking ships back for the other beasts to tear apart. It's said they roared fiercely enough that the mountain viermâţă trembled, and were as bright as the most beautiful plumage. But there were only glimpses."

"Bright red?" Lance muttered before he could stop himself. The Skyguard didn't seem to hear him, but Keith did. He'd been thinking the same thing.

"Their… plumage. Were there any specific colors?"

Now she gave him another curious look, and he flinched. Maybe that had been a bit much… but then she seemed to accept it. "Your mapping investigation must be very thorough, I see. The grand beast of lightning was blacker than space. Otherwise, the reports again conflict."

_Lightning. Black._ Keith shivered, exchanging looks with Lance; Daniel eyed both of them oddly and was summarily ignored again.

"What about red?" Lance had never been accused of quitting while he was ahead. "Was one of them red?"

"The most commonly accepted of the records says yes." Ruxandra pulled her wings around herself again, singing softly. "Five roars in the clouds. Black as space, gold as sun, red as blood, blue as sea. The fifth beast unseen, but its voice sings of death."

"Death singing." Daniel grimaced. "Sounds pleasant."

"What happened after they arrived?" Cam asked softly. "They destroyed the enemy ships?"

"Destroyed, or forced away. They vanished back into the clouds, but their roars took much longer to fade." She started walking again, heading for the center of the courtyard. They followed. "The Vanquished Nest was evacuated, but the few surviving oracles left offerings of gratitude. Which is how we know the beasts returned… when the oracles visited again, the offerings were gone."

Now they might _really_ be getting somewhere. "Gone?"

Ruxandra nodded. She was leading them to a sort of pedestal, covered in feather patterns and colorful stones. Something was burning behind reinforced glass at its peak, a soft blue-white light. The team exchanged startled glances. It was a _weapon_. Its design was alien, but it was clearly some sort of plasma torch combined with a blade. "Gone. And this was in their place."

"Wow…" Even Daniel was intrigued now, staring at the flickering flame.

"We took their gift and learned to defend ourselves." She drew something from over her shoulder; a modified version of the blade torch. "That is when we stopped hiding in the mountains from the cold, and began training Skyguards. All our soldiers know the legend. But the beasts have never returned."

Keith couldn't take his eyes off the pedestal. It wasn't much, but it was something. Some concrete proof that the 'beasts' had existed. It _had_ to be the Voltron weapon… he wondered where small arms, a blade no less, fit into a weapon that could destroy mile-long monstrosities. But they could figure that out when they found it.

Suddenly, finding it didn't seem quite so impossible.

"That's… an incredible story, Skyguard. Thank you."

She nodded, then tilted her head. "That is all I can tell you from the most common legend, but as I said, the reports did vary. There is a full repository… it is in our ancient tongue, but I could provide you with a copy and some translation resources if you feel it would help you."

He blinked. _Just like that?_ The question wanted to come out, but he silenced it. The Terinians did seem like an accommodating people, and somehow he doubted everyone they met on this mission would be so helpful. Best to take advantage where they could. So instead he glanced over at Cam, who was trying and failing to contain his excitement. "Do you really want to learn their language? Sounds like it could be a challenge."

Grin. "I like challenges, sir."

Nodding, he turned back to the Skyguard. "Yes, ma'am. We would be most appreciative."

She looked to Cam with some interest, nodding herself and rustling her wings. "We have the capability to convert our records to your Alliance's standard data format, but it will take some time. If you tell me your ship—you've come from the port, I'm sure?—I'll send it with a courier."

Perfect. More perfect than they could have hoped, really. "We are in the port. _Jupiter's Bolt_, slot 3-C on field two. Thank you so much for your time, ma'am."

"I hope the information will aid you." Ruxandra clasped her talons in front of her chest, and spread her wings high, the tips touching over her head. Daniel yelped and jumped back a step. Keith, though, was pretty sure he could recognize the solemnity of a military salute when he saw it. He returned the salute, even if the human variant was less impressive-looking, and followed as she started to lead them out of the courtyard. Then she paused a moment and turned back to Lance. "And, may I compliment you on your fine plumage?"

A huge grin spread over Lance's face. "I wore it especially. Thank you."

Keith chuckled. "Yes, he is exceptionally… bright, isn't he?"

"Not the word I'd use," Daniel muttered.

Lance ignored that, winking at Keith instead. "Aww boss, I didn't think you noticed."

Oh, here it went. "Don't let it go to your head," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Your ego is big enough already."

"Yeah, I _am_ awesome."

Mercifully they reached the exit right then, though Ruxandra was chirping in amusement. Keith shook his head and saluted one more time. "Thank you again for your time, ma'am. Come on," he gathered his team with a mild glower, "let's get moving."

"See?" Lance nudged Daniel as they headed out into the street. "Not all birds are bad."

"Yeah, I guess." Daniel smiled weakly. He wasn't convinced, but he supposed they _had_ survived. "Your… plumage seemed to keep them pretty happy."

Smirk. "It's just one of my specialties, kid. So boss, we've gotta go find the door to door saleslizard with the golf cart again?"

Keith groaned. "Can we please not call them that, anymore? But yes. Let's get back to the ship."

* * *

Something had been running through the ship since they came inbound to Terina. A decided unease among the veterans of the team. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on, and the briefing had solidified it—they were anticipating trouble with the inspection.

Well, Pidge had wanted to watch the inspection anyway. He'd doubted the Lieutenant Commander would agree to his presence, though… and couldn't really blame him for it. Besides, much like Garrett's explosives, what his superior officer didn't know couldn't hurt either of them. No problem. He was a ninja. So he'd been silently shadowing the inspection, his chameleon suit's stealth mode engaged, ready to intervene at the first hint of trouble.

The Portguard, a diamond-white Terinian named Liandri, had greeted the ship itself as if it were an honored guest. He found her far more impressive than the scurrying Bataxi who kept trying to trip over him. Not that his opinion had any bearing on the matter—Flynn was keeping a _very_ sharp eye on the reptilian inspectors. But there hadn't been any incidents.

He was more than a little relieved as the group headed off the ship. Nothing had gone wrong, no intervention had been necessary, nobody had to know he'd ever been here. That relief lasted just about until he turned back to the elevator by the forward airlock. Which opened without his input. Not even Pidge could get out of the way fast enough—there wasn't really anywhere to dodge in the cramped entry corridor—especially not when the person who barreled off the elevator practically _filled it._

Calling what ensued a 'scuffle' would have been generous, but in any case the collision ended with Garrett on his back and Pidge crouched on his chest. The huge man didn't seem the slightest bit concerned with the ninja who'd appeared out of nowhere trying to pin him. The knife the ninja was clutching? That he seemed a lot more concerned about.

"Dude! Put that thing away before you hurt someone!"

Oh, sure, that was the problem here. "Me?" he hissed. "What about you tackling me?"

Blink. "You were invisible!"

…So he had been. Sighing, he sheathed the knife as his adrenaline crashed, but didn't move. "You aren't supposed to _be here."_ He was quite certain the big oaf had been ordered to stay in his quarters during the inspection.

"Inspection was over, yeah? I was keepin' tabs over the comms. And I needed somethin' out of cold storage." Garrett shrugged, as best one could shrug while flat on his back. "Can you get off me so I don't hafta just dump you?"

"Whatever." He rolled to the floor with a scowl. "Get up."

"Sure?" The other engineer stood up, eyeing him warily. "Uh, but seriously, sorry about the tackling. Didn't see you. Invisible and all. You okay?"

"I'm fine." Or at least he would be fine when this conversation was over. "Go get your cold storage and get out of my—"

"—Cevete, I walk off this ship for _two minutes…!"_

Both of them jumped. Flynn was standing in the airlock with his arms crossed, glowering. Pidge flinched back, mentally cursing; Hunk just grimaced. "Uh, hey pit boss! It was definitely more like five."

"That's not entirely an argument in your favor. Pidge, lay off the knife." The ninja blinked and dropped his hand from his sheath. "You come with me. Hunk, we'll talk later."

Gulp. "Uh, yeah, okay. Later, pit boss! Later, ninja!" He disappeared into the cargo corridors faster than anyone that big had any right to move.

Flynn walked into the elevator, but didn't activate it, just leaning against the wall and watching Pidge sharply. He seemed resigned. That seemed to happen a lot with him. "Misunderstanding, I trust?"

"Yessir." Sigh. "I was observing the inspection. The Commander made it sound like he expected trouble. Garrett came off the elevator and ran over me, it went poorly."

"You were _what?"_ Flynn repeated, the altercation briefly forgotten. "How?" Admittedly he'd been spending much of his effort on making sure no Bataxi slipped away from the group to scan any unknown hydraulic leaks. But clearly he hadn't been doing a good job of tracking things at all, if he'd missed an _entire Baltan…_

"Like this." He pulled up his hood, and in a slight shimmer, he vanished.

…Ninja. Right. "Okay, if you could _never do that again_ unless you're told, that would be ideal."

"Yessir." He faded back into view. "Is that all?"

"Certainly _not_." It wasn't really Pidge observing the inspection that worried him, though that proactivity thing was going to get annoying really quick. Some other things were already annoying. "Have you considered, when you notice it's a misunderstanding, just walking away? Apologizing? Doing literally _anything_ other than escalating the situation?"

At that, he actually looked confused. "I don't try to escalate, sir. It just seems to happen. And I was told just walking away from people was rude."

_Really? _That's _where he draws the line?_ That raised questions he wasn't nearly brave enough to ask. "Maybe so. But if you can't interact with some semblance of civility, which you clearly can't, it's better if—" Pidge's hand had gone to his knife again, and Flynn frowned. He'd had about enough of the ninja and his knife fetish. "—You know what, give me that."

There was a brief hesitation. And then, to his intense shock, "No."

…No?

Had he just said no?

Not even a no _sir_?

That was new.

His immediate reflex was to repeat himself, perhaps making it a bit more clear this time that _no_ was not an acceptable answer. But looking at the trapped-animal glint in Pidge's eyes, he hesitated. He still had yet to see the ninja actively threaten anyone. It was a passive threat, no doubt, but…

_Maybe…_

Flynn didn't look away. He dropped a hand to his holster, pulling his sidearm out and offering it to him by the barrel. "Trade you."

Now Pidge looked as shocked as Flynn had been a few moments before. "Sir?"

"Take it. Give me the knife." Pidge's file indicated he could hardly handle guns in general, and this one was pretty damn unwieldy. If he accepted it, that would tell him something. If he didn't… well, that would tell him something else.

Quietly, slowly, Pidge nodded. He flipped the knife around, handed it over, and took the pistol in both hands. For a few moments he seemed content to examine it. Flynn found himself doing the same with the knife… the blade he'd previously assumed to be black steel was actually the slightest bit translucent, and the serrated edge was visibly chipped and faceted into shape. _Obsidian?_ But obsidian was much too brittle to be used in modern weaponry. The hilt was wrapped in iridescent blue-black cord, not wholly unlike the stealth suit he was wearing. This was clearly not a weapon from Earth.

"It's called a taisseli. Shard knife." He startled a little; Pidge was looking up at him again. "Every Shinori creates one early on in military training."

_Do they really._ He looked at the knife again, newly intrigued. "You made this?"

"Yessir. It's an old tradition. To teach warriors to respect their weapons, and those who create them… from back when not everyone was trained for combat."

Even more interesting, and not just what he'd said. The fact that he was saying it at all was fascinating. Flynn seized on it—if the ninja was suddenly discovering that semblance of civility, he couldn't afford to pass it up. "It's beautiful," he said truthfully. "What's it made of?"

"Obsidian." Perhaps reading his surprise, or perhaps just into the subject now, Pidge answered his next question before he could ask it. "While your people were creating new materials, mine were perfecting what they had first."

That did sound appropriate, somehow. He ran a finger cautiously along the blade; it scratched the surface of his skin with the slightest contact. He wasn't a knife person, himself. But he could appreciate the craftsmanship, the efficiency. Just as usual it raised a new question.

_Why tell me any of that?_

Pidge was watching him expressionlessly. He was still holding the pistol in both hands, with something that was almost reverence. Did he understand why Flynn had given it to him? Or was he just being, well, Pidge?

Either way… maybe he could use this little glimmer of understanding. Worth a try.

"That," he said with a small grin, indicating the gun, "is called a Desert Eagle. I didn't make it, but I did repair it from not much but a beat up base frame."

"Desert Eagle," Pidge repeated, tilting his head. "Did you name it? I didn't think humans named their weapons."

_Hmm_. Did Baltans name their weapons? Perhaps that was a question for later. "No, it's just the model name. I liked it, though. I grew up in a desert, it's where I felt comfortable." He laughed softly. "I'm sure you'll find this silly, but it felt… right, somehow."

"I don't think it's silly." Pidge turned the gun over in his hands again. "It's good to feel connected to your weapons. To think of them as something more than just tools. It shows respect."

Respect. Maybe so. Flynn studied him carefully, considering all he'd just learned, then decided to take a shot. "What if I asked you to treat your teammates with the same kind of respect you treat your weapons?"

Almost immediately, Pidge's right hand dropped to his sheath. His empty sheath. He _knew_ it was empty, he was staring right at his own knife in Flynn's hand. But the reflex was there regardless… the ninja flinched as soon as he realized the issue, but he didn't back down. "In my experience, sir, people are much less worthy of that respect."

…People? Not teammates, not even humans… but _people_. He took that in for a moment, then pointedly lowered his gaze to the empty sheath.

Pidge flinched again. And Flynn was pretty certain that answered his question.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked softly.

Immediately Pidge's eyes narrowed, going back to that trapped look from before, and his hand tightened on the sheath. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"I'm sure you don't." He looked at the knife again. "So you should be able to tone this down, right?"

"…Yessir."

_We'll see._ He handed the knife back, and Pidge seemed to visibly calm as he accepted it and returned the gun. Flynn holstered it and studied him for a moment. He felt like he _should_ say something supportive or reassuring here, but he had no doubt it would be poorly received…

"I knew it wasn't loaded, sir."

His jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"It was a nice gesture. Mechaiska." He turned away. "I'm not afraid of _you_."

…Okay, so he'd known _exactly_ what was going on there. But he'd still gone along with it. Was that significant? It had to be significant. Flynn closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for just a little bit more insight that could make some of this, any of this, make some sense. But maybe it was a start. "I'm glad to hear that, anyway."

"Is there anything else, sir?"

_Plenty_. "Not on that topic. I know you'll try to do better." He hit the elevator controls, and it started lurching up to the main deck. "You're on shift in twenty. I want full diagnostics on engine three, sounded like it had a dampening coil out when we landed. I'd rather not crack it open without confirmation."

"Roger that." Pidge slipped out of the elevator and vanished the moment it stopped, and Flynn looked after him as if, if he just stared hard enough, it could give him the answers he needed.

_Who _are _you? Why are you like this? What do I have to do to fix you?_

That last thought made him wince. He had definitely not signed up for fixing grumpy ninjas. But it was looking like he might not have a choice.

* * *

Romelle was sore. Very sore. It turned out she had not been prepared for sex at all, let alone with a powerful Drule prince who seemed _quite_ accustomed to the process. Mentally, she could remind herself of her duty, force herself to endure, accept the indignity and the violation. For Pollux. Physically, well… it turned out she could only handle so many nights of him before the bruises became too much. Last night, a cry of pain had finally escaped.

She'd been mortified. So had he.

Lotor had apologized profusely for being too rough, then assured her that Korrinoth would strengthen her in time. He said it like she was supposed to be encouraged. For the moment, though, he'd offered to give her some time to recover. His father had tasks for him, anyway. Kalindra was at her service, and whatever she desired would be hers.

What Romelle _desired_ was to go home and never look back. That, she knew, was not included in the offer. So the next best thing seemed to be trying to learn. If she could find something, anything, in Drule culture that she could connect with, perhaps her duty would become more bearable…

"Princess, are you ready?"

She smiled slightly at the voice; her handmaiden's company was always pleasant, at least. "Yes, please come in, Kalindra."

The young woman entered, bowing low. "I've secured the Royal Sacellum for the afternoon. It honors me that you trust my judgment in this matter, and I believe learning of our gods would be the best place to start." She straightened. "His Highness has duties to perform for his father, but he hopes to find a moment to join us."

It would be quite alright with Romelle if he didn't, but of course she couldn't say so, so she simply put it aside and smiled. "Thank you. I'm eager to learn." That was completely true, at least. "What is the Royal Sacellum?"

"A place of worship." Gesturing for her to follow, Kalindra headed out into the corridors. "You will find little organized religion here, outside the conclaves of witches and priests. The sacellums are for worshippers to commune with the gods privately."

"Oh! It sounds like a lovely and quiet place."

"Indeed. The Royal Sacellum is always the most quiet in any case, but I thought you'd be most comfortable if we could be certain not to be disturbed."

Romelle wouldn't have even thought of that, but she certainly agreed with it. "I think so, thank you. I appreciate the effort you've put into this."

Smiling, her handmaiden guided her down a few more corridors, to a door with a curious sixteen-pointed sigil carved into it. There were tables on either side of the door, two bowls filled with branches of red and white blossoms. Kalindra took one of the branches and looked back to her. "Anshiru blossoms. They are placed by the shrines as an honor. Take one if you wish, though it is understandable if you aren't comfortable doing so."

Was she comfortable doing so? She'd certainly done far less comfortable things since she came here… "I think I should," she said softly, picking out a branch. "Perhaps I should honor them all, the first time I meet them. And maybe one will resonate with me?" That was her ultimate hope here, wasn't it?

Kalindra looked pleased, in any case. "If you feel that is correct, I'm sure it will be appreciated."

"I hope so." Steeling herself, wondering what to expect from a Drule place of worship, she stepped back and let the other woman open the door.

Light and color spilled out over them.

Romelle gasped softly, stepping into the room and looking around in awe. The sight was overwhelming. It was a circular chamber lit by torches in a spectrum of colors: blue by the doors, and gradually going through the whole rainbow as they ran around the circle. Lit by the colorful flames, exquisite statues lined the walls. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, if her quick count was correct. They were carved of some swirled gray and white stone, polished to a gemlike sheen, and swathed with delicate banners of gauze. Whatever she'd expected, this had not been it.

"This is beautiful," she whispered.

"It is, isn't it?" Kalindra's voice had become soft as well, perhaps in reverence. "All the Drule Supremacy worships the same Sixteen Domains. But different kingdoms emphasize different deities. I know this must be a lot to take in… we can begin with just those the Ninth is most closely bound to, if you wish."

Still overwhelmed, trying to look at everything at once, Romelle just nodded for a few moments before finding her voice. "Yes, that… that sounds like the best way to start."

They crossed the room, stopping before a statue lit by pink and purple torches. It was a hooded figure holding a sceptre, wearing heavy robes and a royal cloak; every thread of the cloak's fur lining was painstakingly carved into the stone. Kalindra bowed low to the statue, setting her branch at its feet among a few other branches and blossoms. The gesture snapped Romelle out of her awe, and she carefully detached one of the blossoms from her branch to set down as well.

"Kus'da, the God of Authority," Kalindra named it as she straightened. "Both monarchs and slaves bow equally before him, as do all in between… he watches over the social order that keeps society from crumbling." She touched one of the banners draped over his sceptre. "Each banner represents a subordinate deity of his Domain."

Bowing her head to the statue, Romelle sorted over those words in her mind. "Kus'da," she repeated slowly, earning an encouraging nod. "God of Authority." She considered asking for more information about his subordinates, but decided against it—she was going to have plenty to try to absorb today as it was.

"Some consider him the patron of the entire Supremacy. That isn't entirely true, but he _is_ the one god all ten kingdoms revere equally."

That made sense, she thought. "Social order is important." Her eyes went to the fur again. "Your artisans are… amazing. This sculpture is lovely."

"That is something our kingdom prides itself on, Princess." Seemingly inspired to action by the comment, Kalindra led her back across the room. "What sort of arts do you have on Pollux?"

_Nothing like this._ "We have music, sculpting, painting." Trying to think of more to say she realized by now she largely tuned such things out. "I'd say it isn't anything special… I suppose one's own art forms start to seem old after awhile. Seeing other cultures' is refreshing."

"That is understandable." They stopped in front of another statue, this one framed by turquoise torches, though she didn't explain it immediately. "I'd be curious to see some Polluxian art someday. Your gowns are very unusual."

Heat rushed to Romelle's cheeks. "I'm sure it could be arranged. Your… gowns are very unusual to me, also. Does it get hot here? Is that why they are so… light?" _Now that was a display of tact even your father would appreciate_.

"Quite the opposite." Kalindra shook her head. "Korrinoth is a cold world by most standards, but we are well adapted to it. We show strength by not hiding from the elements."

"Oh, I see." She didn't entirely see. But she didn't really care to go further with it, either. So she looked up at the statue they'd arrived at: a woman with a remarkable number of banners looped around her four arms, each of which held a tool of some sort. Her simple tunic even had stains carefully carved in. "Who is this one?" she asked softly, setting a blossom at her feet. "So many in her… Domain?"

"Yes." Another encouraging smile. "This is Graxinal, the Goddess of the Arts. She has the largest of all Domains—what limits can there be to creative pursuits?"

"Graxinal…" Romelle was fascinated, and reeling somewhat. She'd never have dreamed these people valued such things. Trying to reconcile such beauty with the Drules' brutality in combat—and the aches deep between her legs—was nearly impossible. She exhaled slowly, looking up at the statue. If she could just see much more of this and much less of Lotor, she might come to enjoy her task. "Fitting that we came to her now."

"I thought you might appreciate it." Kalindra bowed her head to the statue.

"Very much so. Art is a relaxing thing on my world."

"As it is here. Part of why the Sacellums usually have particularly fine works… they are places of respite." The Drule smiled. "You see? There are commonalities to be found."

"There are indeed." Her hopes to find something she could connect with seemed to be going much better than she could've hoped, so far. "And commonalities are what builds excellent relationships. Which one is next?"

In response, Kalindra simply turned to the right. The statue there was a bit of a shock—tattered robes around a swirling vortex in a vaguely humanoid shape. "Thra'nik'ta, the God of Magic. He is rarely invoked alone, as magic is a tool. But it is an important and powerful tool."

_Magic?_ Romelle studied the statue quietly before placing a flower and bowing her head. "Thra'nik'ta." She wasn't sure what else to say to that one. Pollux had no tradition of magic… in fact, much in their history made them suspicious of it. But she was here now, and she would be respectful.

Perhaps sensing her unease, her handmaiden turned away without saying anything further. They crossed back to the statue next to Kus'da, directly across from the doors. The two statues, actually, framed by deep violet torches—a male and female in identical armor, standing back to back as if to fend off enemies. The male was holding a scroll, the female a bloody sword. This was the statue that had thrown Romelle's count off earlier, and she was curious to hear it explained.

It was the female Kalindra indicated first. "Dra'ki'iri is the Goddess of War, specifically the heat of battle. She is more favored in our kingdom than her twin, Dra'sun'iri… the God of War, of strategy and preparation. Both are revered, of course. But the preference of our warriors is to overcome challenges with pure strength and skill."

Placing two flowers and bowing her head, Romelle found herself wondering if she should have brought something to write this all down. "Dra'ki'iri… and… Dra'sun'iri?"

Kalindra nodded, then smiled sympathetically at the look on her face. "It is a great deal at first, I know. Take in what you can. There are only two more that our kingdom considers patrons, but we can stop for now if you wish."

"No, please, let's continue." She returned the smile shyly, deciding to take a chance. "I know I'm not expected to learn everything overnight, but I feel like such an outsider here. I want to learn it all as quickly as I can, so I can be a worthy…" The word _consort_ wouldn't come out. "…part of the kingdom."

For a moment, the other woman rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. And to her surprise, it _was_ comforting—despite the sharp blue nails, and the fangs she bared whenever she smiled. Perhaps she was adapting… "You honor us with your determination to learn, and we will all be proud to call you our princess."

Heat rushed to her cheeks again. "I… thank you, Kalindra. I'm honored, as well."

They moved to another statue, lit in soft shades of green. This one was markedly different than any of the others her guide had yet named, though she'd noticed not all were humanoid. A graceful equine creature with heavy hooves, three branching antlers, and delicate feathery wings reared up before her. What looked almost like small rivers and mountains flowed over its body. "Zonjal, the Beast of Life."

_Wow…_ It was all Romelle could do to find her voice as she bowed and set down a blossom. "Zonjal," she repeated in a hushed tone. "Life. This statue is exquisite." Hesitating a moment, she took care to keep anything that could be mistaken for disrespect from her tone. "A beast?"

Nod. "The primordial beasts are said to have been the first beings, and opened the way for the gods and goddesses to emerge from the ancient mists. Zonjal may have been the first of them all."

That did make sense. It was so much to take in, but at the same time, she knew that connection she was seeking was here. This beauty, this reverence… these illustrations of a whole culture, not just a machine of conquest. And it was only reinforced as they turned to the statue to the left.

The goddess there was beautiful in a way surely only a divine being could be, wearing gem-encrusted armor that glittered in the turquoise torchlight. She had wings too, two pairs of them, one feathery and one batlike. Some kind of small, cute critter Romelle didn't recognize—it reminded her of a furry fish—was held gently in her hands.

"She's… beautiful," she whispered. It was all she could really get out as she bowed deeply to the statue, and set what remained of her flowers at her feet.

"Because she is the grandest aspiration of our people." The voice came from behind them, and Romelle nearly jumped out of her skin. "Kistrial, the Goddess of Honor."

"P—Prince Lotor!" She spun and bowed her head as he approached, Kalindra bowing low next to her. "Hello…"

He smiled at her, kneeling before the statue and placing his own branch at her feet. For a moment he was silent. Then he stood, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "Hello, dear a'kuri. I hope I didn't startle you too badly."

"Only a little," she lied. "Kalindra said you hoped to join us at some point, but I didn't hear you come in." Returning her attention to the statue, she tried to turn the conversation back there. Far more comfortable. "Her name is… Kistrial?"

He nodded. "Kistrial the Pact-Keeper, the Benevolent, the Forbearing. I consider her my patron."

_Honor_. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she didn't dare. He seemed sincere; he always did. "I think I like her," she said finally, looking over the statue's wings. "Not that all of them aren't admirable, and the artists who created these statues… honor is important to your culture, isn't it?"

Lotor was still holding her hand. "Very. You've seen the dichotomy we live under, have you not? You are here to protect your planet, you know we conquer those who stand in our way. It would be easy to devolve into bloodthirsty savages, without honor and discipline to temper us." He smiled, bowing over her hand. "And honor helps us to find those worthy of alliance rather than conquest."

Worthy. He spoke of that a lot, too. Suddenly it was beginning to make some sense to her. Honor and worth. A race of conquerors, but only of those they found unworthy… a slight chill ran through her. "Thank you, on behalf of all of Pollux. I… I hope we will always be worthy of such honor."

"I am certain you will be." He kissed her forehead, then stepped back; he had a book tucked under his arm, and now held it out to her. "I only have a small break from my tasks, but I brought you a gift. One I think you may well appreciate."

Taking the book, Romelle squinted at the title. Written Drakure was much trickier than spoken. "The Delirious… no, no, that isn't right… the Divine Compendium?"

The prince chuckled. "It is a book of our pantheon. To help you learn more of our gods—and to practice with our written language." She blushed furiously at that, though he seemed to find it perfectly reasonable. "That particular copy was written and illustrated by some of the finest artisans of its time, and has been passed down among the royalty of Korrinoth for centuries."

"Oh!" Now the smile was genuine as she looked up at him. That did sound fascinating. "Thank you, Your Highness. I very much look forward to reading this."

"Shall I show you to the sitting room in my wing, before I return to my father? You may enjoy reading there."

Another wave of heat rushed to her cheeks as she nodded. This was fine. Moments like this she could deal with, to perhaps endure the rest. _For Pollux… for honor_. "I would like that very much."


	10. Among the Stars

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 9_  
Among the Stars

* * *

As it turned out, ships with hyperspace thrusters could take advantage of some _much_ more interesting phenomena than those without. Their trip to Kaliega was being substantially shortened by something called a complex hyperluminal current. Nothing nearly as exciting as a spatial rift, but Lance had spent the last several hours hunched over the helm, jumping the _Bolt_ from wave to wave with flawless precision as Sven called them out. It was fun… but damn, were his shoulders sore.

Now the wave jumping was Keith's problem for awhile, and he was off to loosen up. The gym was waiting. And he _might_ have heard from his roommate that something particularly entertaining _might_ be going on there today.

He spotted Daniel in the corridor ahead as he stepped off the elevator, and grinned. "Kid, hey kid! Come on, you're with me."

Daniel had been in his way to the galley; he was starving. But he wasn't really going to pass up that invitation. Or order. Or whatever it was. In any case, things with Lance were always _interesting_, so he followed. "Uh, where're we going?"

"Everyone's favorite medic is gonna be getting his ass handed to him in the gym. No one should miss this."

Ooooh. Yeah, that would definitely be worth the detour. "Awesome!"

Jace and Hunk were sparring.

In theory.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The boss had said he wanted everyone to keep their hand to hand skill up, they'd had some overlap in their free time, they probably owed each other at least a few punches by now. Both of them had neglected to consider one minor issue. For Hunk, it was that his opponent wasn't going to just stay there and get hit—he hadn't even landed a punch yet. For Jace, it was a little less elementary. He found himself at a size disadvantage more often than not when sparring; ground fighting was an effective equalizer against people with greater strength and reach. But he had to _get_ them to the ground somehow. And pulling this guy down on top of him would probably kill him.

That left him using his peripheral skillset, which still wasn't bad, against most people. Ducking a punch, he jumped up and landed a clean kick to the big engineer's ribs. It didn't accomplish much. He all but bounced off, landing gracelessly on the mat. On his ass.

Hunk looked down at him, rubbing his ribs with a slight wince. "That didn't look great, bro."

"That wasn't great. Fuck."

Lance had just stepped in the door, and begged to differ. "Beautiful ass fallage, Doc." Behind him, Daniel snickered.

Jace looked up, scowling. "…The fuck are _you_ here?"

"Entertainment purposes."

"What the fuck did you think? No way we'd miss this."

He glared at Hunk, who offered him a brilliantly innocent smile. "I mighta mentioned we had plans?" He leaned over, offering the medic a have up. "He's my roomie, it happens."

No doubt. Well, whatever. He could take it, this whole sparring thing had been his dumb idea. "Okay fine, but this is a play-only tournament. We get to see how you two do later." He accepted Hunk's hand, attempting to pull him to the floor; he barely budged. "…Dude."

As soon as he stopped pulling, Hunk toppled over and hit the mat. "Oh no, ya got me, Doc."

Lance snickered. "Against you? After this? No problem, we've got this, right kid?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. That was not what he'd been invited for. "No thanks."

"Don't think I gave you a choice, Brennan." Jace hadn't looked up from glaring at Hunk, who was still lying motionless on his back. It would figure if he'd done actual damage voluntarily falling. "Giant donut dude, you uh, gonna be okay there?"

"No. Help. Ouch. Save me."

"Okay, that's a yes." He stood up and shrugged. "We'll fight around you if we've got to."

At that Hunk hopped up, cracking his knuckles and grinning. "Nah, I'm good. Doc, go a round with Lance, yeah? I've gotta, uh, recover."

No _fucking_ doubt. "Yeah, let's. I still owe him for the murder garden."

"Me?" Lance demanded. "Who got fucking stabbed?"

"You did! That's why I had to fucking carry you, because you _lost a fight with a plant!"_

Daniel's eyes widened. "The fuck…?" But nobody was listening to him. He was _never_ going to find out about this garden of murder thing.

"Stabby evil plants," Lance clarified, removing his jacket and strutting onto the mat. Jace watched him, completely unimpressed.

"Have any popcorn?" Daniel muttered to Hunk as the huge man came over to stand next to him. This was fun and all, but he was still hungry.

"Was kinda countin' on you guys to bring some. Lance forgot?"

"I was in a hurry," Lance protested from the mat. "And snacks are your purview."

Jace smirked. "Oooh, big words."

"Yeah, I read things other than medical jargon."

"Go self-administer an orgasm."

"Like I would ever need to, you confusing us again?"

"Not on my worst day."

Daniel looked between the two of them, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu washing over him. Hunk leaned over and whispered, "We caught 'em on a good day."

"This is _good?"_

"'Fraid so." He raised his voice. "You two gonna punch each other sometime today?"

"He can try."

"Waiting on you, caralho…"

Lance snorted. "You want a fancy invitation?"

"Maybe, aren't they your—" Jace broke off mid-sentence and lunged. Lance dodged just in time; the medic stopped dead and spun around the moment he realized he'd been sidestepped, using the momentum to throw a punch into his chest. This one connected solidly.

"Ow!" Lance snarled, punching back.

Jace just managed to block the punch, though he didn't catch it cleanly; it stung his forearm. "Ow?" he taunted to stop himself from grimacing. "That's what you've got?" Ducking a follow-up strike, he grabbed the pilot's arm and dragged him to the mat.

"All it merits." Lance got in a good kick to his shins as they dropped, which resulted in him being called what he assumed to be several colorful things in Portuguese. He tried another kick, though pulling off any sort of accuracy from the floor was a bit harder. He felt his foot whiff past Jace's leg, then the medic grabbed his other arm and wrenched it in a way arms were not supposed to be wrenched.

Well, fuck. Breaking basic holds he was pretty good at, breaking locks he was somewhat less good at. He tried one of his go-to moves and immediately regretted it—not only did his arm in general protest the motion, his shoulders were not happy with it at all. This was the opposite of what he needed to be doing… he tapped the mat. "Fuck, I need that arm, asshole."

"For what?" Jace let go and jumped off him. "Thought you could fly with one hand behind your back."

"Never said it was for flying."

_Done already?_ Hunk blinked and glanced down at Daniel again. "That was kinda anticlimactic."

"Yeah…" The gunner frowned. "Would've been better with popcorn."

"The Lieutenant has no technique," someone commented from his other side, and Daniel damn near jumped out of his skin. He wasn't the only one.

"Motherfucker!"

"Wh—I have fucking great technique!"

"The fuck? How many people did you _invite?"_

"Uh, not him?"

Pidge looked around at them, mildly bemused. He'd really just been coming to do some exercises. "The door was open. I didn't see any technique, Lieutenant."

Daniel snorted. "There was technique. Losing that bad totally takes skill." A little snark was always good to bring down the heart rate.

"I wasn't talking about…" Lance trailed off, shaking his head. It probably wasn't worth the protest.

"Nobody cares about your bedroom techniques," Jace snorted, leaning over and rubbing his sore shin. "Fuck."

He actually hadn't been talking about those techniques either, though he certainly _did_ have them. "Yeah sure, let's see any of you try flying through an asteroid field."

Daniel's eyes lit up. "I would _love_ to."

"Not as easy as it sounds, kid."

"All the more reason for me to practice!"

Maybe they could get a simulator set up, at that. Lance was thinking about it while Jace rolled his eyes. "I'd say I want to see it, but I don't want to be on the ship when it happens. Anyway, who was playing winner?"

Pidge stepped forward when nobody else did. Nobody had told him to leave yet; may as well make the most of it. "I'll fight you, Doctor."

That had certainly _not_ been who Jace wanted to accept the challenge, but he couldn't exactly back out now. And who knew, it could be fun. Couldn't be worse than Hunk, probably… with a shrug he stepped back to the center of the mat. "Sure, I'm in."

Any thoughts of simulators fled Lance's mind immediately. _Wait…_ He looked between the medic and the ninja. _Oh hell yes_. "I am so happy I'm here."

"Good, that's one of us." Jace fell into a wary defensive stance. "Let's see what you've got, ninja."

He'd barely even gotten the words out when Pidge darted at him, a dark blur in the gym's harsh light. He went into a rising punch, so Jace hit the deck—that was where he wanted to be anyway—reaching back he grabbed at where his opponent's leg should have been, only to swipe through empty air. _Porra_. Rolling to avoid any incoming follow-up strike, he got his feet beneath him just in time to see the ninja crouch and…

…Jump up and grab a ceiling girder?

"Um…"

"Wow…"

"The fuck?"

Jace stood up, looking at the ceiling. Pidge had completely vanished into the duct work. "That's… definitely cheating," he muttered, in the absence of… well, really any other ideas. He looked over at the others and shrugged. Only Hunk shrugged back. Daniel was staring blankly at the ceiling, and Lance was filming with his datapad, because why wouldn't he be.

A faint clatter came from above, and he spun to face the noise, bracing. He was ready to pounce at the first sign of a shadow. He was not at _all_ ready for Pidge to drop onto his back and wrap an arm in front of his throat.

"Whoa…" Lance applauded as best he could, snickering.

"Fuck no you don't." Jace launched into a forward roll, which did less than he would have hoped to dislodge the ninja, though it did break the headlock. Apparently that was enough for the ninja to voluntarily disembark. He vaulted off in the middle of the roll with a parting kick to the ribs, landing in front of his opponent and watching warily.

Jace gave him a quite irritated look, even by his standards. "Nobody told me we weren't gonna keep this fight in the gym."

"The ceiling is part of the gym per the ship schematics, Doctor," he answered matter-of-factly.

Lance snorted. "I mean technically…"

"He's not wrong."

The thought of asking whose side they were on briefly came and went; wasn't like he actually needed to know the answer. "Okay, sure." He darted in at Pidge, who sidestepped, and jumped over the countering kick. They could play it this way. For a minute they danced around the mat, feinting and dodging, neither actually landing anything. Then finally Jace cut in under Pidge's guard and grabbed his leg, taking him to the floor.

Which… was less of a victory than it could've been. _Great, you've got him, now what are you gonna do with him?_ He tried a leg lock. Seemed like the best option.

Pidge twisted around in a way no human's vertebrae could twist and dropped an elbow between his shoulder blades. Daggers of light shot through the back of his skull, and his whole body momentarily went numb.

"Fuck this!" Jace tapped out as soon as he could move his arm again. He had _not_ been ready for that at _all_.

Immediately the ninja withdrew. "That wasn't that bad, for a human." It was clear to him the doctor didn't have much experience with smaller and faster opponents. Nothing to be ashamed of. Which was not stopping Daniel and Lance from cracking up; he scowled at them slightly, though neither seemed to notice.

The medic was also scowling at them, much more than slightly. Specifically he was scowling at Daniel. "Laugh it up, hell's angel, it's your turn now."

"That ain't what a Hell's Angel is at _all_," Hunk muttered under his breath.

Daniel stopped laughing, taking a step backwards. He wasn't exactly hiding behind Lance, but he wasn't exactly not hiding behind Lance either. "Uh, I'm good."

"Are you?" Pidge asked, more cheerful than anyone present had ever heard him. "Let's go then."

"Absolutely fucking not!"

"Ah c'mon." Hunk slapped his shoulder encouragingly. "Can't be that bad."

Oh yes it _could_. But nobody seemed inclined to bail him out… he glared at everyone and stepped onto the mat. _This is gonna be so much worse than getting headbutted_. "Whatever, just kick my ass already."

"That's a very inefficient combat maneuver." Pidge crouched and sprang at him without another word. But he didn't get too far. Other than bracing himself, Daniel was doing nothing at all to either avoid or counter the incoming strike. He stopped, frowning. "…You said you were good, and you're not taking this seriously."

"Ninja, that's his brand," Lance snickered.

Daniel was staring at him, more than a little surprised to _not_ be on his ass. "I meant 'I'm good' as in I don't want to do this," he clarified, suppressing several embellishments that the ninja probably wouldn't understand.

Sighing, Pidge stepped back. "Jalekya…" _English is stupid_. For a moment there he'd actually been enjoying himself.

Hunk had noticed that, too. He looked between the two kids and considered the sacrifices he was willing to make for the team, then shrugged. _Why not?_ "How 'bout this? I'll take you both on."

Both of them turned to him, startled. "What, me and the ninja against Mountain Man?" Daniel shrugged too. It definitely sounded better than him versus the ninja. Or really him alone against anyone. He seriously did not like sparring.

"Seems almost like a fair fight," Lance commented. Jace looked less convinced.

Pidge was still annoyed about good not meaning good; he shot Daniel a scornful look. "I'm sure you'll be helpful. I can handle this." He sprinted at Hunk as he stepped onto the mat, jumped up, and planted a solid jumpkick squarely on the huge man's chest… which earned him a mildly amused look and absolutely nothing else. He hit the floor, rolling clear before stopping to catch his breath, blinking in confusion. "Or not?"

Jace snickered.

"Got any better ideas?" Daniel asked spitefully.

As it happened, he did. "Distract him." Before the gunner could respond, he sprang up and clambered back into the ceiling ducts.

Lance doubled over laughing, and Daniel shot him a _very_ betrayed look.

Through the entire sequence, Hunk had hardly even moved. Now he looked at Daniel and shrugged. "I'm just standin' here, yeah? Wanna talk the weather?"

"We're in space," the kid pointed out. "Not much weather."

"Yeah, true that."

Was this distracting him? Pidge hadn't exactly specified a method, and he seemed distracted enough. May as well go with it. "So, I don't really have any intention of trying to hit you. I feel like that would be counterproductive to not hurting myself, and I mean, Doc is standing _right there_."

"You're probably okay if you hit me." Grin. "Just gotta be worried if ya let me hit you back."

"See, I just don't feel like risking that. Plus I'm like, really hungry…"

Pidge was crouched in the crawlspace just overhead, listening and rolling his eyes. Though it did seem like the unconventional tactic was working… he wasn't sure how much credit Daniel really deserved for that, but whatever. He was certainly _not_ going to attempt to get Hunk in a headlock—the other engineer's neck was about as big around as his waist—so instead he dropped and drove an elbow into the back of one of his knees.

"…Go ninja!" Daniel cheered.

Even though he'd known he was going to have a ninja dropping in, Hunk had not anticipated _that_. He stumbled back a few steps with a yelp. "Dude! I felt that one!"

"Temora sa kye…" He hadn't even fallen over! Pidge dodged easily as the big man turned and threw a punch, leaping over him and landing next to Daniel. Silently he pointed to Hunk's legs, beckoning his crewmate to join him before darting forward. _We'll try this _again _then._

The instruction gave Daniel about a second, maybe two, to consider who he was more scared of: Hunk or the ninja. The ninja won out easily. And he probably knew what he was doing… sighing, he lunged alongside him, landing a decent punch to Hunk's right calf as Pidge hit his left knee again.

That did it. Hunk toppled backwards with another yelp. At the last possible second, Pidge yanked Daniel out of the way before the huge man could land on top of him. _Honestly, what happened to his sense of self-preservation?_ It had seemed pretty well-tuned a minute ago.

Jace and Lance exchanged raised eyebrows. "I'm seeing the appeal of the popcorn."

"Definitely need to stock a machine in here."

The mat was comfy; okay maybe that was overstating the case, but Hunk wasn't really in any hurry to get up. He laid his head back instead, looking up at the kids standing over him, then gave a thumbs-up and tapped out. "Not bad, little bros."

Daniel smiled. "This is, by far, the best experience I've ever had sparring."

"Want to go now?" Pidge offered.

The smile fell off his face immediately. "What about this experience makes you think I'd want to fight you?!"

"…You have a lot of ways of saying no that don't include the word no."

"Yeah, I do." He retreated to not quite hide behind Lance again; the pilot was checking his datapad. He'd gotten this whole fiasco on video. Daniel looked at the screen and grinned. "Can I have a copy of Doc getting his ass kicked?"

"Oh don't you worry, everyone's getting that."

They weren't keeping their voices down at all, and Jace snorted. "Glad I can keep you two amused. Porra."

"Okay, knock that off." Hunk hopped up before they could start bickering. "That's all the sparring this gang can do without popcorn, yeah? Galley break!"

"Fuckin' finally!" Daniel took off instantly, Lance on his heels. Hunk trailed a bit behind them, motioning for the other two to follow.

Jace's eyes narrowed slightly; he turned to Pidge, who was back to his usual expressionless self. "…Popcorn is _not_ a sufficient after-workout snack." Sigh. "Better go save them from themselves. You coming?"

Having just managed an entire social interaction—admittedly, one that had mostly been sanctioned combat—without pulling a knife on a single human, Pidge really felt like he shouldn't push his luck any further. He wasn't hungry yet, anyway. "No." Pause. _Manners_. "No thanks."

With a shrug, the medic headed out. He may technically have been off duty, but really, these people were a full time job.

_Explorer Teams…_

* * *

Vince caught sight of Daniel and Lance turning into the gym, the word _sparring _catching his attention. "Nope, nope, nope," he muttered under his breath and hurried past the door as fast as he could. He wasn't getting caught up in _that _situation. What with falling and knives in his face, he was quite through already with physical attacks.

A few more steps away from the gym and he started to hear strange sounds, at first he thought it was beeping but then a whistle. Quickly, he determined it wasn't the ship, which was a relief… but curiosity had him following it until he reached the first rec room door and pushed through. He found Cam at a table surrounded by books and datapads, making some odd chirpy-whistle noises.

_Well that's… something… _"What are you doing?"

Cam was deep inside his own head, intensely focused on learning the Terinian language perfectly. He jolted at the sound of English and hit mute on the recordings he was listening to. "Dude! I'm… working. What are you doing? I thought everyone else would be in the gym watching Hunk and Jace?"

Everyone else? He was even more happy to have bypassed them. "Which will probably lead to a lot more sparring, which is why I'm anywhere but the gym. What _exactly _are you doing?"

"I told you, work." Cam didn't want to be interrupted; as he spoke he glanced back at the book and the datapad, comparing the information. "I'm learning and translating Ternarian."

"Oh," Vince was intrigued, he remembered how pretty he'd thought their language sounded. "That could be useful. Is it fun?"

Cam shrugged. "A bit. I find it interesting, but the translating is time consuming. It's an interesting tale so far."

Curiosity winning him over, Vince sat down. "Tell me about it? Is it like music?"

"Kinda. Reminds me of listening to the birds out on that big square at the Academy... not many birds on the moon, you know?"

"Yeah, I bet not. At the open market on Terina could feel the vibrations from all the chirping." Vince pressed on. "You said something about a tale?"

"Yeah. Went with Commander Kogane to the Kurcuri, the military academy there, trying to see if we could find some more clues on where Altea is. With that temple the others found and what the Skyguard told us at the Kurcuri, I think we're on the right track."

"Really?" Excited, Vince leaned in to look at the books, then remembered it was in a foreign tongue and rolled his eyes at himself. "What's it saying?"

Cam indicated the datapad. "See these words? It says black, red, yellow, blue, and… I'm not totally sure about this one, I think it says green, but I haven't found it in the other materials just yet."

Vince was immediately taken back to the briefing and the bright smudges of colors they'd been shown. "Huh, seems likely it is something we could use."

"LIke I said, it's a process. Some words they use are not in the same dialect… I think the Skyguard said it's their ancient tongue. So I'm having a bit of trouble finding the actual spelling that is used here, but if I'm understanding their linguistic construction it almost definitely says green, and it would make sense with that image the colonel showed us…" Cam's eyes were sparkling, he couldn't mask his excitement about the language.

"It all fits, really." Vince nodded. "What do they say the colors belonged to?

Now his enthusiasm faded just slightly, face falling in disappointment. "No idea. Just some big beasts that made a lot of noise."

"Beasts?" Vince wasn't sure he liked that word. "Guess they wouldn't call anything birdlike that? Would they?"

"Beats the hell out of me." Cam shrugged, eyes going back to the books.

Vince shook his head, he was curious but also a bit anxious. He liked facts. "I'm not really one for mysteries, but… gotta get used to it I guess? Maybe you'll find something less vague as you go?"

Cam responded with something in Russian and Vince winced a bit—what was it with people speaking to him other languages? It sounded more polite than Baltan, though. "I'm going to assume that was something nice?"

"From your lips to God's ears… Granny's favorite saying," Cam smirked, shifting into a fond smile. "Right before she opened a new bottle of vodka."

"Huh… growing up Russian sounds way more fun than my house."

"Oh, no." Cam laughed. "Only language scarier being yelled at you is German."

"Don't know, you've never seen my Mom yelling while she's cooking. Her knife is going every which way."

"Oh, _that's _not safe."

"I know, trust me." Vince nodded. "I stay well away from the kitchen when she cooks." At least if he'd had any say in the matter.

"Probably safer."

"I like keeping safe, as a rule."

"Same here."

Vince started to laugh as the absurdity hit him; here they were, both in deep space looking for a legendary weapon before space pirates could get at it. "We're in the wrong place, though."

Cam grinned at the laughter, though he didn't really hear him. His mind was back on the language in front of him, feeling impatient to get to know it better. He glanced up at Vince again. "Unless you want to get shanghaied into helping me, you might want to go find a better hiding place from the sparring."

Was that really supposed to chase him off? "Oh, I'll help!"

Arching an eyebrow, Cam considered that and nodded. He hadn't expected it, but another set of eyes could definitely help. "Okay, come join the fun. Bring your datapad. Maybe two."

Vince grabbed his datapad—he'd have gladly grabbed two if he had them. "Okay, so what do you need?"

Smirking, Cam shoved a book at him and sent a few files over from his datapad. "Pick a spot and go nuts, man."

_Oh. OH. _Vince gulped as the information downloaded, the feathery Terinian sigils staring back at him. What had he just gotten himself into?

* * *

The Cathedral of Stars had originally been built upon the highest peak on Kaliega. A few hundred years later, and it was not only built _on_ the mountain but into and around it: a vast complex of telescopes, receptor dishes, astroreflectivity arrays, and who even knew what else. It was clearly a working observatory. It was also clearly a work of art. Glittering skydomes arched over the walkways and transport paths, depicting the current state of the night sky even in the brightest daylight. The paths were also lined with intricate mosaics and exquisite murals, depicting celestial scenes as well as the construction of the Cathedral and what were probably famous researchers. It was all very impressive…

Or it had been for the first ten minutes. Flynn was long since over it. He was already mildly resentful of having to come along in the first place, and the transport path he was scowling at was not improving his mood. He didn't trust this lurching thing at all. "I would just like to know who in every. Conceivable. _Hell_. decided that a _five mile long escalator_ was something that needed to exist."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather climb the mountain or ride the escalator?"

"Those are not the only two options!"

"Maybe, but this does give you a nice view if you'd look around."

"The stars all started looking the same about a mile ago." Flynn sighed and looked up at the skydome disapprovingly.

Shaking his head, Keith decided it really wasn't worth arguing the point. Sven had been ignoring them both to begin with. He was looking around in awe, trying to see everything at once, occasionally rushing from one side of the path to the other and trying not to seem _too_ giddy. Not that he was fooling anyone by now, if he ever had been. "It's gorgeous." It was at least the thirtieth time he'd said that.

Every so often, they would pass someone going down the mountain on one of the nearby transport paths. Most of them were Lygoth, which had been _quite_ an experience at first. The Lygoth were monstrous—there was no other word for it. Well over eight feet tall, with sharp horns and sickle claws that sprouted from a shell of thick organic armor, they looked rather like someone had crossbred some sort of demon with a stegosaurus and thrown some fur on the result to try to take the edge off.

All of these fearsome features, of course, were the defense mechanisms of a peaceful herbivorous race… but they were still pretty creepy.

Finally, the long transport run ended, depositing them on a large terrace. An archway engraved with several constellations stood ahead. No actual doors, as best they could see. Keith looked around at the constellations as they passed through the entrance. "Well, at least they don't hide what they're famous for…"

"Absolutely breathtaking," Sven murmured.

"I'd hope a place called the Cathedral of Stars has a lot of stars." Flynn sidestepped their navigator as he turned to look at something else. "I'm just tired of them."

"How can you be tired of stars?" the navigator in question demanded, stopping dead and nearly getting run over anyway.

"They all look the same!"

That won him a look more disapproving than anything Jace had ever done. "I'm not even going to bother telling you how wrong you are, but even if they did look the same, their placement and designs are all different. And all breathtaking!"

Flynn shrugged. He didn't begrudge the Viking his excitement, he just hadn't wanted to come along for it. "You appreciate that, I appreciate fusion recombination cycles. It evens out."

"Okay, enough," Keith snapped as they entered the main lobby. "Before I have to call you both pretty like Doc and McClain."

They exchanged glances, suddenly unified. "Are you saying we're not?"

"I'm _much_ prettier than Jace."

Not about to dignify that with a response, Keith turned his focus to the Cathedral's interior. There were more of the transport paths, looping about the place like a work of abstract art. Terraces up and down the central core seemed to lead to different sections. But everything was well marked, with signs in Common and half a dozen other languages, and it didn't take too long to find one that read **INFORMATION** in neat gold lettering. "Well, if someone here is going to be able to answer some questions, that one looks like a promising place to start."

They hopped the correct escalator, and were whisked away to a terrace a few stories up. A jet black Lygoth with a bone-white carapace was standing at a desk, and Keith paused for a moment to reconsider as they stepped off the transport. That one was _terrifying_.

"We sure we didn't want to go harass an ancient race first?" Flynn whispered, evidently thinking the same thing. Sven, on the other hand, didn't say anything. He'd noticed a sign labeled **ARCHIVES** as they stepped off the escalator. Archives sounded promising… for their mission. Yes. Absolutely for their mission.

Gracing his second with a glare, Keith took that reminder of their options and stepped forward. The Lygoth's bright crimson eyes fixed on him immediately. "Um, hello. We're looking for some information?" _Yes, that's why we're at the information desk. Well done._

"Then you have come to the right place," she answered easily, crossing her scythe-like claws. Her voice was reedy and light, not at all what he'd expected. "I am Shu're of the Observers, at your service. What do you seek?"

Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "We're looking for information on a planet called Altea. Do you know anything about it?"

He'd expected her to go to the console on the desk. Or maybe to give an immediate yes or no, depending how well she knew the material. What he hadn't expected was a long, slow blink, and then her armor plates rippling in a chiming pattern. "Altea! Earthling, where did you hear of such a thing?"

Keith glanced over at Flynn, who was wincing. That sounded markedly less promising. "Um. Scholarly texts, mostly…"

"Scholarly…" Shu're shook her head. "I fear someone has played a cruel joke upon you, Earthlings. Altea is a fairy tale. It is much like your… ah, what is the name…" She tapped her claws on the desk in concentration. "Carmelhot?"

Flynn stared blankly; Keith blinked. "Camelot? As in the tales of King Arthur?"

"Yes, Camelot, I think. An ancient paradise of legend, not a true place."

Also not promising, but then, they'd been going mostly off of myths and legends so far. "Well, what do these fairy tales say about it?"

"I am not a scholar of myth." She seemed slightly agitated by the question, though it was hard to tell for sure. "The Observers concern ourselves with facts and physics, the movements of the skies and the pure light of the stars."

_Wonderful_. Keith glanced to his second for help, but didn't get any; Flynn was aiming a very focused frown at the floor. _Just wonderful…_

"You seem doubtful," the Lygoth observed.

Another try couldn't hurt, he supposed, looking back at her. "The name was given to us by people who claimed it is a real place. They had some… compelling evidence."

"Without a doubt." Now she seemed sympathetic, though that was also hard to tell. "Scholarship is ever-changing, ever-advancing. Many things which look convincing turn out not to be so." She gestured broadly. "Among Earthlings, there were once those who believed the stars revolved around your planet. Among our people, we thought them to be holes in the sky where the heavens could bleed through. These things were not without evidence."

Keith sighed. Leaving here with nothing at all didn't sit right. If she'd known the name so quickly there had to be _something_. "Physical evidence," he said hesitantly. "A relic from people who were from Altea, or at least claimed to be."

Shu're clicked her claws. She was definitely agitated now. "I am sorry, Earthlings. I cannot in good conscience encourage you on an unwise path."

Finally Flynn raised his head, murmuring under his breath. "Kogane, we've got to tell her the truth."

"What…?" That was absolutely out of the question.

Before he could say so, Flynn looked up at Shu're and pulled his identification tags out. "We're here on the Alliance's behalf. There's supposedly an ancient weapon of some sort hidden away on Altea…"

"_Kleid_, that's—" Keith's interruption was interrupted by a sharp elbow to the stomach.

"…we're hunting a fugitive from Earth, he's obsessed with this weapon, and he's extremely dangerous as it is. Even if the planet isn't real, we need any leads we can get as to where he might search."

"Oh…!" Shu're's armor rippled again, much less musically this time. "I see now. Yes… many deluded seekers have caused great damage searching for the riches of Altea."

Rubbing his abdomen with a grimace, Keith suppressed a lot of things he wanted to say to his second just now; his idea seemed to be working. "Yes, anything at all you can tell us would be beneficial."

"Has anyone else come here asking questions about it?"

"No. But your seeker may well know there would be nothing for him here. Your search will be among ruins and repositories of myth, not the stars." Shu're took a strip of what seemed to be gray fabric from a stack on the desk and ran her fingers over it. Several glowing glyphs appeared. "I can still tell you little, but I can offer a better starting point. The Great Library of the Ages on Alcieux… they may have knowledge that can aid you. Take this to them, I have acquaintances there who will gladly speak to you."

Keith accepted the strip of fabric, suppressing a sigh of relief. "Thank you. You've been a great help." He paused a moment. "If you could… keep our visit quiet? We don't want him to realize we're on his tail, if at all possible."

"Of course." She crossed her claws. "May the stars guide your path, Earthlings."

Nodding, he grabbed Flynn's arm, dragging him back to the escalator and out even after it became clear he wasn't actually fighting it. "Good _grief_, Kleid."

The engineer finally pulled his arm free. "I was about to say something similar. Honestly, Kogane…"

"I don't even know where to begin, but I feel like yelling at you for it."

"Yelling at _me?_ You were doing so well!" Flynn shook his head. "You really _must_ learn to lie, Commander Crystal Spur."

"You keep calling me that, I'm gonna pin that damn medal to your forehead," Keith snapped. Then he sighed as his second raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, she just… kind of freaked me out, if I'm being honest. And really, Altea, a myth? After everything we've seen and found? It threw me."

"She was nice." Shrug. "Absolutely terrifying, but nice. But yes… that temple was sure as hell no myth."

"Not at all." Keith frowned. "Wait, what do you mean I need to learn to lie? I've seen you play poker, since when can _you_ bluff?"

"Well you gave me plenty of time to think about it." He shrugged again. "Wasn't that much of a lie, anyway. Fugitive from Earth, race of alien space pirates, not that far off…"

Disagreeing seemed unlikely to be productive. "Right. Okay, let's get back to the ship, get a route mapped out to this Alcieux… do we have enough fuel left to get there?"

"No idea where it is. Holgersson, you know offhand?"

No answer. Flynn hesitated. Now that he thought about it, they hadn't heard from their navigator in quite awhile, for someone so excited to be here… he stopped, looking around. No sign of him anywhere.

Keith had stopped too. "Where the hell is he? I expect this sort of thing from Lance and the kids, not him!"

"Was he even with us when we got to the desk?"

"I thought he was…" He'd been a little preoccupied. "Wasn't he?"

Sighing and shaking his head, Flynn wordlessly turned and started back for the Cathedral. _Probably should've seen this one coming._

"We've lost our navigator," Keith muttered as he followed. "What kind of commanding officers are we?"

Oh no, they weren't taking the blame for this. "He's the _navigator_, it's his job not to _get_ lost! Not our fault."

The boss chuckled. "And we're hunting a planet that seems to be lost…"

"At least we have a theme?"

"I swear if there's a yellow brick road anywhere, I'm going to hit someone." Flynn stopped walking again, staring at him blankly. "…Ask Hunk and Lance, I'm sure they'll educate you."

"Oh, one of _those_."

"Yeah." Keith sighed again as they walked back into the Cathedral. "Let's go find our lost flying monkey."

"…Rude?" Flynn muttered almost to himself, then looked around at the signs. Despite their thoroughness, "I don't think any of these signs are going to point us to 'runaway navigator'."

"No, probably not." Retracing their steps seemed like the best bet, so they hopped the escalator back to the information desk.

Shu're was still there. "Ah, you've returned. You are seeking your lost Earthling this time, I imagine?"

Oh. Keith blinked. "Um, yes."

Her armor rippled, and she indicated a sign off to the left. "He departed from you when you first approached me, in the direction of the archives."

Of course he had. Why wouldn't he have? "Thank you, again." They stepped onto the transport path she'd indicated, passing through several archways before reaching an enormous room full of everything from ancient scrolls to cutting-edge projected holoscreens.

Sven was sitting at a large table, surrounded by charts and open books. A few small screens hovered at about eye level. He was completely absorbed in the information, the patterns, referencing and cross-referencing…

Walking up behind him, Keith leaned close over his shoulder. Still no reaction. "Anything interesting?"

That got a reaction—a startled jump and a Viking's shoulder smacking his nose. Well, he supposed he'd been inviting that. Sven recovered quickly enough. "Yes, actually." His eyes were bright as he turned. "They've been mapping parts of hyperspace, I've never seen such comprehensive surveys of spatial rifts or warp corridors, it's absolutely fascinating…"

Flynn snickered. "Should we just have you map us a route for Alcieux now, and come back and get you when we're done there?"

Sven dropped the book he was holding, mildly horrified. "And miss out on the Great Library? Absolutely not!" He'd downloaded every scrap of information he could to his datapad anyway, and taken pictures of what he couldn't. This would keep him busy for _quite_ awhile.

"Oh look, he knows what it is. Immediately. I'm shocked." Flynn had never been less shocked in his life.

"Knock it off," Keith ordered, rolling his eyes. They could make fun of each other just fine on the long trip back down the mountain. "Let's get out of here. Holgersson, you can tell Kleid if we're going to need more fuel to get to Alcieux from here."

"We shouldn't need it, it's a short trip." Sven frowned slightly. "But Alcieux isn't part of the Alliance, so it might not hurt to refuel here anyway."

"That's an excellent reason," Flynn agreed. Independent spaceports were fine, but everything was so much less _complicated_ on Alliance planets.

"Okay." Keith looked at the charts strewn over the table and shook his head slightly. "Pack it up and let's go."

* * *

Larmina couldn't deal with the tunnels any longer. It wasn't just the stifling atmosphere, the smothering nervousness of the survivors, though that wasn't helping anything. It was the _voices_.

Voices she could have dealt with, if they'd been voices coming from anyone she could _see_.

The flickers that kept haunting her vision in the caves hadn't stopped. They were only getting worse, in fact… shimmering wisps of light from the corner of her eye, indistinct murmurs that seemed to become more agitated by the day. Not unlike her own temperament. Sometimes she wondered if she was going crazy down here.

Sometimes she could swear she saw Auntie following her gaze, startling at the whispers, reacting to the same flickers. Whether that made her feel more or less crazy, she wasn't sure.

Nobody else seemed to hear anything. She hadn't actually asked. No sense making anyone else think she was losing it. If she couldn't handle the pressure, they might decide she shouldn't be handling deadly pointy things, and if she couldn't go out hunting she really _would_ go mad. It was her only escape from this place. But now it was the middle of the night, no time for a hunting party. No time for an Arusian to set foot outside these shelters, when they didn't dare carry light. And yet, here she was, creeping from one of the tunnels into the foothills.

_Where are you even going?_

She didn't really have an answer to that, but anything had to be better than here. As she emerged into the moonlight and looked around, she was struck by the silence. Distant scout ship engines, a common background hum in the daylight, were absent in the darkness. The usual sounds of the meadow, chirping birds and rustling grass, were replaced with a stillness nearly as stifling as the tunnels.

Silence was what she'd come out here for, wasn't it? Now that she had it, it didn't seem so attractive. The world seemed so bleak and hopeless like this.

Wasn't it, though?

_Golden Gods, you can deliver your people from this mess any time now…_

She looked up at the sky, exhaling slowly. The Golden Gods weren't listening. Or were they? She hadn't thought they were listening about the ball either, until suddenly the Drules had come blazing in. Maybe they were just waiting, for gods only knew what reason. Literally.

_You don't really think the Drules attacked because of that, do you? As if _you _have that kind of power. You're not even important enough to—_

"Larmina."

She jumped, broken out of her recriminations by a familiar voice. Too familiar, almost. So much so that she didn't stop to think as she whirled on it. "Don't _do—_"

…_No._

_No, it can't…_

A wavering shape was standing before her, gleaming brighter than the moonlight. A woman in tattered royal robes, gazing at her sadly. She fought to swallow the lump rising in her throat, and nearly choked on it. Words wouldn't come. _Belief_ wouldn't come. She couldn't grasp what was standing before her, even when it confirmed all of her worst fears.

Queen Orla bowed her head slightly. "Larmina, I'm so sorry."

"H… how?" she finally managed to stammer out, her voice not much more than a squeak.

"There was a fire in the manor shelter. The smoke… everyone… it was very quick."

That had not been what Larmina was asking at _all_, and she took a step back. "Y-you… you're… you can't be… how are you…?" As she struggled to spit out the words she couldn't accept, another voice came back to her.

_You know if your mother had passed, she would try to reach you…_

It all made sense, one terrible moment too late.

The ghost reached out and touched her shoulder. It was a strange sensation—the barest sense of being touched, not enough to be truly comforting, too much for her to maintain her denial. "The royal blood of Arus has always been both a gift and a curse. You already knew this. I didn't feel it was right to burden you with ghosts so young. But you are a true Daughter of Arus…"

Larmina shook her head, stepping back and squeezing her eyes shut. "No. No I'm not. I don't want it, I don't want this!" She hadn't even wanted it when it was frilly dresses and boring etiquette lessons. She sure as all five hells didn't want to be here faced with her dead mother, unable to look away…

Orla smiled sadly. "What we want is so often denied us. There is so much you hadn't yet learned. So much I meant to teach you, when you were ready."

"I should have been there!" Tears were stinging her eyes, fighting to fall. "I should've been with you, I could've…"

"You would have died with us."

_Would that have been so bad? _Larmina couldn't seem to force those words out either, but from her mother's stricken look she had a feeling they'd gotten across regardless. "What am I supposed to do now?" she finally whispered.

"What you've always done." The ghost was flickering, starting to fade into the darkness. "Survive. Fight. You are the last of the line of Altair…"

Her voice was fading. She was still speaking, but Larmina couldn't hear the words, only the faint whispers that had been plaguing the caves. Flickers on the edge of her vision, as though other ghosts were trying to take up the words. But she couldn't hear them either, couldn't see anything but the maddening wisps.

In a faint shimmer of silver, Queen Orla was gone.

"Mother…!"

Larmina stood in the tunnel entrance for a long time, still and silent as death herself. Later, she wouldn't remember the new voice calling her name. She wouldn't remember the hands on her shoulders, the worried looks, her stumbling footsteps as Hanso and Allendar shepherded her back into the cave proper. She wouldn't remember them finding a blanket for her, or nibbling some bread without tasting it. All she would remember was the echo in the back of her mind.

_Survive. Fight_.

For once, it didn't sound so easy.


	11. The Hunters

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 10_  
The Hunters

* * *

Explorer Team 686 had once again gathered in a conference room. It wasn't the same conference room as last time; the _Bolt_ had four of them. May as well rotate for a bit of variety.

They were all identical, but that wasn't the point.

"Alright." Keith looked around and raised an eyebrow. Most of the group was sitting at varying degrees of attention, except for Lance, who was lounging with his feet on the table. It was clearly going to be one of those days… he shook his head and resolved to just ignore it. "Let's get this underway, shall we?"

"Yes sir."

"Let's, please."

"Whenever you're ready, bossman."

So far, so good. "First, any issues or complaints to report on the status of the ship?"

"Yeah," Jace muttered immediately, "_that's_ gonna be fucking unsanitary next time someone brings donuts in here." He jabbed a finger at Lance before pushing his feet off the table.

Their pilot sulked, straightening up to sit properly. "The donuts go in the _middle_ of the table."

"They go in your mouth, bro," Hunk countered.

Keith could already feel his resolve cracking; he allowed himself a withering look at them before clearing his throat and moving on. "So, no one has anything to report?" He shot Flynn a glance too, suggesting he might appreciate a bit of backup here.

His second caught it and shrugged. "Everything in engineering is fine."

"Good." He waited a beat, in case anyone else was inspired to speak up, then shrugged himself. "Then we can move on to the next order of business." _Who are you kidding? It's the only order of business._ They were between Kaliega and Alcieux, in what Sven had described as one of the emptiest stretches of space he'd ever seen; extra business wasn't too likely to jump them here, even with their luck.

"What business, sir?" Cam asked eagerly. The commander gave him an appreciative nod, and he couldn't help but grin.

"As you know, we need to keep our mission as quiet as possible. We can't go tipping our hands to the Galra." He frowned. "We should have developed a cover story to begin with, but hindsight is what it is. Kleid came up with one on Kaliega, and I think it's best we go along with it."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yes. We're on the trail of a wanted criminal who's searching for Altea and the weapon hidden there." He looked around the team. "Does anyone have any objections to that story?"

A few nods went around the room; Lance nudged Flynn and smirked. "Creative, it's all the movies, isn't it?"

Flynn smirked back. It certainly wasn't, but why shoot it down? "Sure, we'll go with that."

"Is his name Galra McGalraface?" Jace asked after a few moments, having clearly put together where the idea had _really_ come from.

Lance snorted. "No, it's Jace McAssface."

Sven rolled his eyes and elbowed the medic before he could respond. "No problems here, sir."

"So we're like what, bounty hunters or somethin'?" Hunk asked, cocking his head curiously. "Can we have cool hats and someone with a parrot on their shoulder?"

Daniel's eyes lit up. "Oh hell yeah, I'd make an _awesome_ bounty hunter."

"Thought you hated birds, kid?" Lance nudged him, too.

"Parrots are for pirates."

"Damn, and I wanted an eyepatch."

"Nothing's stopping you," Flynn pointed out, earning another smirk.

"I'd be hot with an eyepatch."

"Yeah," Daniel snarked, "only in the sense that it would be covering part of your face…"

"Alright!" Keith cleared his throat so loudly he was definitely going to need a lozenge later. "I suppose bounty hunters is an accurate description for what we're doing. But we'd need to come up with a more in-depth story, in that case."

"That's easy, we're mercenaries, someone hired us to find Jace McAssface."

"What do you have in mind, sir?"

Ignoring Lance yet again, Keith gave Pidge an appreciative look. _At least _someone _is taking this seriously_. "We would need false backgrounds for everyone. References, previous jobs, the works… and the ability to insert them into any databases required."

Several people looked at him blankly. Vince, though, immediately seemed a little more animated. "Oh! Like an RPG game."

Now it was Keith's turn for a blank look. "What… is an RPG?"

Vince was much too horrified to answer that—whether horrified because he'd said it out loud or horrified that the commander had asked that question, he couldn't quite have said. Either way Hunk bailed him out. "Rocket-propelled grenade, boss, aren't you in the military?"

Somehow, Keith didn't think that was what Vince had been referring to at all, but he decided it was better not to press the issue. "Okay, moving on. What else do we need to make this happen? Kleid, what do we display as on IFF?"

"We show as a _Vagrant_ with an Alliance military cargo registration. That isn't unusual though. Most ships with any sort of noticeable anti-ship armaments aren't permitted to carry civilian registration, no matter who's operating them."

Something about that didn't seem quite right. "The _Firecrown_ used a civilian registration, didn't it?"

"Yes, and our being more than mildly insane notwithstanding, would you say it had noticeable armaments?"

That, Keith supposed, was a pretty good point. "Okay. But _if_ we needed to, could we change it?"

Flynn shrugged, turning to Pidge, who straightened slightly in his chair. "Yessir. Easily."

"Good. Come up with something and have it ready, just in case. Maybe more than one."

"Paranoid much?" Jace muttered under his breath. Sven looked at him and considered throwing another elbow, but he didn't entirely disagree.

Pidge looked at Flynn, who just shrugged again. "We needed to officially change the registration to _Bolt_ anyway, make it happen."

Keith's mind was racing too much for him to sit still; he stood up and started pacing. "Gregory, you'll need to make a set of new medical records for everyone, more civilian ones, won't you?"

"…No?"

He didn't actually stop to register the answer. "In case we get boarded or closely inspected, we'd need to take steps to not be identified as connected with the Alliance. Our uniforms, records—"

"—Kogane!" Flynn was starting to get a headache. "I think you're getting bounty hunters and the covert ops agency confused, I literally told the Lygoth we were working on the Alliance's behalf…"

That got through. Or at least the round of snickering that went around the conference table did. Keith stopped and exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Maybe he _had_ gotten a little bit carried away there. "You did, I know. So… the Alliance just hiring bounty hunters for some reason is our story?"

"If you think about it, isn't that pretty much what the Explorer Teams are?" Sven pointed out with a small frown. "Small irregular units to do odd jobs the line units can't do, without splashing _we're the Alliance military_ everywhere?"

"We kinda did that last time, yeah?" Hunk agreed. "They even painted the _Firecrown_ up to be less Alliance-y for us."

"And keeping a little bit of Alliance affiliation could be useful. You know, little things like any Drule ship we run into not attacking us on sight." Not that Lance was afraid of the Drules, but he did very much feel like saving their missiles for the Galra was the better option.

Keith nodded slowly. They were all good points. "Fair enough. The best lies do have elements of truth to them."

"Why don't we just say we're an Explorer Team, then?" Vince asked. It wasn't that he minded being a bounty hunter, he was just a little confused.

"Because bounty hunter sounds way more respectable than Explorer Team." Jace smirked. "What doesn't?"

"Definitely putting bounty hunter on my resume," Daniel said with a grin.

Flynn took the question a little more seriously. The initial idea behind the cover story _had_ been a bit more about the fugitive angle and less about the bounty hunter angle, but he could see the merits in detachment, too. "Mercenaries wouldn't have the same sort of restrictions a formal Alliance unit has to deal with. This could take us into No Man's Land or the Fourth Kingdom itself, for all we know."

"Yes. The best of both worlds." Keith returned to his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "We will still need to cover our tracks in some respects."

Nod. "Colonel Hawkins said he sealed our records because of the pirates. That'll work in our favor."

"It will. That just leaves what we have on the ship… the uniforms will need to be dealt with. Can we strengthen the encryption on the computers?"

Pidge took that one again. "Hardening the systems is easy enough, sir." Lance snorted, for reasons that had nothing to do with his thoughts on the ninja's technical capabilities; Sven and Jace both rolled their eyes in tandem.

"Very well. Do what you need to do, Stoker."

Hunk grinned. "We can stash our uniforms in the smugglers' hold."

"…I thought we didn't have a smugglers' hold?"

"We _still_ do not have a smugglers' hold."

Sigh. "No fun."

Keith gave Hunk a look, then shook it off. "Well, we'll still need to stash them somewhere. Any ideas?"

"Dude, the smugglers' hold!" Lance didn't care what Flynn said about it—he might not know where this mythical smugglers' hold was, but he knew Hunk had to have hidden his contraband bombs _somewhere_. That was good enough for him.

"Can we just move on?" Flynn asked. "We'll figure it out."

That wasn't reassuring, but then, at least a couple of people here seemed to know what was going on. He had to trust his team… "Yeah, we can do that. Anyone think of anything else we might be forgetting?" Silence and a few headshakes went around the table. "Alright. Starr, how is the translation of those Terinian reports going?"

Cam looked a little startled to be addressed, though also pleased; he opened his mouth. Words didn't come out. A series of chirps and a light, trilling whistle did instead.

Daniel hit his head on the table before glaring across it. "One more fucking whistle and I swear to god, fanboy…"

That turned a few of the others' blank stares into laughter. Blushing, Cam coughed and took a moment to get his thoughts organized. "Apologies, Commander." He was _not_ going to apologize to Daniel. "With Vince's help we're pretty much done with it."

"I didn't do much," Vince protested. Mostly he'd served as a sounding board, though he had been able to puzzle out one particularly fragmented document. Literally; he'd more or less reassembled it for Cam to translate.

Keith frowned. "Anything significant to report?"

"The Skyguard we talked to wasn't exaggerating about the multiple reports." Cam sat up a little straighter. "They did a pretty thorough job of collecting them, and nearly every one says the same thing about the presence of beasts in the sky. They don't agree on much else, though. Primarily the beasts reported were the ones she mentioned, but there are also reports of a green one, a silver one, one that says they were all black, one that says there may have been a multicolored one…"

"Multicolored?"

"Whole thing's multicolored, yeah?"

Shrug. "It's what was in the reports. But nobody could describe the beasts in any detail. It was night, and well, they _were_ being attacked by alien warships of some kind."

"So basically we still just have Jace's bad artwork to go on," Lance clarified, "but now it's confirmed by some other sightings?"

Cam nodded, a slight frown on his face. "Unfortunately yes, sir."

Whatever Lance may have said there vanished into a look of stunned disbelief. _Did he just call me sir?_ Beside him, Flynn bit his lip hard to keep from laughing—it was only mostly successful. Lance shot him a look, but couldn't really argue the point; he shook his head and chuckled silently himself. _Sir! That'll never happen again. …Hopefully._

Flynn fought it down after a few moments. Something in Starr's report was concerning him. "Beasts, plural. But the information from Sorthal seemed singular. Unless one of the languages involved doesn't differentiate…" He gave their comms officer a questioning look.

"Terinian does, sir."

"Multiple Voltrons, then?" Even that didn't seem right. Multiple Voltrons for some conventional assault fleet, only one for a monster that had wiped out a whole continent? Everything they learned only seemed to raise more questions.

"Could be the opposite, yeah?" Hunk suggested. "Terinians saw a bunch of colors and figured a bunch of different pieces or beasts or whatever, but it's actually all one thing?"

"Right now, it seems like just about anything is possible." Keith waited another moment to see if anyone else had comments, then looked back at Cam. "Thank you, Starr. Make sure your translations are secured."

"You're welcome, Commander." He followed that with another whistle, and Daniel glared.

Lance looked over at him too, slowly raising an eyebrow. "That kid okay? Jace, maybe you should look into it."

Jace followed his gaze and matched the raised eyebrow. "Could be a sign of vitamin deficiency."

"No it can't." Daniel made a face. "That damn alarm of his goes off all the fucking time."

The medic took a moment to think that over. "…Could be a sign of vitamin overdose."

"I've been taking my vitamins EXACTLY AS INSTRUCTED," Cam snapped, "khuy tebe!"

Daniel grinned. "Sven, I'm not sure exactly what he just said, but I know it was a bad word."

"Language," Sven muttered obligingly, though there wasn't much enthusiasm in it. Immediately Cam responded in a series of whistles and chirps.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on there. "Wait, they taught you to _swear_ in _bird?"_ Hunk demanded. "For research?"

Grin. It hadn't exactly been spelled out, but it turned out birds swore a lot when they were under attack by unknown warships. "I'm just that good."

Hunk nodded in approval; Daniel scowled and threw a pen at him. "Seriously, would you can it with the fucking whistling!"

"You gonna make me, brat boy?"

"Knock it off," Keith barked. "_Now_."

"Oh sure," Daniel grumbled under his breath. "He gets to whistle til I wanna blow my damn brains out, but I throw one little pen and all the sudden boss man's panties are in a twist…"

Smirking, Cam looked down at his datapad and tapped out a quick message. **Because he LIKES me**.

Daniel sent back a quick doodle of a hand flipping him off.

"You're both ugly, kids," Jace snorted, and turned back to Keith. "So what's next?"

"Alcieux." The boss hadn't said so out loud, at least to him, but Lance had read the course data Sven had programmed into the computers.

He'd pronounced it _alsee-you_; Jace blinked. "You'll see who?"

That was enough to draw Cam's attention away from Daniel. "It's not pronounced that way."

_Oh?_ Lance crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "What is it then?"

"The Lygoth back at the Cathedral said it _alsee-uks_." Flynn shrugged. "It's alien, not French."

Well that was dumb. "It should be more French."

Rolling his eyes, Pidge spoke up from his chair in the corner. This briefing had ceased to be interesting a long time ago. "It isn't a long trip, kir sa tye? I should start work, if you want the new registration ready for landing." He considered pointing out the rest of them should get to work too, but that wasn't really his place.

Keith took it up gratefully, in any case. "I think we're done, unless anyone has anything else to raise?"

"Nah, ninja's right. Better move." Hunk grinned. "Bring anything you guys want hidden over to general quarters, we'll take care of it."

"The smuggling hold is at your service." Lance smirked.

"Yup! Holdin' your smuggles for fun and profit."

Keith stared at them for a moment, then rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt. They were definitely finished here. "Dismissed."

* * *

Hunk was the first to make it back to the room, and the first order of business was flipping on some good montage music. One should _never_ pass up the opportunity for a montage, after all—they weren't in a movie, but why should that stop them?

The cheerful synthrock of Bobblehead Avenger was just starting to pump through the room when Lance came in, looking somewhat betrayed. "Dude, why didn't you tell me we had the fucking smuggler's hold in _here?!"_

Blink. "You didn't ask, bro?"

"I didn't…" Lance stopped in the middle of his protest. "…no wait, that's a good point when it's you. Show it to me?"

"Totally would, if we had one. Which we don't. Here." He pulled the mattress off one of the empty bunks with a flourish—except there was no mattress, just a padded foam cover hiding a large box. Or, more accurately, a thin foam exterior and six different layers of various scan deflection materials hiding a large box.

Lance gave a low whistle. "Totally fucking fell for that." Maybe he was going to have to rethink his opinions on furniture covers after all.

"Good!" Chuckling, he pointed at two of the other bunks—there were ten in the room, intended for a _Vagrant_'s standard complement of cargo workers. "Thought they might be handy, yeah? Last time I hid the bombs I had to use the engine shielding and uh, that ain't the best."

That sure as hell didn't sound like the best. "I mean it's really shortsighted of the Alliance _not_ to build ships with smuggler's holds."

"Seriously. No imagination." Hunk was opening up the other two fake bunks as they talked. One was empty. The other was about two-thirds full of neatly blocked and packaged explosives.

Lance's eyes widened. "Holy hell!"

"Chill, bro! They're totally safe without a blastin' cap."

Eyeing the explosives warily, he calmed and looked back at the huge engineer. "And again, I should've expected it."

"Probably." Hunk paused to play some air guitar as the montage music hit its peak.

There wasn't a ton of space left with the explosives, but the other two fake bunks were actually pretty roomy. "Yeah, the uniforms will fit in here alright. Rather burn them."

"Not me." Snort. "You know how hard it is to get these things made in my size?"

"…Point." Lance flipped his collar. "I like my jacket."

"It's a good jacket," Hunk agreed, patting the leather before turning back to the bunk. He carefully tucked his uniforms away—they were folded and rolled into tight cylinders of fabric, if there was one thing he was good at besides bombs and barbecue, it was efficient packing—then accepted Lance's and stashed them. Frowning, he looked up and studied the general quarters. It was pretty stark. "Feels like we oughta decorate."

"Yeah…" Lance looked around, wondering what kind of decoration was normal for bounty hunters. Maybe he should've brought some more sniper rifles to hang on the wall or something. But he was pretty sure of one thing, as he watched Hunk close the bomb bunk back up. "We are _meant_ to be smugglers."

"By the end of this we might be!" Hunk flopped back onto his own bed, throwing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. "Heck, think we might already be. We're smugglin' plenty of stuff, just cuz we ain't sellin' it…"

"True that." Lance sat on the floor and leaned back against Hunk's bed, looking at the ceiling too. "I mean we're looking for what? Some kind of beast weapon? It's not a person, but it is a bounty."

"Totally." Frown. "Keep tryin' to figure out what the Terinians would think were beasts. Some kinda ships, you think?"

The red metal sprang to Lance's mind again. "Has to be. She said they thought the attacking ships were mountains, they wouldn't know." He shook his head. "It's _big_, whatever it is. I can feel it."

"Yeah?" Hunk eyed him curiously, though he didn't seem to find the comment all that strange. "Like, the heat or whatever?"

"Yeah… yeah." Lance looked at his hands, trying to bring up the memory of the warmth. "Five beasts, all the same metal, right?"

"Is it the same metal? You'n the boss reacted different."

"Think it is." Snort. "We got called in about, you know, the reactions we had—'cause of _course_ bossman put it in the report. The tech said it was causing the reactions, all mystical or whatever. It's _fucking_ weird."

Hunk sat up straight, looking at him with double the confusion. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, she did some tests, had us touch both metals, then she touched one too… had me looking at the numbers, they went ballistic." Even the summary felt like it was making things more complicated. "She didn't feel anything. Said it was magic."

"…Magic, huh?" Hunk fell silent, turning that over in his head. Did he even believe in magic? It probably wasn't that crazy… no, it was definitely crazy, but so was at least half of the chemistry he'd studied. Still… "Dude, I'm just the bomb guy. What're they throwin' us at?"

"I don't know." A shiver ran up Lance's spine. "But I'm telling you, whatever this Voltron is… _big_. Above-our-fucking-paygrades big."

"Kinda soundin' like it." Grin. "And Colonel Bossman says we get to try to figure it out, pit boss is gonna go nuts."

"Yeah. Him, me, _all of us_, dude. It's so fucking weird."

"Could be fun though. Hopefully. Kinda suck if it's anything else."

"I mean sure, less temples of murder and more asteroid fields and it could be fun, yeah."

Hunk swung his legs over the edge of the bed and gave him a look. "…Can we skip the asteroid fields? Maybe just some nice normal explosions, yeah?"

Lance burst into laughter. "Don't worry, I'll handle the flying. You just take care of the booms. But let's focus." He stood, shaking off thoughts of magic and beasts. "How do we bounty hunter up our quarters?"

Grinning, Hunk jumped up too. "Bro, I thought you'd never ask…"

* * *

Keith was standing over his bed, folding his uniforms. Re-folding them, really, to neat military precision. It wouldn't do to have them get all wrinkled in this mythical smuggler's hold; they would need them again at some point.

His roommate was watching, unimpressed. "You know, it'd be easier just to pitch them down an engine core."

Sparing only a quick look over his shoulder, he went right on folding. "That seems like it would be bad for the engine core, wouldn't it?"

Flynn laughed. "Three thousand degree plasma does not care about your polyester."

No, probably not. Keith sighed and looked at the small pile of fabric—were they even made out of polyester? "I'm surprised nobody decided to have a bonfire in the cargo hold, honestly. Or throw them out of an airlock."

"Throwing things out the airlock _is_ dangerous, haven't you heard the horror stories about space debris?" He briefly debated suggesting the commander could get rid of his Crystal Spur that way, but decided he really didn't want the thing pinned to his forehead.

"True enough on that." Keith sat on his bed and exhaled. The stateroom wasn't really meant for two people; it was very nicely furnished, but a little cramped with a second bed hauled in. _The burdens of command._ Speaking of which, "How are things going with your new crew?"

Flynn looked distinctly unappreciative at that question. "Vince is fine. Pidge is difficult."

"Well, given his record, that's not surprising. What's been going on?"

_Tell me about it_. "I just don't understand how he thinks—nor does anyone else—and when he has misunderstandings he tends to pull knives on people. I'm working on it." He wouldn't have minded an offer of help, truthfully. Kogane and his sword _might_ be able to figure the ninja kid out a little bit. But he wasn't going to ask, and wasn't surprised not to get one.

The commander nodded. "I know you're working on it. He is from a different culture, I'm sure he doesn't understand us very well either."

_To put it mildly_. Flynn snorted. "How are _your_ kids doing?"

"Starr is alright, I think. Brennan… he just doesn't seem…" Keith looked for some kind of tact, gave up, and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know really, when it comes to him."

Sounded about right. "I think you felt that way about the rest of us once." His second paused, reconsidering, and grinned slightly. "I think you might still feel that way about some of us."

It was impossible not to at least chuckle at that. "Yeah, but I'm kind of getting used to the strangeness from the original crew. One hell of a learning curve, that's for sure."

"But you're learning." Flynn eyed the uniforms.

"That I am…" Remembering he'd stashed a dress uniform in a different locker, just in case, he crossed over and opened it up… and the pumpkin crown fell out.

His second erupted into laughter. "Your finest moment!"

"No," he objected, cheeks flushing deep red, "I assure you it wasn't. I'd rather just forget about that night, really." He tossed the crown into the trash.

"Hmm." Flynn gave him a reproachful look. "Maybe you haven't learned as much as I thought."

"…What is that supposed to mean?" All that got him was an innocent shrug. "I should have just come and helped you with the test fire."

"Too late _now_. You had fun, it won't kill you… probably."

"Yeah." Once again, Keith was seriously starting to question his understanding of the word 'fun'. No, that wasn't quite right—more he was questioning everyone _around_ him's understanding of the word 'fun'. Dropping his dress uniform on the pile, he looked over his shoulder again. "You already take care of your uniforms?"

"Sort of." By which he meant absolutely not, and pulled them out of one of his own lockers. They were already folded just fine, as far as he was concerned.

A half grin spread over Keith's face. "If you want, I can take them over to our _not a smuggler's hold_ on my way back to the bridge."

"Wouldn't say no." Flynn grinned back, then stood and delivered his uniforms to the boss's stack of fabric. "Maybe Hunk will actually show you where it is."

"No. I'm going to stick with plausible deniability."

"Think that's usually the best option with this crew. You _are_ learning."

"Yeah, trying to." He adjusted his load of uniforms and headed for the door.

Flynn looked after him, frowning slightly as his mind went back over the discussion… the question came out before he'd fully decided to ask it. "Kogane?"

Keith stopped. "Yeah?"

"Does your sword have a name?"

_Huh?_ That seemed like it had come out of nowhere. "…Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Well, why not? The sword had been in his family since before human spaceflight; _when_ exactly it had picked up its name, he wasn't sure. But it did have one. "It's Raiden. Means…" He paused a moment, blinking as he thought of the black metal. "…Lightning strike."

Flynn nodded slowly. "Like I said, just curious." He glanced over at his rifle in the corner, wondering if it needed a name, then shrugged it off with a slightly sheepish grin. "Go smuggle our uniforms, would you?"

Not at all certain what to make of that, Keith decided not to worry about it too much. There was plenty around here for him to worry about. "Yeah… I'll do that."

* * *

The other stateroom was playing host to a fairly similar scene; two stacks of uniforms, two Explorer Team members giving them judgmental looks. Why had they even brought so many? Wasn't like they _wore_ them.

"We have to have somewhere better to put these than a nonexistent smuggler's hold," Jace grumbled, poking his pile.

Sven looked at his own pile and shrugged. "It was the only option presented. Do you have a better idea?"

"Shove 'em under the bunk? Seems like if we get boarded we're already kind of fucked." He rolled his eyes. "But sure, let's take this stuff to casa de donut dude and go do something useful."

Oh really. He wanted to do something useful now? "What did you have in mind?"

"Fuck if I know. I should make sandwiches."

That wasn't precisely the wrong answer Sven had expected, but at least it was a wrong answer. "You should do that paperwork the Commander assigned."

"Pretty sure I told him I wasn't gonna do that." Frown. "Pretty sure I told him we didn't _need_ me to do that."

"Pretty sure he didn't rescind the order. Come on, I'll help you do it."

"Sure you will." Actually, he probably would—Jace could have used a Viking back when he was struggling through Alliance history essays at the Academy. _This,_ though, was not homework he needed help with. "Tell me something, what the fuck does 'more civilian medical records' even mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm not the medic." Sven sat on his perfectly-made bed and shrugged again. "I'm sure there's a difference, though? If we were civilians our records wouldn't have the mandatory military checkups, and probably not nearly as many vaccines?"

"Sure, unless we're ex-military. Or are we just a bunch of random-ass civilians who took up bounty hunting one day? That's less suspicious?"

…Oh. Sven hadn't thought of that. "Alright… how _do_ we make them look less suspicious?"

"They don't look suspicious!" The medic buried his face in his hands with a few dramatically muttered Portuguese curses. "Everyone on this ship watches too many movies."

Everyone on the ship probably did watch too many movies, but that wasn't really the issue at hand here. "Official Alliance files could still prove we are active military. Which could blow our cover story."

"Yeah… tell you what, middle ground, we'll get rid of these." Jace pulled the physical files out of his desk and held them up. They did say **Official Alliance Document** in excessively large letters at the top. "Make it harder on whoever's really that worried about tossing our bunks. If they crack our computers, they're gonna have shit like… I dunno, we've gotta have some authorization codes or some shit we can't get rid of… anyway the medical files won't really be our biggest problem."

Sven opened his mouth to object, then hesitated. It was a fair point… the objection became a slow nod. "I can get on board with that. We'll at least be semi-following the Commander's orders."

"Totally. We're doing the spirit of the thing, just not the dumb parts." He looked at the files and frowned. "…Now how do we make paper disappear onboard a spaceship?"

"We could throw them out into space?"

Jace snorted. "I'm as excited about the thought of chucking annoying things out the airlock as anyone, but classified medical files floating around in the void forever doesn't seem _quite_ like the spirit of the thing."

And there was another good point. "You're right. Any other ideas?"

Considering that, Jace found his mind wandering to the obvious. How did you dispose of classified files when you _weren't_ on a spaceship? There was one standard. "Fire?"

Sven stared. Jace stared back. Neither of them was about to blink, but finally the navigator couldn't take the silence. "You want to start a fire onboard the ship?"

"How do you think the galley works?" No, that wasn't even the best example. "Fuck, pretty sure we've got six giant fiery things on our ass driving us around, though Chief might get pissy if we pitched paper in there without asking."

"I…" Sven briefly debated pointing out that only the conventional engines used anything like fire, but it really wasn't worth it. "…Don't we have a paper shredder?"

Oh. There was that. "No idea?"

Did Sven really want to search the ship for a paper shredder that may or may not exist? More to the point, did he want to explain why they needed one? No, not really. That could only result in more bad ideas. "Fine, let's just burn them."

"We could look for a shredder first." Jace shrugged. "That's the Viking way, isn't it? Pillage then burn?"

"Where do you suggest we look?"

He could see the medic going through exactly the same thought process he'd just gone through. "…Good point, let's just burn."

Dumping their uniforms off at the door of the general quarters, they headed for the galley. Jace passed the files to Sven and produced a large cast-iron skillet; that got him a skeptical look, which he answered by waving it threateningly. "We practice safe fire containment aboard this ship, Viking."

Somehow, Sven did not find himself reassured. "It's good to know that if we're going to be starting fires aboard a ship in the middle of space, at least we'll be doing it _safely_."

Jace rolled his eyes and started ripping the files into large paper chunks, dropping them in the skillet. "You're the same kind of person who doesn't like surgery because it involves cutting you open, aren't you."

"…You say that as if I'm supposed to be happy about being cut into."

"Rather die?"

"No." Sven watched, less reassured than ever, as the medic dug out a lid and a bottle of cooking oil, dousing the paper before turning the burner on. "Doesn't mean I'd enjoy it."

It was only a matter of seconds before the oil burst into flame. "And I'm not enjoying this preparation of papel queimado, a dish with _zero_ intrinsic or nutritional value, but we do what the fuck we've gotta do." As the paper started burning cheerily, the galley's air scrubbers kicked in with a dull roar, shunting the smoke away.

"Language," Sven muttered without conviction. Being _roommates_ with Jace had only hastened his giving up on actually changing anything—like he hadn't given up long before—but he still felt the need to say it every so often for the sake of habit. Plus whenever he let it go for too long he started getting threatened with medical tests.

This time Jace glowered. "It just means burnt paper, porra…"

It was _definitely_ not worth answering that; they both knew perfectly well what he'd been referring to. He allowed himself a raised eyebrow, which was answered with a smirk. Then, exchanging shrugs, they fell silent and watched the medical records burn.

* * *

Modifying a ship registration was not an efficient process. Shocking, truly. Pidge's objective had gone from untraceable modification to rewriting a whole new interface in about the first five minutes. Someone—whether the manufacturer or the Alliance, it didn't particularly matter—prefabricated the identification codes in a way that had probably been seeing minor tweaks for centuries, and now instead of a nice neat form, there were scattered fragments of source data all over the place.

Nothing he couldn't handle. But inefficient. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his datapad linked into the ship's systems with its holographic conversion mode on. The keyboard and screens it projected almost made it so he didn't notice his roommate.

Almost.

Vince was sitting on his bed, being wholly inefficient himself. He was reading a book… or at least he was _trying_ to read a book. What he was actually doing was casting furtive glances over at his roommate who was usually _not here_. Having the ninja in close proximity was making him edgy, and knowing he shouldn't be only made it worse. Finally he sighed and gave up, flopping back to stare at the ceiling.

_Get over it, Vince. He saved your life, he's not—_

"There's nothing up there, mechka."

Sighing, he lowered his eyes again. "What does mechka mean?"

"It means I'm trying to adapt to human social expectations."

That didn't tell him _anything_; he snorted. "Guess that means it's not nice."

"It's not…" Pidge paused for a moment, searching for the exact English word he needed and concluding it didn't exist. "…not-nice," he finally muttered sullenly.

"Not not-nice?" Vince eyed him and shrugged; he'd bite. "How exactly do you think it fits with what's expected of human social interactions?"

The ninja looked back at him and frowned slightly. "Nicknames are that, kir sa tye? Mechka are… here." He swiped the holoscreen with the ship registration aside for a moment, calling up another screen and drawing a rough sketch of a cute seal-like critter.

Vince stared at it blankly. "Uh…" _What the heck?_ He wasn't even wholly sure what he was looking at, let alone how to respond.

"…If I were trying to insult you, I'd do a better job of it." Scowling slightly, Pidge banished the screen and went back to the registration.

Something about his businesslike indignation made Vince laugh, though he stifled it quickly. It didn't seem polite. "Yeah, I guess so… that's not exactly how nicknames work."

"How do they work?"

…_Walked right into that one_. Closing his eyes, he considered the question carefully. He'd never really thought about it before, were there actually solid rules? "Well, either it's something obvious about a person—like Sven and the Viking thing, or you and the ninja thing—or it's… something that has to do with the relationship you build up with a person? I guess?"

Pidge looked up from his screens again, considering that. Then he nodded with renewed confidence. "Mechka."

_Welp_. "Okay then, that's sticking."

Nodding wordlessly, his roommate returned to his work. Great. Were they done talking now? It seemed like it, so Vince made a valiant attempt to go back to his reading. It still wasn't working out.

_Okay, let's try round two…_ "You working on the registration thing?"

"Yes. The Lieutenant Commander just wants it officially changed to _Jupiter's Bolt_." Pidge shrugged; even his shrug looked slightly unfriendly. "It'll be good enough. The Commander is excessively concerned."

Vince snickered. "Yeah, Flynn's really attached to _Bolt_, his logic is flawless. And Commander Kogane, uh, worries more than my moms combined, and that's saying something."

"I see his point, but the people who are going to question our legitimacy aren't the kind who'll be looking up our…" He trailed off, blinked, and looked up from the screens. "Komora?"

Vince blinked too. "Komor-what?"

"Yes, what."

"…Huh?"

The ninja shook his head, exasperated. "What did you say?"

"I said Kogane overworries." What had been wrong with that? Pidge had just said the same—

"How many mothers do humans _have?"_

_And once again, welp_. "Just the two?" he stammered, off balance. "Well, I mean, generally one… well no, really it depends on the family situation…"

"Just the _two_," Pidge repeated. "Komora sa kye."

Vince's eyes narrowed slightly. He had no interest in picking a fight with the ninja, but he also wasn't just going to sit here and let him take potshots at his parents. "Yeah, my moms are gay." He managed the slightest bit of defiance in his tone.

Pidge did not seem impressed by either his defiance or his words. In fact he seemed mostly bewildered. "What does that have to do with anything?"

…_Deep breaths, Vince_. He took a few moments to try to steady himself. _He is so confusing, ugh…_ "I have two moms because they're gay, usually how that happens. The same-sex parents situation, I mean."

All that got him was another very long few seconds of blank green ninja-stare. Then, all at once, understanding seemed to hit. "_Oh_, that's right, English uses the same word, they're your…" Suddenly he was visibly flailing just as much as Vince had been a minute ago. "…raisers, not, um, birthers?"

"Uh, no, my…" He cut himself off. This conversation was making a beeline right for him having to try to explain the in vitro fertilization process to an oblivious alien, and he was already blushing so hot it was uncomfortable. "Know what, that's not exactly it but we'll go with close enough."

"Okay." Nodding, Pidge turned back to his datapad. He looked perfectly satisfied with how that discussion had gone.

Vince, on the other hand, was still reeling. _That was the weirdest conversation of my life_. He watched his roommate quietly. Something was creeping into his thoughts. Someone else a bit more… belligerent… would probably have punched the ninja in the nose long before getting that resolved, when all it had been was a simple…

_Misunderstanding…_

He blinked at the realization, and wondered just how many punches Pidge had taken before now.

"I can stop calling you mechka if you want," the other engineer said abruptly.

_Huh?_ To his own surprise, Vince found himself not jumping on that. _He's trying, I guess?_ Maybe he should let him try. "Nah… it's okay."

Nodding again, Pidge looked back at his screens and typed in a few more commands. A soft beep sounded through the room. The ship was officially renamed.

"Success?" Vince asked.

"It's done," he confirmed. "Have to strengthen the main system encryption now. Unnecessarily inefficient, but ought to be fun." He packed up his datapad and stood. "I'll have to go to the bay for that. You can read now."

His roommate didn't seem quite as happy to be rid of him as he'd expected. Or maybe he'd just forgotten what he'd been doing before. "Uh, okay…"

Watching Pidge exit the room without another word, Vince slowly exhaled and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There was still nothing there.

…_I don't look like that seal-thingy though, do I?_ He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slightly. One thing was for certain. This trip remained _interesting_.

* * *

Daniel was hard at work. As with most things, he wasn't really working on something he was _supposed_ to be working on. But he was working nonetheless, hunched over the small desk in the room he and Cam shared, sketching out a picture. Or more precisely, a wanted poster. Drawing was the one hobby he'd been able to acquire that _didn't_ get him in trouble—usually, some graffiti'd buildings in Utah definitely had other opinions—which meant his opportunities to exercise it were limited. This situation seemed to call for it.

"What the hell are you doing, brat? We've got to get our uniforms squared away."

He didn't even bother to look up at the question. "My name is Daniel," he said flatly, "and I'm drawing a sketch of our make believe criminal. Figured it might come in handy."

"I know your name, brat," Cam snorted, pausing as he finished folding up his last uniform. "And that… actually might be handy, Commander ask you to do it?"

"No." He certainly didn't want to impress the Commander with his initiative. Or Lance. "I just figured it'd be a good idea."

"Huh." Shrugging, Cam turned away, eyeing his own bed and chirping a few things in Terinian. He was trying to keep up with the language—no sense learning it well enough to translate the stories but _not_ sticking with it—and lacking a conversation partner, talking to himself was really his only option.

Of course, right now he was talking to himself when he wasn't alone… his roommate finally looked up from his sketch, glaring. "Are you fucking kidding me with the bird shit again?"

"What do you have against birds, dude? Did one shit on your face when you were a kid or something?"

"No! I just…" Actually, he was pretty sure he didn't want to answer that truthfully. "…I don't wanna talk about it, and my—" _It's not a fear!_ "—DISTASTE for birds has nothing to do with your annoying as fuck chirping."

"Well I won't get any good at speaking their language if I don't practice it."

_Who even cares?_ Daniel wondered; he didn't think they were going back there. But he doubted that question would go anywhere useful. "Well I'd appreciate it if you didn't practice around me, it's driving me nuts."

Cam wondered how he could tell. "You know, you could learn it too. Maybe it would help you get over your _aversion_ to them."

"No thanks."

Big surprise. "Fine, brat." He gave a heavy sigh. "I'll try not to improve my education in your presence."

_Brat this, brat that_. Daniel rolled his eyes. _He needs a bigger vocabulary_. Still, it was a win, and he went back to his wanted poster. "Thank you." Somehow, his fugitive seemed to have picked up Cam's dimples. Whoops. He added a few last finishing touches and held it up. "Whatcha think?"

His roommate eyed the sketch critically. "Well, it's better than what Lance has dubbed Jace's artwork…"

"…That's not exactly a high bar," Daniel mumbled to himself with a worried frown.

"…I think a five year old still could've done better, but you're probably used to that." With a smirk, Cam picked up his uniforms and headed for the door.

Daniel, though, was suddenly not one bit inclined to let him go. "Can you not go _two minutes_ without being a miserable snot?" he demanded, standing up and glaring. "What the actual fuck is your problem?"

Cam froze in the doorway. Had the brat really just called _him_ a snot? "You," he snapped, turning back around. "_You_ are my problem."

It was far from the first time Daniel had ever heard that, but… "The fuck did I do? You're the one who won't leave me alone." He'd thought being roommates would improve the situation, but so far not so much. "We're gonna be stuck together for awhile, so you should probably get over it."

"Get over it?" Glare. "The Commander roomed me with you because he hoped if I set an example for you, you might straighten out." The Commander had actually said no such thing, but it was the only explanation. "I've been _trying_ since day one. But you just keep acting like a spoiled, entitled brat."

There he went with the brat again. "What did I even do to you?" he repeated, glaring right back. "And what example do you think you're setting, exactly? All you've shown me is that you're a major dick when the boss man has his back turned."

Cam snorted. "Oh, I'm a dick? Well I'm sorry you think that," he wasn't sorry, "but you sure don't act like you want it any other way."

"What _exactly_ have I done to you that makes you think I want you to act like a dick to me, hmm? Was it when I repeatedly asked you to stop calling me names? When I let you drag me all over Garrison Island for team bonding? Asking you to stop chirping when you know it bothers me? Telling you to chill out when you take shots at me for no reason?"

Dropping his uniforms, Cam took a step forward, then thought better of it and leaned back against the door. "To me?" Of course this selfish little prick could only think that way. "You're just like all those damn entitled officer's brats at the Academy. Disrespecting superiors, rolling your eyes, thinking it's all about you… I can't stand that shit. It gets people in trouble, or worse, killed."

_Oh for… this guy is fucking stupid_. Daniel ran a hand through his hair in frustration, nails digging painfully into his scalp. "Get off your fucking high horse. If anyone is acting like an entitled brat it's _you_. You're mad that I'm not kissing your precious Commander's ass? That's it? You barely know me, don't act like you know shit about why I do what I do."

"My fucking high horse? I'm not the one with problems with authority!"

Whatever self-control Daniel possessed was evaporating rapidly. His blood was boiling. If fanboy wanted to play suck-up he could have it. "Well authority doesn't screw you over every chance they get, do they? Nooo, Cammy the golden boy can do no wrong."

"Because I do what I'm told! I don't go mocking protocol or barging in on my commanding officer without knocking, and I sure as hell don't give my superiors smarmy fake apologies when they call me on it!" Cam shook his head. "I know this is an Explorer Team but fuck, if you're here you must be a smart kid, if you'd just engage your brain first once in awhile you probably wouldn't have ended up here!"

Oh fuck that. "It never matters if I do what I'm told. I could be the most well-behaved little kiss-ass ever and it wouldn't matter. Nobody gives a shit!" He'd just gotten told off for throwing one lousy pen, for fuck's sake. "I might as well do and say what I want, it's not like anyone cares." _He never cared…_ he shook that off.

"Bullshit. If they didn't care they'd have sent your ass packing, not put you on an Explorer Team." Cam crossed his arms. "So this is just what, some sort of stupid rebellion?"

Golden boy really didn't understand anything, did he? Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Yeah sure, fami—people have to actually care what you do to be able to rebel."

He'd caught himself, but not before Cam caught where it was going. He blinked. "What? You're not making any sense…" That _definitely_ wasn't the entitlement he'd been expecting.

Daniel had been prepared to yell back. He'd been prepared to take this shouting match as far as he had to go. The abrupt lack of hostility drained his own, and he took a couple of steps back. "I don't know how I can make that statement any more clear." _Like it's any of your damn business anyway._ The thought sounded more hollow than angry in his own mind. Post-anger crashes sucked ass. "I _earned_ where I am. Fuck you for suggesting otherwise."

That was definitely a better thing to discuss. Cam was not touching that other slip if at all possible. "Yeah. You're proud to be here, I know. Why would you _want_ to earn being on an Explorer Team?"

"…You know, sometimes you make me want to bash my own head in," Daniel muttered, his voice dripping with frustration. "I earned my spot. I earned being here in general. Wade wanted me gone, hell, he wasn't the only one—but I'm still here because I'm good at what I do, I worked my ass off to prove it, and I _forced_ them to fucking keep me. Meanwhile you volunteered for this gig like you're God's gift to Explorer Teams, but _I'm_ the entitled one?"

Cam stared at him for a moment that felt very long, slowly working his jaw without managing to force any words out. He slumped back against the door, sighing, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He _wanted_ to argue, but…

_Shit, am I really the one who's been screwing this all up?_

"…Yeah. I volunteered. I could've gone anywhere, I was even offered Wade's command."

Daniel snorted, sitting at his desk and looking at the sketch again. It really wasn't that bad. "And you're bragging about that why?"

Lowering his eyes from the ceiling, Cam managed a glare. This was hard enough as it was. "Because, _brat_, I'm trying to word this in a way that comes off as an apology."

And again with the brat! "Try harder."

"Will you just keep your trap shut for five minutes, for a change?"

It was very tempting not to agree to that. But Daniel supposed he couldn't just refuse an apology, no matter how bad fanboy was at it, after all that yelling about him being a dick. He sighed. "Okay. Proceed."

"You're… kind of right." Cam huffed in frustration. "I do have a lot of respect for authority… for Kogane in particular." He preemptively glared harder, and could see his roommate fighting back the smirk. "First impressions are everything, you know? I wanted to make a good one… and then you came barging in and ruined it. And that was _yours_, and I didn't like you right then. Not knocking, sitting without permission, half-assed salutes…"

There was a lot Daniel wanted to say there, but he was behaving himself. Mostly. His lip was almost bleeding from how much he was biting it, but he was successfully _keeping his trap shut_.

"…and then we got to talking, and sometimes I'd get to thinking we could be friends, good friends… then you go off and," he waved his hands in a gesture of exasperation, "do something else to put you right back in that entitled brat category, and here we are."

Daniel couldn't take it anymore. "First, that is by far the worst attempted apology ever made." Cam didn't even protest; he knew it was the truth. "Second, hold up. You think Kogane's a good guy, right? So like, he has good judgment, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah. He keeps you off the bridge when nobody else is around…" He gave a weak smirk that turned into a grimace. _There you go again_. "Sorry."

Brushing that particular point off—he still found it pretty funny—Daniel crossed his arms. "Okay, then do you really think he'd let _me_ barging in on you affect how he views _you?"_ Not that he'd never had any guilt-by-association incidents at the Academy, but it was only the biggest asshole officers that did that.

Cam blinked. He hadn't even thought about it like that. "…See, why can't you act like that more? Being friendly instead of, you know… things that make you look like an entitled brat?"

"Yeah, well maybe if you acted more like a friend I'd be more friendly, I'm not going to sit there and be nice if you treat me like shit. Two way street, dude."

They stared at each other for what felt like a very long time. Then, slowly, Cam nodded. "Tell you what, you act like that more, I'll be nicer."

"Deal." Smirk. "But if you start acting like a dick again, all bets are off."

Chuckling faintly, Cam nodded… then looked down at his uniforms scattered over the floor and made a face. "Guess I'd better get to refolding all this."

"Guess you'd better," Daniel agreed, going over to help him pick them up. "Oh yeah, and just so you know?" He paused a moment and pointed back at his sketch. "That is a fucking _masterpiece_."

Masterpiece was still an awfully strong word. But looking over at it again, Cam grinned. "It's good enough."

Maybe it was all good enough.

* * *

Connected to the castle shelter by a long, narrow tunnel, an underground river flowed beneath the Meadows of Raimon. It sounded like a lovely thing to have nearby; it really wasn't. The water was thick with minerals, some mildly toxic, leaving it wholly unsuitable for drinking. Bathing was okay, if one was careful… and desperate… it was better than nothing, but the refugees weren't exactly flocking to the water. Not to mention the damp chill, and the slimy film of algae covering everything.

It was an excellent place to go to be alone, and Larmina sure as the five hells wanted to be alone.

She was sitting by a small diverted stream, staring at the back wall, trying to convince herself the sound of the water was drowning out the occasional whispers. They did seem to have let up a bit over the last few days, ever since… since, well…

_Stop it. This isn't helping anything or anyone, least of all you_. With a sigh, she slumped forward and tried to pick out patterns in the algae. If she squinted really hard, it looked like… no, still a gross slimy mess.

A noise that was _not_ a whisper echoed from the tunnel behind her, and she stiffened, pulling her hood up and hoping not to be noticed. A moment later she heard a familiar voice muttering, "Of course it would fall to the bottom of the bag…"

Oh. Great.

Allura had been helping distribute some new supplies. The flow of scavenged materials from the surface was steadily decreasing as the Drules solidified their hold, and hidden stockpiles ran dry. The people were getting more anxious. Who could blame them? Some had even ventured to the surface, opting to try their luck with the occupation… despite her best efforts, they hadn't been dissuaded. She was exhausted, frustrated, and sore, and with any luck a good foot soak would at least help with one or two of those.

Flopping gracefully—as gracefully as one could really flop, anyway—by one of the larger pools, she removed her shoes and pulled a towel from her small satchel of personal possessions. As she dipped her feet in the water, she finally noticed she wasn't alone. A hunched figure in a dark gray-green cloak that nearly blended in with the rocks was sitting on the other side of the chamber, shifting just enough to look over their shoulder and catch sight of her.

"Oh…" A soft blush sprang to her cheeks. "Am I interrupting?"

"…A little bit, but it's okay."

Her eyes widened slightly. _Larmina?_ She hadn't seen her honorary niece in days. Not since two of the militia had brought her back into the shelter, dazed and muttering about her mother. Allura had known what that must mean… she'd made herself available, but hadn't pushed the issue. She knew Larmina would need to deal with it on her own before she could speak of it.

This didn't seem like the best coping mechanism, but who was she to judge?

Smiling sadly, she ran her toes through the icy water and shivered. Cold though it was, the minerals did have some soothing effects. "Pity these waters can only be used to bathe," she murmured. "Even more so that they can't wash pain away as well."

Larmina snorted. "Yeah, too bad we can't drink it too, so we'd get to go outside even _less_." She turned again, looking mildly betrayed. "You didn't tell me there were ghosts!"

She blinked. "I was… not aware you didn't know about them," she said apologetically, sighing. "Perhaps it's one of the hazards of seeing them… one can forget that what seems common to me is not so much to others."

For a moment Larmina kept glaring, but it faded quickly. Too quickly for her tastes. She wanted to keep it up, but then, Auntie _had_ said her mother would contact her… probably should've pressed the issue then. "I thought the caves were driving me crazy," she finally muttered, turning back to the wall. "Kind of wish that's all it was."

She could practically feel Allura's sympathetic look. "What other things are testing you now?"

"What isn't testing me?" She rolled her eyes. "We're stuck in a hole in the ground. A big fancy royal Arusian hole, but still a hole."

"Yes…" Frowning, Allura ran her fingers along the edge of the water. The algae came off on her fingers; she wrinkled her nose. "We are."

"Is King Alfor making any progress with his… whatever?"

There was another person she hadn't seen, this one in much longer. "I don't know for sure," she admitted.

"Well good, that helps." Larmina glared at the wall as if it were personally responsible. Not that it mattered. It all seemed so pointless now…

Allura looked at her and sighed heavily, then scooted forward a little bit until the water was up to her knees. This soak, this conversation, was doing nothing for her own frustration. Why didn't they have these answers already? Why had they been hidden or erased? And what if…

_We have to rely on each other_. "Larmina… I'm scared."

Her niece whirled around at the admission, her startled look trying to turn into a glare. She didn't quite pull it off. "What?"

"I know what my father is trying to do, but the longer things go… I'm having a hard time. I keep thinking of our past. In all our history I can't think of a darker time than now. And if my father fails…" She trailed off, staring into the water. No, she didn't want to think about that, she _couldn't_.

As if anything could prevent it.

Under the circumstances, Larmina felt wholly inadequate to the task of reassuring the Crown Princess. But she couldn't help feeling like she ought to at least try. "I heard the War of Golden Revival kind of sucked," she offered after a few moments of hesitation. "Though," she made a face after another moment, "I guess at least we won that one." _In a manner of speaking. Such _optimism_, young lady_.

"Yes…" Allura tried to smile. She didn't quite pull it off either.

"…What is he doing? Why isn't he hiding? Why isn't he even keeping you in the loop?"

"He's…" Again she felt the pull to tell the truth, again she couldn't bring herself to do so. Especially not here, where someone could walk in on them at any moment… yes, that was it. "…he's trying to call upon a legend." The image of Black Lion, awakened with wings outstretched, flashed into her mind again. The thought of all of them… a glimmer of desperate hope in the darkness.

Larmina sighed. _Still can't tell the half-royal bastard child, got it_. For a moment, she considered telling Auntie about her own uncovered legend, the banewolves. But some mix of uncertainty, sullenness, and spite prevented it. "Guess that's all we can count on, huh."

"Yes. But it is something." This time she managed a bit more of a grin. "Even if it is the last little bit of hope out there."

That was cheery. But… _Mother told you to survive and fight, not sit here feeling sorry for yourself. You could try to be a _little _more helpful here._ "…And a little bit is better than none, right?"

"Right." Allura looked at her. "I have to believe he'll succeed, he will call the legend. It would be such a sight…"

"Yeah, legends are like that." Larmina's eyes widened slightly and she coughed. "I mean, uh, they're supposed to be anyway—they're legends, right?"

"Yes…" Auntie looked distant for a moment. Lost in thought, the legend coming to life before her eyes.

Larmina's mind went back to her own myth. Could it really be a coincidence? The mystery King Alfor had charged her with, could it all be connected? But no… if she were supposed to be part of this legend, surely he'd have told her to do something by now. Shaking it off, she realized she was certain of one thing; she wanted to see the banewolves again. Badly.

"How's our food supply?"

The words startled Allura from her reverie, and she tapped her chin in thought. "Hmm. We are low on some herbs, and berries for sure. Could use a few rolis, we're not too bad off on meat, but we're going to need as much fur as we can get before the winter…"

That was all she needed to hear. "I think I'll go out and see what I can find. I know of a spot we haven't really picked over yet." Standing and stretching, she winced at the tingling aches that shot through her; she'd been sitting for _entirely_ too long. But the Forest of Altair was waiting.

Allura stood too, approaching with a soft smile. "Before you go…" She wrapped her up in a tight hug, and the younger girl gave a startled squeak. "Hopefully you'll find plenty of what is needed."

"Yeah, here's hoping." She didn't think either of them were really talking about plants or rolis. "…Hang in there, Auntie. If I have to, you have to." She accompanied the words with a completely unconvincing scowl.

Chuckling, her aunt nodded. "Understood." She watched Larmina head out, then returned to the pool she'd been sitting by and closed her eyes. Suddenly it seemed very quiet…

She let her mind wander a bit. And as it always did, it seemed to wander to the storms, and a lion's roar echoing in the darkness.


	12. Threads

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 11_  
Threads

* * *

Daniel had the last shift before they hit the atmosphere of Alcieux. It was going poorly… well, the _flying _was fine.

He shifted uneasily in the less-than-comfortable pilot's seat. He was _trying_ to focus on the monitors in front of him, he really was. Which was rare, because bridge duty? _Boring_, especially when you were by yourself. Usually he at least had Sven to pester for entertainment.

_You'd think an Explorer Team would get more action_. A little adventure, maybe a dash of excitement here or there, it would certainly make the time go by faster. _Maybe then my brain would shut up._

He kept replaying his half of the screaming match he'd gotten into with Cam, and he cringed in embarrassment each time his words played across his mind. _Can't believe I said that._ It wasn't that he didn't mean everything he said, it was that he had said it _out loud_.

_Well authority doesn't screw you over every chance they get, do they? _Oh god. He'd never actually said that before; he'd thought it plenty, but those thoughts had never made it out into the real world. At least not like that. Daniel winced once again, a dark blush gracing his face as his earlier words replayed in his head once more. _What a pansy. You sounded like a giant crybaby._

A small growl made its way from his throat. He wouldn't have had to say all that if Cam hadn't been such a dick. Relentlessly. Daniel knew he was a pain in the ass, but enough was enough; a person could only tolerate so much before they snapped.

Cam's half of the conversation began to replay itself in his head, and he reveled in the anger it sparked. What had he called him? _Oh yeah, that's right._ _"Spoiled, entitled brat." _He wrapped his hands around the yoke in front of him, his half-assed attempt to stop the anger induced rattle in his hands. He knew he should stop. He shouldn't be making himself angry all over again, it wasn't healthy, but he _liked_ the hostility racing through him. It put his nerves on edge, which felt so good. Animosity had a way of covering all of his problems, small or big. Logically he knew it was like putting a bandaid on a gunshot wound, but it felt like lotion on a burn. And for however long he could make the temper last, he'd be in a state of bliss.

It wasn't as exhilarating as flying, but not much was. Not running from the cops after tagging a building, not even canyon jumping brought the same sort of euphoria flying did. Street racing was close, but anger was closer.

_"The Commander hoped if I set an example for you, you might straighten out." _Daniel's teeth clenched. _And he says I'm arrogant?_ Who did he think he was? Speaking of which, who did Keith think _he_ was? Daniel tightened his grip on the yoke to near painful and smirked bitterly, the resentment burning. He didn't need anyone to set an example for him, he'd done just fine without one. Maybe he should show their dear commander what a great example his precious self-righteous dumbass was being… no, wouldn't be much point in that. The commander didn't seem like the type to put it together if he started lashing out. But still, Cam, a role model! It was a disgusting thought really, dude only knew how to be a dick.

_That's not completely true._

…_Oh no, not you._

Daniel felt himself twitch as his own conscience started to fight back against his barricade of bitterness. It was always doing that. _He might not have understood—because he's a dumbass—but he at least listened to what you had to say. _Squeezing his eyes shut and shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he tried to cling to the ebbing anger. It wasn't working as well as he'd have hoped. His conscience, as annoying as it was, was right. Cam _had_ listened to him, which was something nobody else really did. He guessed that counted for something, at least.

_But that's not entirely true either, is it?_

Gripping the yoke harder, he started wondering if he could bash his head against the console enough times to get his brain to stop with the logic shit. _Lance listens to you. Teaches you cool stuff, too. _Daniel had learned more aboard the _Bolt_ than he had the past two years at the Academy… okay maybe that wasn't quite true, but he'd definitely been way happier about it. Learning from Lance was interesting and cool, not like some boring lecture.

That thought made him smile, but it only lasted for a second before insecurity twisted its way into his thoughts. How long before Lance started thinking he wasn't worth the trouble? It always happened. For some it was right away, like his Academy instructors. For others like Commodore Rankin it took a little longer. But they all eventually stop giving a damn… the thought of Lance giving up on him too sent a pang through him. So far the pilot had gone out of his way to look out for him. It was nice, and Daniel had been lapping up the attention like a dehydrated puppy, but how long until it stopped?

_Don't let it happen. Cut this off on your own terms, for once_.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The thought of Lance giving up already hurt, and this arrangement was relatively new. How much worse would it feel when he finally decided to pull the plug, however long from now? It was only a matter of time.

No. No fucking way was Daniel going to put himself through that. Not again. He was going to end it now. Better to stop the attachment before he became too dependent, to not get used to counting on something that couldn't be counted on…

Once more he reached out and grabbed the yoke. It brought him a small bit of comfort as his stomach twisted with insecurity. This was going to suck, but… it would be for the best.

* * *

It was winter in Alcieux's southern hemisphere, and the spaceport nearest the Great Library of the Ages was engulfed in near-blizzard conditions. Landing had been _exciting_. Naturally, the blizzard had tapered off almost the moment the _Bolt_ had taxied into its berth, leaving the ship sitting amidst drifts of nearly two feet of snow. Flynn had flatly refused to leave the ship in such conditions, but Vince and Pidge had both volunteered in his place. Vince liked libraries; Pidge liked being useful. …And snow.

The library didn't look too impressive, at least from the street; most of the complex was underground. Sven had been telling them all about it as they trekked through the snow. It was, at its core, a museum of archaeology. The Alceites explored vast swaths of space—rumor said they even had a presence beyond the Orion Spur—in search of artifacts from long lost civilizations, cataloging and displaying them to be studied and admired.

They had very little interest in civilizations that weren't dead. This would probably be hit or miss.

Keith eyed Sven as they walked down the steps to the entrance. "No wandering off without saying anything, Holgersson."

"I didn't wander off," Sven protested with a sigh. "I was researching." Researching without saying anything, sure, but…

Pidge looked up. "I'll keep an eye on him, sir." He fell in a little closer as he spoke.

Sven eyed him with a bit of concern. He _had_ overheard something about _hey ninjerk, make sure they don't forget the Viking this time_ when they'd left the ship, but he wouldn't have expected the ninja to take it seriously. _I hope he knows Jace was joking…_

"Good idea," Keith agreed with a nod, completely ignoring his navigator's discomfort. "Buddy system it is."

They were nearing the bottom of the stairs. A set of double doors greeted them, quite plain except for several stripes of multicolored enamel. Pushing the door open rewarded them with a wave of warmth, and Vince scurried in eagerly with the others—his teeth were chattering. _Oh good, it's _warm _in here_. He took a moment to just let the warmth wash over him, then looked around… his eyes widened. "Wow…"

They were standing in a huge, hexagonal room, with hallways spidering out in every direction. Every wall was a bookshelf, and each shelf was painted in the same sort of rainbow of enamels as the doors had been; if there was a pattern to the colors he couldn't discern it. Not that he was paying much attention to the colors. He'd never seen so many books.

"It's _wonderful_ in here," Sven murmured with a smile.

Impressive as the sight was, they had work to do. Looking around, Keith couldn't find any English signage. There were signs, several of them, but they all had those same rainbow lines and little else. A dazzling array of colors covered the floor, as well—solid paths that led to the various hallways. None of it made any sense to him.

The Alceites themselves were humanoid, with skin in various shades of rich brown and silver hair that most wore short and simple. In fact, they were all but indistinguishable from humans… until one looked carefully at their hands, each of which possessed an extra thumb. Those in the foyer were making great use of those thumbs, arranging and examining books with remarkable dexterity. Not a single one seemed interested in the Earthlings who'd just walked into their library—what few glances they attracted were cursory and quick.

"Anyone see an information desk?" Keith asked softly.

"That looks promising," Sven offered, pointing off to their right. A large desk with a fairly bored-looking Alceite was tucked away in a corner.

"It is a person behind a desk." Vince shrugged. He was fighting the urge to wander off himself; everything around them was so _fascinating_, but he didn't really want to pull a Sven.

Well, he was certainly right that it was a person behind a desk. With a slight shrug of his own their commander led them over, hoping this wouldn't be an insult. "Excuse us, but… do you work here?"

The Alceite looked up and blinked slowly, studying each of them in turn. "Yes?" Her voice was low and calm. "I am Aja. What do you require."

"Where might we find information on a planet called Altea?"

Aja blinked slowly again. "Spell that."

…_Is this a trick question?_ The Alceite was utterly inscrutable. "Which word?" he asked hesitantly. "That? Or Altea?"

She just stared at him. So did his teammates—except for Pidge, who thought it was a perfectly reasonable question. Vince finally dared to speak up. "I think she meant Altea, Commander." He turned to her. This he could do, he'd been through a few spelling bees in his life. "It's A-L-T-E-A."

"Yes," Sven muttered, raising an eyebrow at their commander and glancing down at Pidge. "I'm going to have to start elbowing him too…" The ninja didn't look at all impressed.

Neither did Aja, who had turned to her monitor. Despite her lethargic speaking demeanor, her movements were quick and efficient. After a few moments the computer beeped. "There," she said, pointing to one of the hallways, "red-orange ten to three parts. If there is anything to be found, that will be the correct section. You will find translator glasses for Common English at any of the resource desks. They are labeled."

"Thank you!" With a broad smile, Sven took off in the direction she'd pointed, eager to get to the books. A slightly startled Pidge followed right on his heels. Vince laughed, but didn't follow, noting that Keith hadn't left yet; it was only polite to wait with him.

The boss looked after Sven, shaking his head with a slight smile, then turned back to Aja and withdrew the strip of cloth from Kaliega from his pack. "Also, we were told to present this when we got here, does it mean anything to you?"

Aja looked at the glowing sigils on the cloth, and for a moment looked slightly less bored. "Lygoth trace bioluminescence. An Observer vouches for you." She took the cloth and nodded. "I will see that this goes to where it belongs."

"Thank you." Bowing his head slightly, Keith turned, heading for the… red-orange ten to three parts?… section. The line on the floor appeared to be dyed directly into the stone, rather than enameled like on the doors and the shelves.

"Think we'll find anything, Commander?" Vince asked as they headed down the hallway.

"I hope so." He shook his head. "It would be a horrible shame if we don't."

That language seemed a little strong, though it wasn't inaccurate. "Yeah, I guess. It's quite a mystery, huh?"

"Yes, it is. Just a wild goose chase…"

"Hopefully with a nice goose at the end, sir."

What they found first was Sven seated at a large table, with a stack of books and what looked like a strangely prismatic magnifying glass. And Pidge, who was standing maybe an inch behind his chair, watching over his shoulder. _Uh oh._ "Pidge?" Vince asked hesitantly. "Jace didn't mean you have to glue yourself to him."

"Yes, and really you don't have to watch me at all. He was joking."

Pidge didn't move. "I don't think he was joking, sir."

Probably really hadn't been, knowing Jace, but he probably hadn't been shooting for this either. "Well, either way you don't have to watch me this closely. I'm not moving."

Frown. "Sir, I think you not moving is what he's worried about?"

Sighing, Sven raised his head from the book he was studying. "Pidge, I believe you are skilled enough to keep an eye on me while not hovering over me. We're supposed to be researching, don't you want to look through some books? They're fascinating."

With a sigh of his own, the ninja stepped away and circled the table. He took a book and one of the magnifying glass things, sat across from Sven, and silently stared.

All Keith could do was grin. "At least we know we won't be losing you, Holgersson."

"Yes sir." Truthfully he didn't mind the staring. He was just happy to have his personal bubble back.

Shaking his head, Vince retrieved one of the translator glasses and sat next to Pidge—may as well keep working on getting used to him. He took one of the books too, and opened it to find what he had, subconsciously, maybe expected: rows upon rows of rainbow lines. The Alceites used colors instead of symbols as their _alphabet_. That already was fascinating, and it got even more so as he held the glass over the page and watched the colors shift, swirl, and refract into recognizable Common. "Ooooh!"

Next to him, Pidge succumbed to curiosity, opening his book and holding the glass over it. He wasn't nearly as excited. _English. Yay_. "There has to be a more efficient way to look through these," he muttered, starting to skim through pages on the fall of the Eltoral proto-empire. It wasn't likely to be what they needed.

"This might not be the most efficient, but it's fun." Sven set aside the book he'd been looking through—a cataloging of relics from a race called the Oltrik—and picked out another one. He wished he could have read all the way through every book here, but they only had hours, not weeks.

"It is," Vince agreed with a grin, as Pidge muttered something skeptical in Baltan.

"Starr would have enjoyed this," Keith commented as he picked out a book of his own.

"He probably would have," Sven agreed, turning a few more pages. "Why didn't he join us, anyway?"

Smirk. "Had to leave someone semi-responsible who could man the bridge in case of trouble."

Vince looked up for a moment. "But what about La… _oh_." He flushed as Keith and Sven snickered; even Pidge gave a snort that might have been amused. "I'll have to just tell Cam all about it, then," he decided as he went back to his book.

Discussion largely ceased as they got deeper into their research. There were so many books about so many remarkable lost cultures, and again and again, not one of them mentioned Altea. It was frustrating, if not surprising…

About two hours in, a tall, stocky Alceite walked into the red-orange ten to three parts section and studied the four people there with mild curiosity. "Friends of Shu're?"

Keith and Sven both looked up. Vince noted it and looked up too—was that them? It seemed so; Keith looked at the new arrival and nodded. "Yes?"

"How fares your search? I am Tana, the head of the archives. I am requested to give you all possible aid; the Observer sees value in your mission." She spoke as slowly as Aja had, but here it somehow came across far more as dignity than boredom.

Smiling, Keith turned to more fully face the Alceite. "We would certainly appreciate any help you can give us. Do you know much of the planet Altea?"

"Altea. It is spoken of in myths and rumors throughout much of the Orion Spur. An ancient paradise of splendor and mystery."

_Oooh_. Vince's eyes lit up. That sounded pretty solid.

"It does not exist, and may never have existed, though many claim to have seen it."

…_Boo_. Vince's face fell.

It all sounded familiar to his commander, who nodded again. "We're actually pursuing an individual who believes in these myths and rumors. Has anyone else been here asking about them?"

"Not that I am aware. No searches are recorded." Tana looked quite grave. "Your quest is certain to lead you on many a branching thread."

_No kidding._ "That is very true… unfortunately. But anything might help us locate this individual. Do you know much on these myths?"

"Indeed." Pulling a chair over, Tana did not actually sit on it, just leaned over the back. Somehow she managed to do that and still look dignified. "The myths are as countless as the ancient civilizations themselves. Altea may have been anywhere—from a local star, to the galactic core, to a faraway galaxy linked here by their great magics. Much of that rings untrue. Our expeditions have never found evidence of them, but the rumors are widespread. The dissemination of the myth indicates that either Altea, or the civilization which originally invented the legend, must have been local to the Spur."

"Hmm." That sounded… promising, maybe? Sven wasn't sure. Though he was pretty sure that no matter how much he enjoyed navigation, he was just as glad he wouldn't need to be navigating great magical links to other galaxies any time soon.

Keith thought it sounded promising too, if less concrete than he'd hoped for. "Do you know of any possible candidates for inventing the legend?"

"That we are uncertain of. The Spur has gone through many cycles of close cooperation, which makes the sources of individual legends very difficult to trace."

Less promising, again. So far this search felt like one big exercise in taking one step forward and two steps back. "And you say you've never found any physical evidence of Altea?"

"No… but to be clear," Tana frowned slightly, "that is only to our knowledge. It is a peril of studying the lost and the forgotten. In this very library, we possess a vast number of artifacts we know nothing of except for where they were found. There may well be much evidence for Altea under this roof, that we simply cannot link to its makers."

"Really?" Vince blurted before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure if that sounded _helpful_ or not, but it sure sounded cool. _Please let us look at the stuff, please please…_

Similar thoughts were running through Sven's head; he was trying to think of any viable excuse to see these relics, preferably one that might actually help in their mission. Keith came to it first, though. "We do have at least a couple of indicators, right? Those symbols we found on Sorthal, or the color pattern in general? And if they know where they came from…"

"Right!" the navigator agreed, perhaps slightly too quickly, but who could blame him? "We should definitely take a look if we can."

Nodding, Keith turned back to Tana, who didn't seem inclined to address the question until asked directly. "Would it be possible for us to at least take a look at these artifacts?"

Tana nodded. "The word of Shu're is sufficient to access the Hall of the Unknown. I will direct you to it."

_Yes!_ Vince gave a tiny fist pump under the table, and Pidge eyed him strangely. He didn't care.

"Thank you!"

"Yes, thank you. We appreciate it."

"The Hall is quite extensive, and all its contents are well-labeled. I will leave you to your investigation there. But before I leave you, there are two other potential sources I can offer. I cannot speak to their likelihood of having information."

As if they could afford to turn that down. "As I said, any lead might help us, however slim it might seem. We would be grateful for anything you can provide."

Tana nodded slowly. "They are not without difficulty, but thus is your task. The first is a nearby world called Takrekul. They hold extensive knowledge of myth and legend, and fragmentary tales of uncertain truth. But they guard that knowledge jealously. If you can earn their respect, their libraries may be of use to you."

Keith nodded, writing that down in his datapad. The other three exchanged skeptical glances. That didn't sound ominous at all… how _exactly_ they were supposed to earn the respect of an alien civilization they'd never heard of would have been nice to know.

"The other is one of our archaeological agents. A contractor of sorts. He does not work solely for us, and is careful to keep from us any information gained from his other benefactors. It is possible he may have heard rumors that would be useful to you." There was a hint of disdain in her voice when she mentioned him withholding information. "His name is Bokar. I believe he is on assignment on your Alliance's planet of Khoru, but I will confirm that and provide a letter of introduction. Consult with the reception desk before you leave."

"All right. Thank you very much for all of your help." Finishing typing all that into his datapad, Keith looked around at the others. "Anything else I might have forgotten?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Don't think so."

"Excellent. I will go and prepare the letter." Tana tapped a colored line on the floor with her foot. "The blue-violet six to five parts path will lead you to the Hall of the Unknown. Inform the guard there that Tana has spoken for you."

No question this was a long shot, but wasn't their whole mission a long shot? Keith tucked his datapad away and nodded once more. "Thank you again, Tana."

"You are most welcome. May your search be fruitful."

As she left, the team packed up their books and exchanged nods. Time to see what they could find. Pidge took up a position just off Sven's arm, watching him like a hawk; Vince grimaced slightly. "Pidge, he's with us…"

"Just making sure he stays that way."

For his part Sven had pretty much accepted that Pidge was now his shadow. And as long as he let him have his personal space he was fine with that. "It's alright, Vince. I'm choosing to think of it as having a ninja as my own personal bodyguard."

Grinning and shaking his head, Keith led them down the blue-violet path. It took them back to the entrance then looped around to a lower level, where an armored guard was standing before a heavy vault door. The commander gave him a bow of greeting. "Tana has spoken for us. We'd like to go into the Hall of the Unknown."

The guard nodded wordlessly, then turned and started opening the locks. There were several—some electronic, some manual, some that almost certainly could only have been opened by an Alceite's paired thumbs. As he worked Sven glanced over at Vince and whispered, "Even the name sounds awesome."

Vince did not whisper, as the excitement he'd been trying to contain burst out. "I _know!"_ He slapped his hands over his mouth and blushed. _That was loud_. The navigator just gave a warm smile at his enthusiasm.

"You don't need to yell, mechka," Pidge muttered. But Vince didn't hear him. Because right about then the door swung open.

"You may enter."

Stepping in and looking around, Keith felt this shot getting longer and longer. "This… might be a bit more than we bargained for."

Like the lobby above, the Hall of the Unknown was a massive hexagonal room with corridors spidering off on all sides. Artifact cases were arranged in clusters, with all manner of relics—just from the doorway Vince could see some broken pottery, a weathered spacecraft model, and some sort of grayish blob he couldn't even guess at—and a new series of colored pathways snaking along the floor. He'd thought the Terinian open market had been overwhelming? He'd had no _idea_.

Pidge looked stunned too. "I think we'll find some colors in here…"

"Where do we even start?" Sven murmured, taking a few steps further in and looking around in amazement. _There's so much_. It was like heaven. An incredibly confusing heaven.

Nobody really answered that. But one by one they started splitting off into different aisles, studying the bewildering array of artifacts. All they could do was look at everything available… and hope.

* * *

"Flynn, come on. Hunk's building a snowman. Hunk! It'll have pyrotechnics or something, come outside with me, man."

"No."

"Why not? Snow is fun, come on!"

Flynn was leaning back against the main engineering console with his arms crossed, trying to keep his expression neutral in the face of one of Lance's most convincing smiles. "Yes, being wet and cold and miserable is a lot of fun, but I'll deprive myself of it. It'll be a struggle."

Lance rolled his eyes. "You really don't wanna see what the big guy is making out there? You're _really_ gonna miss Hunk doing his thing?"

"Hunk does his thing _all the time!"_ The chief engineer shrugged helplessly. "That's why it's his thing! Next planet we go to it'll be raining and he'll drag home a pet whale or something and we'll forget all about the snow." _You're not _really _going to say no to him, are you?_ Hell if he wouldn't at least try.

It wasn't an entirely bad point, and Lance laughed. But he wasn't giving up. "Okay, what if I promise you can stay on the ramp? You won't get wet then." That got him a sullen look. "And Hunk's gonna make cocoa later, there might be a no snow no chocolate rule…"

"…Thought you were trying to convince me to go."

Sigh. "You and food… fine. We'll stay here. In the boring warmth." Lance pouted.

_Why_. Flynn tried to look away, but it was too late. _WHY_. "Put those horrible puppy eyes away, I'm coming."

"Knew you'd see sense." The pout immediately turned into a triumphant smirk. "And my puppy eyes are _stellar_."

"Stellar was the last planet's area of expertise…" He scowled slightly at the pilot hovering over him as he went to get his coat. "It's like you don't trust me."

Grin. "Whatever would give you that idea?"

"You're smarter than the average flyboy?" Shaking his head, Flynn pulled his coat on and glowered. "Lead on."

"Nope! You go ahead of me, wanna make sure you don't veer off."

"Mentula…"

As they debated the issue, some others had already headed out. Jace was sitting on the boarding ramp watching Hunk making his snowman. Or more accurately, his snow _Firecrown_. His painstakingly accurate 1/18th scale snow _Firecrown_—ten feet long, ten feet wide, and at least three feet high—complete with icicles for its point defense weapons and little snow people representing the original members of the 686 standing beside it.

Cam poked his head out the airlock and winced as the frigid air hit him. "Damn, and I thought the moon was cold, at least there it's a _dry_ cold…"

The medic looked up at him and either smirked or grimaced, it was hard to tell. "Yeah, welcome to the party." Having certainly never been exposed to snow on Prox, he found it interesting… in _moderation_. This was way past interesting. But he wasn't about to let giant donut dude be out here and not get made fun of… he was carefully adding a couple of modified flares to represent the _Firecrown_'s missile launchers, and Jace frowned. "Hey, that one's out of position by a centimeter."

Circling around the front of the ship, Hunk gave his handiwork a critical look. "Yeah, it is, ain't it?" He was fixing it up as Lance and Flynn emerged from the ship, and as he finished he stepped away and pressed a remote switch on his belt. The flares spit little bursts of sparks a few feet ahead; Cam jumped, but Jace just shook his head slightly. "Oh heck yeah!"

Lance gave Flynn a nudge. "See? Say it's not awesome, I dare ya."

"It's not awesome?" the engineer answered, deadpan.

He rolled his eyes theatrically. "Liar."

"Guilty." Flynn grinned slightly, looking back out at the sculpture. It was pretty impressive… even if it _was_ snow.

Daniel came out behind them, and immediately started shivering. His nice warm hoodie was not made for _real_ cold. His regrets only doubled when he noted that Lance was already present. _This was a bad idea… whoa!_ Catching sight of Hunk's project made him forget the cold for a moment. "Wow, that's awesome! Are those supposed to be us?"

"Hey, kid." Lance grinned. "Pretty sure they are."

"Think it's just the first batch," Jace pointed out, looking up at the new arrival for a moment. "Lucky you."

Ignoring them both—Lance because he was committed to his course of action, Jace because he was Jace—Daniel went down the ramp to stand next to Cam. "It's fuckin' cold."

"Yeah, it is cold," his roommate agreed, giving him a judgmental look. "Where's your coat?"

"This _is _my coat." He gestured to his hoodie and pulled it tighter around him. This was _so _not working.

"That's not a coat." Shaking his head, Cam pulled off his own coat and handed it over. "Here."

"Maybe you should get another hoodie to put over it?" Lance suggested at the same time; he wasn't too sure what Daniel had against coats, but he was ready to help enable it if necessary. "Or if you need a real coat you can borrow one of mine."

"Don't need your coat," he muttered flatly to Lance as he accepted Cam's. "Thanks man, you sure you don't need it?"

"Yeah… 'cause Cam freezing now makes a lot more sense," Lance agreed, blinking. Daniel made a point of rolling his eyes.

"Starr can have my coat," Flynn offered quickly, "and I can go _back inside_." He tried to move to that effect, but the flyboy who'd dragged him out here grabbed his arm to stop him.

Cam waved away all the concern. "I'm fine. I'm Russian, I'm from the moon, I think I can handle a little cold!" He was totally not fine, though it really wasn't _that _bad. He waved Jace's scowl off too, then snagged something out of his coat pocket before walking down the ramp to take a closer look at Hunk's work. "Sir, if those are us, which one is me?"

The big man gave him a _very _odd look, but opted to address the question first. "Doc was right, it's just the first six. This is our old ship. But if you guys want aboard…" He grabbed a handful of snow and circled around to the snow-_Firecrown_'s boarding ramp, and a minute later four more snow people were gathered around the base. "There ya go!"

Grinning, Cam held out what he'd retrieved from his coat—a tiny toothpick Russian flag. His granny had given him a whole pack of them before he left, telling him to place them on worlds they visited for luck. Which was fine, except he'd been so excited to be visiting other planets that he'd kind of forgotten about them at their first stops. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to make up for lost time. "Could you have mine holding this?"

Hunk accepted the flag with a curious look, then chuckled. "Duh, Comrade!" He planted it beside one of the snow people, then shot their comms officer a dirty look. "Also if you call me 'sir' ever again I'll make you eat well done steak."

Oh. Oh right. Cam blushed furiously; he was used to thinking of all the team's veteran members as superiors. "I wasn't… um, I was addressing the Lieutenant."

There was only one lieutenant out here, and Lance snorted. "Ever call me 'sir' again, I'll have Hunk feed you well done steak." Flynn snickered.

"What he said! Cuz we totally believe that totally true statement." Winking at Cam, Hunk took the opportunity to refine the other snow people: a couple of snow jackets, a snow ponytail, some snow glasses, a snow crown…

"Who's the one with the crown?"

Grin. "That's the boss!"

Cam blinked. "Why a crown?" It seemed like there were other ways, more accurate ones, to represent command. Then again, their bomb tech had some very _interesting_ outlooks on things. "You consider him a tsar or something?"

"Nah." The big guy chuckled again. "He won a costume contest back on Halloween, and I stuck the crown he won in his locker and it ended up in the trash, so I kinda have no choice but to put it there. It's a matter of principle, yeah?"

…_Wait, what now?_ "He went out for Halloween? He won a _contest?_ How did I not get to see pictures of that, but got to see the ninja beat up Doc?" It wasn't even his particular interest in Commander Kogane that prompted the question—not entirely, anyway—it just seemed like that was the sort of thing the whole unit should _know about_.

Hunk arched a conspiratorial eyebrow. "I hear Lance has pictures."

"Better believe I do!" Pulling out his datapad, Lance beckoned the kids over. Only Cam actually approached, and he shot Daniel a concerned look. He should've been the first to jump… and he'd been weird about the coat, too. _Something's off_. "Hey kid, come on, you haven't lived until you've seen bossman covered in glitter." Surely _that_ was an offer he couldn't refuse. But Daniel just looked at him and rolled his eyes again, then turned away.

_What the fuck?_

Noticing the tension, Cam took Lance's datapad and poked the gunner in the ribs. "Here, you'll be sorry later if you miss this." Though truthfully, he'd expected something much more scandalous than glitter.

Daniel looked at the pictures and snorted. "Oh, I didn't know he'd have clothes on along with the glitter. Big deal."

There was nothing, _nothing_, that could make Cam even admit to having heard that comment. He busied himself scrolling through the pictures. But Lance wasn't going to let it go so easily; he walked over to the kid and poked his shoulder. Lightly. "Hey, you alright?"

No, he was not alright. He was still cold, albeit _so_ grateful to have a coat… and he also really needed the _lieutenant_ not to make this any harder than it needed to be. A momentary instinct to answer him truthfully drowned in a wave of doubt and better judgment. "Would you just fucking stop?"

Lance did not fucking stop. He looked taken aback, but did exactly the opposite of stopping. "Fucking stop what exactly?"

"This!" Daniel half-yelled, gesturing widely. _Oh yeah, he'll totally understand now._ He rolled his eyes yet again, this time at himself, though that distinction probably wasn't any more clear from the outside. He really didn't want this conversation. He just wanted to get the inevitable over with. _Quit acting already, you know where this goes._

"Okay…" Lance kept staring at him, which still was not fucking stopping. "Come on, you sure you won't tell me what's bugging you?"

Fine, they could do it like that. "You. _You're_ bugging me."

The pilot's eyebrows shot up. "What?" _What the fuck did I do?_ Granted, he was very good at bugging people, in fact he prided himself on his abilities in that area. But those were talents he employed intentionally.

"Just go the fuck away! Why are you making this so hard?" His yelling was starting to get attention from the others, but his earlier insecurity was giving way to a bubbling anger. He didn't care anymore. If he had to force the issue, so fucking be it.

Glancing back and exchanging confused looks with Flynn, Lance risked another step closer. _Something is definitely wrong._ "Look, Dan, just talk to me, alright? Making what hard?"

"Don't call me Dan!" he snarled. "It's Daniel, what's so fucking hard about that?"

"Watch it, Brennan." Flynn's tone was cool, though not hostile. This was rapidly getting out of hand. "What's the problem?"

Daniel growled in frustration; he wasn't the least bit interested in having this defused from the outside. "Stuff it, ponytail!"

"Whoa! Hey, don't take whatever the hell problem you have with me out on him!"

…Maybe it was already out of hand. Flynn's eyes narrowed. "I'll take this if you want," he muttered under his breath, "and _only_ if you want."

"No. Not yet at least." Part of Lance's refusal came from a very reasoned and logical suspicion that whatever Daniel's problem was, the ranking officer present going after him wouldn't improve things. Part of it—maybe most of it—came from plain old stubbornness. He turned back to the kid and raised his own voice. "Talk to me!"

"There's NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT!" Daniel full-on screamed this time, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. And because they were cold. This was supposed to be simple. He was supposed to start the cascade, and Lance would cut him loose. _Simple_.

Jace had been trying his damnedest to ignore the drama behind him, but there wasn't much else to focus on now that Cam and Hunk were just staring blankly at the argument. So he glanced over his shoulder and scowled. "If you fuckers don't knock it off, I will turn this ramp right the fuck around—"

Flynn kicked him. That _definitely_ wasn't going to help.

With a long, frustrated sigh, Lance decided it was time to try disengaging. At least a little. "Obviously something is fucking wrong, I just… okay, whatever the hell it is, you can talk to me. I can wait until you're ready."

_Until I'm ready?_ Daniel stared at him blankly. Yet again he was realizing he wasn't good at arguments when the other person didn't argue back. _Why isn't he yelling? Why isn't he telling me to screw off?_ "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's bothering _you?"_

"Nothing!" They were going in circles, and—

"—Little dude, chill!" A snowball smacked Daniel squarely in the back of the neck.

For a moment, all the stunned looks turned from Lance and Daniel to Hunk. Then Lance gave the kid a sly grin. "You gonna let that stand?"

Daniel stared back at him, whatever he might have yelled back evaporating in an instant. The snow seemed to have short-circuited his thoughts and his anger, leaving only one certainty: "Fuck no!" Bending over, he packed a snowball of his own and chucked it back at the big guy; next to him Lance was doing the same.

_Oh. Um._ Cam wasn't entirely certain what was happening, but he knew he seemed to suddenly be directly in the crossfire… and he didn't even have a coat. _Great. Real smart, Starr_. He dove behind the snow _Firecrown_.

Hunk ducked behind the ship as well, eyeing Cam and frowning slightly. He had way more insulation than their comms officer did; he pulled his coat off and tossed it over. "You need the armor more than me, little dude!" Another couple of snowballs rained down almost immediately. "Oh no! We're under attack! Man your battlestations!"

"…Oh hell no. _Fuck_ my battlestation." Jace slid down the ramp and grabbed a snowball, flinging it back over his shoulder without really looking where it was going. If he was going to be part of whatever the hell had just happened, he was damn sure going to be hiding behind the huge snow sculpture too.

Unfortunately for him, his unaimed snowball smacked a confused Flynn directly in the face. "…Okay, you know what? Fuck _you_, fuck snowballs, fuck snow in general, fuck this blizzard in particular…" Forgoing any rules of engagement entirely, he jumped off the ramp and tackled Jace into a snowdrift.

Cam stared. "Hey big guy, I think your boss is on our side… maybe? I don't know, I'm confused."

Everyone seemed more or less confused at this point, which had been _exactly_ the goal.

Daniel jumped off the ramp too, using it as a shield as he lobbed more snowballs at the others. Lance hopped down next to him; it was a good spot. "Hell no, Flynn's on our team!" He turned to the gunner, handing him a snowball. "We've gotta win this."

For a moment, maybe half a second, the thought of taking that snowball and shoving it into the pilot's face came and went. Daniel could feel the anger draining away in the face of a challenge, and smiled slightly. "Yeah." He accepted the snowball, feeling a momentary pang of guilt, then brushed it aside. Screw guilt. They had an opposing team to _mercilessly destroy_.

Right about then Flynn came charging over to the ramp, yelling a lot of Latin profanity that may or may not have actually existed—Jace had unceremoniously flipped him face-first into the snowbank. For his own part the medic retreated and vaulted over the snow ship, packing a couple of loose snowballs and pitching them over the dubious shelter. "Sorry Camshaft, you're stuck with me."

Their comms officer eyed his unconvincing snowballs and shook his head slightly. "As long as you've got good aim, Doc. I'll make 'em, you throw 'em?"

"I like precision. Bring it." A snowball from Lance nailed him in the face. "Porra, not _that_ much precision!"

Crouching behind the ramp, Flynn shot Lance a look that probably could have vaporized most of this blizzard in particular. "Flyboy, remind me to _murder you_ later." He started packing the snow as hard as he could, pitching the resulting iceballs directly at the snow ship. They wanted a fight, they'd best be ready to deal with _artillery_.

Lance just laughed and gave him a thumbs-up. _That's my…_ blink. …_That's my grease monkey._ Yeah, he'd roll with that.

Grateful as he'd been to have Cam's coat earlier, Daniel found it was restricting his movement a bit more than he liked now. The only valid solution was taking it off and tossing it into a snowbank—winning was _way_ more important than little things like not getting frostbite. Laughing, he started hurling more snowballs over their shelter.

The snow _Firecrown_—_Snowcrown_?—was taking an awful lot of abuse, and so were the people trying to hide behind it. Hunk grabbed one of the missile launcher flares and pulled a screwdriver from his pocket, making a few tweaks. "Hang in there, my dudes, we're gonna have some suppressive fire!" A minute later the modified flare began to spew waves of snow over the ship.

Lance dropped and covered his head. "That's cheating!"

"All's fair in snowball war, Lieutenant!" Cam yelled back, smirking.

"Yeah, what he said!" Hunk agreed… only to almost immediately be nailed in the chin with one of Flynn's iceballs as it bounced off the _Snowcrown_'s top. "…Even that, I guess."

Lieutenant, again? "It. Is. LANCE!" He took careful aim and winged Cam in the forehead with a snowball. "Hunk, make that bad steak!"

Laughing madly, Hunk didn't even notice immediately that his snow flare was sputtering out. A few seconds later when it went out completely, he _noticed_. "Uh oh." Diving back under cover, though not before taking a few hits, he grabbed a couple of Cam's snowballs and chucked them over. _Time to do things the old-fashioned way!_

An hour later they found themselves pretty much out of usable snow, and the truce was signaled by waving Cam's tiny toothpick flag. Standing over the ruins of the _Snowcrown_, the others exchanged a few mildly guilty looks.

"Well…"

"It died bravely."

"Sorry, big guy?"

Hunk just shrugged. "Kinda knew we'd wreck the thing eventually, yeah?" He wasn't talking about the snow one.

"Does seem fitting," Jace agreed.

Finding one last snowball, Flynn picked it up and stuffed it down the back of Lance's jacket. "Won't get wet, you said. Cevete…"

Their pilot yelped. "How was I supposed to know Hunk would start Snowmageddon?!"

"Because he's Hunk?" A wicked smirk crossed the other engineer's face. "You're supposed to keep him under control, you're an _officer_."

Oh no he didn't. "_You're_ an officer. I'm a flyboy." He turned to Daniel and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "So hey, you doing better?"

"Define better," he answered through chattering teeth. His hoodie was soaked, really everything was soaked, and as he looked around he gave a slight wince. "Dude, Cam, I lost your coat."

"You'd better find it! I need that!" Cam himself was flexing and blowing on his fingers, hoping he might actually feel them again sometime soon.

Snort. "It's fuckin' cold, find your own coat. I can barely move."

He'd expected a glare; what he got was more of a pout. Fanboy really was trying. "And here I was nice enough to let you borrow it…"

Looking around the carnage, Jace caught sight of a bit of dark fabric poking out from beneath a layer of crusted snow. He went over and pulled Cam's coat from the mess, tossing it at Daniel. "Any of you people end up with frostbite or pneumonia, I'll quarantine your ass out of spite."

Quarantine didn't sound all that bad, really. At least it would probably be warm. Cam watched his coat hit Daniel and fall to the ground, and couldn't quite suppress a snicker.

"Hey, I found your coat!"

"Yeah, sure you did. Thanks, Doc."

Lance was grinning, though he was also starting to really feel the cold himself, now that he had ice water running down his back. "Come on, let's go get warm. Hunk, hot chocolate?"

"Oh you better believe hot chocolate, bro." They trooped up the boarding ramp, weaving around splatters of ice and snow. "We've got normal, extra dark, cookies and cream, chocolate mint, and spicy hot murder pepper!"

"Nobody wants murder pepper."

"Make mine extra dark, like my mood." Jace was grinning as he said it. "I'm gonna go grab my kit and get some warming blankets, because what the fuck." He split off from them at the elevator, leaving Cam staring after him with a bit of concern. The Doc was scary sometimes.

Lance leaned back against the elevator wall and closed his eyes a moment, exhaling. Then he stepped back next to Flynn as they headed for the galley. "That was a weird day."

"That's the word you want to go with?" Flynn grumbled.

"Fucking confusing work better?" His eyes went to Daniel, who was a little too obviously avoiding looking back at him as he started peeling off his drenched hoodie.

Now his friend nodded slightly. "Rings true…"

"Think the snowball fight helped, though." _I hope so._

"Only thing snow's ever helped," Flynn snorted, dumping his own soaked coat on the floor and shivering. "Faex."

Biting back the offer to warm him up, Lance dropped into a chair and shook his head. He still had no idea what had happened out there, but at least he hadn't punched anyone in the face this time. For the moment, hot chocolate was waiting… but something told him they would be revisiting this. And probably sooner rather than later.

* * *

The Hall of the Unknown had not held anything with the symbols from Sorthal. They knew, because they'd looked at everything. _Everything_. Or at least as close to everything as humanly possible.

Colors? Oh, there had been colors. Using that criteria as a clue had gone out the window by the end of the first room.

"I could use a nap after all that… stuff." Keith couldn't think of another word to describe the sheer amount of artifacts they'd looked over. So much _stuff_.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many things at once in my life," Vince agreed. It had been fascinating, but he was pretty sure his brain was actually sore.

Pidge resisted rolling his eyes. He wondered if they _really_ expected to just walk in there and find a nice neat answer. He didn't voice his opinion, though. It would probably just start a misunderstanding, and he was trying to avoid those.

Sven just nodded. Sifting through so many fragments of unidentified cultures and planets had left his brain in a state of overdrive. The cold snow they were trekking through was nice though. It reminded him of Norway, and was helping him unwind. Which he desperately needed. So much _stuff_.

As they got closer to the _Bolt_, the small group all stopped in their tracks. The ramp was covered in snow and ice, bits of snow were clinging to the hull, and what looked like it must have once been an elaborate snow sculpture was sitting ruined in the shadow of the ship.

"Uh…" Keith looked around and frowned slightly. "Do we want to know what happened here?"

"No," Pidge answered flatly.

"Um." Vince just blinked.

"Not particularly." Sven shook his head.

Keith supposed they were right, really. Maybe he should just take the ship being intact as a win. "Well, be careful going up the ramp. Don't need anyone to be visiting Doc."

"Yessir." Pidge walked around past the bottom of the ramp and jumped, grabbing the top, climbing up and quickly disappearing into the airlock. Vince once again was left blinking. Keith stared after him, a little shocked.

"Wow, that was impressive."

"Ninjas." Sven was nodding.

"Yeah. Still, knowing and seeing…" Their commander shook his head slightly. "Anyway, let's get inside, shall we?"

Picking their way around the snow and the ice, they climbed back aboard the _Bolt_. Onward to the next… whatever.

* * *

Alfor stood in the Black Lion's den, everything he'd been able to gather spread out before him. Notes from his grandfather, bits and pieces collected over the years, some so unlikely to be helpful that even he had not looked at them closely yet… now his eyes scanned them carefully before dismissing them for what might be a final time. Arus couldn't afford to have him chasing false leads, not now.

Running his fingers through his beard, he huffed in frustration. He had hoped that at least _something_ he had put in storage would offer a clue. It was like trying to find the lost pieces of a puzzle that had been sitting on the table for years. There was not much time left now… he would have to be on the move again. But perhaps he could be allowed something from the spirits, some guidance, however slight. Sitting down before the great lion, he entered a meditative trance.

The king had done a great many meditations, he was familiar with them. But this one felt very different. Almost as if it was not his body he was in…

He could feel himself moving. Not much, but it was movement. How long had it been since he could feel this? He tried to open his eyes, but found them still heavy. No matter. Even if he was feeling nothing more than stiffness, it was more than he had felt in ages. Surely it was just a matter of time before he could move further. How much time? Struck by the urge to sleep once more, he tried to fight it by focusing himself on a thought.

He quickly found that to be difficult in itself; his mind, like his body, was stiff and heavy. There had to be a better way to focus… perhaps his surroundings? Save for a chill, biting in his weakened state, there seemed to be nothing. Nothing but a faint sound. He twitched his ears to hone in to the sound, someone softly chanting in a gentle rhythmic manner.

_A voice… yes… I've heard this before._

Focusing on the voice, he found himself straining to hear it better. It was hard at first, but he could start to hear the voice clearer. It was male, his tone full of worry and fear.

He tried to reach out to the voice, wanting it to be louder, or to come closer so he could understand more as it wavered from some great distance. But his own voice was so weak, he barely let out a breath. So he listened and slowly gathered his strength, testing his muscles, carefully checking for what he could and could not do. He had no plans to remain in this position.

Alfor's eyes blinked open. Startled, he looked about himself. He was awake now, still within Black's den, the vision still sharp in his mind. The voice he'd heard in the distance… his own? Looking once more at the sleeping lion, he stood and touched one of its claws. "Was that you?" he murmured. "Trapped within sleep, trying to wake?"

Frowning as the Black Lion seemed unresponsive to his words, he lowered his hand. Perhaps his vision was the lion's only response. Trapped… wanting to wake, yet unable. Sighing, Alfor gathered what notes he could make use of, preparing himself to leave the den. His people needed him. There were generals to work with, forces to move. But the answers for how to move the Great Lions were not to be found here.

Whispering prayers for the answer to be revealed soon, he started to make his way back.

* * *

Morning didn't fall on Korrinoth the way it did on Pollux. No sunlight streaming in the windows—they were deep in the belly of the castle, a protected place for the royalty of a warlike kingdom. Not that this part of Korrinoth had a great deal of sunlight anyway. The constant overcast was hauntingly beautiful, in its own way. But Romelle would have given a great deal to be awakened by a sunbeam in her face again, just once.

Today it was pale blue fingers on her cheek, which was much less welcome. "Did you sleep well, a'kuri?"

"I…" She blinked. Much of the night was actually rather fuzzy. Lotor was being more gentle with her lately, which she appreciated, though she'd have appreciated having a choice in the first place even more. "I think so." Shivering a little, she pulled the thin sheet up further.

"Excellent." He smiled and wrapped an arm around her, which she gratefully accepted. If nothing else, he was _warm_. "I have an invitation for you today. Your people are being given a great honor."

…Why did that sound so ominous? Maybe because she knew what he considered an honor and what she would consider an honor didn't often have all that much overlap. "Are they?" she asked finally, hesitantly.

"Indeed. Our far border is being threatened by a powerful band of marauders, and your fleet will be the vanguard against them."

Yes, that was definitely not what she would have called an honor… though she suspected even her father would think otherwise. More interesting was the other element of what he'd said. The idea that the kingdom could be _threatened_ was not one she'd entertained before. "Marauders? Do you have… marauders to deal with often?"

"Surprisingly so. There is a small null zone on that border; a place that interferes with sensors and extraplanar travel. Pirates use it as a haven. Every so often, they become bold and try to plunder the riches of their betters, and we are obligated to slaughter them." He eyed her curiously. "Does the thought of such attacks worry you?"

"Worry?" She blushed slightly. "I wouldn't call it worry, exactly. More that I just… hadn't thought anyone would be so brave, I suppose."

He chuckled softly. "Indeed. Their courage is admirable, but courage alone rarely wins battles. It is a pity they waste themselves so." Shifting a little and kissing the side of her head, he murmured, "Would you like to watch the battle? I will have a feed from the flagship, to witness the glory that unfolds."

To watch? Romelle blinked. The thought of observing a warship battle as if it were a spectator sport also hadn't occurred to her… then again, she was aware they watched gladiatorial combat as an actual spectator sport. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised her. As to whether she _wanted_ to watch…

Did she? It was hard to decide. On one hand, she was uneasy… people would die, possibly many people. Possibly many of _her_ people. It didn't seem like appropriate entertainment. Then again, Lotor hadn't called it entertainment. He had called it witnessing the glory, as if to watch was to honor the fighters. Could she really refuse them that honor?

Besides, all her misgivings aside, it sounded… interesting. Her father had kept her sheltered from warlike pursuits, insisting she remain pure and innocent. It had seemed silly to her, even _before_ he'd sent her off to wed the prince of a warrior race. For her people, both old and new, this was something she would need to learn of. So there was only one answer, really.

"I would be honored."

She hoped she wouldn't regret it.


	13. By the Sword

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 12_  
By the Sword

* * *

Takrekul was a very short trip from Alcieux. Not even Sven had heard of the planet before, and their database could provide only three pieces of information: **Kulaphe, Type 3B, Neutral.** Which meant the only things they would know going in were that the inhabitants were called Kulaphe, they were fully non-humanoid bipeds, and they would not give up whatever information they had easily. Not the most promising start, but the team was hardly in a position to pass up a lead. They'd been granted landing clearance at the northernmost of three small, crowded spaceports, and were greeted at the landing pad.

It turned out the Kulaphe looked a lot like kangaroos—kangaroos with silvery scales instead of fur, six ears, and no pouch, but kangaroos nonetheless. The one waiting for them was draped in elaborate copper chains and silk, and watched Keith walk down the boarding ramp with cloudy blue-green eyes.

"The deepest of welcomes to you, faraway creature." Its voice was resonant, almost hypnotic. "I am Cypha-su-anvirka, you may call me Ka. Consider me your liaison. Takrekul is not a forgiving place for the unwary."

…Well that was quite a start. Keith hesitated a moment, then pushed aside the unease. They had a job to do here. "Thank you for the welcome, Ka. I'm Keith Kogane, and we're here on the trail of a criminal and a legendary planet."

Ka's ears twitched slightly. "So you seek information."

"Yes, sir. We were told your libraries might be a good place to look."

The Kulaphe studied him for a moment, then hopped up the ramp and circled him, making a series of mildly judgmental-sounding clicks. "Were you told the price of entry?"

Here went nothing… he kept the slight wave of nervousness from his voice. "Not exactly. Only that we will need to earn it."

"Indeed you will. Knowledge is the most valuable of treasures, Keith Kogane. And valuable treasures are to be protected by the sword." Ka hopped back down the ramp. "You will be welcome to access our stores of knowledge, if your strength is sufficient."

…_By the sword?_ Keith blinked. That doesn't sound _as_ bad as it could've… though it didn't sound likely to be pleasant. "All right," he said after a moment, nodding slowly. "How do we accomplish this… proving of our strength?"

"I will guide you to the Fortress. You will bring all that you think you may require. And you will be tested by the Protector." His lowest set of ears swiveled a moment. "If you wish for more knowledge of what the test may entail, you may duel me for it. But you may prefer to save your strength."

_Oh boy…_ looking at the Kulaphe's sharp claws and metallic scales, Keith decided that was probably good advice. "Let me gather my crew, then."

"Of course. Take what time you need to prepare; anything less would be a disservice."

He turned back towards the ship—less because he needed to than to escape Ka's unblinking stare for a moment—and hit the button on his commset. "All hands to the ramp. Come prepared for combat. Kleid, on your way, stop by our stateroom and grab my sword."

Acknowledgments came in quickly and with varying degrees of confusion. Sitting on his bed and checking over his datapad, Vince did not acknowledge. "…Why do we need our weapons?"

"To fight, usually." Pidge considered the order briefly before deciding to take his own sidearm—a light flechette pistol, the only firearm he'd actually managed to qualify with at the Academy. He'd gotten a cultural waiver for ranged combat thanks to his proficiency with throwing stars, but they were _quite_ a bit harder to replace than needler ammunition.

Watching him strap on his holster next to his knife sheath, his roommate shook his head slightly. "We're here to do research. In a library."

Grin. "The other library said we'd have to prove ourselves, kir sa tye?"

…_Oh god, he needs to not do that, it's terrifying._ Sullen ninja was definitely better than smiling ninja. Sighing, Vince dug out his service pistol and followed him to the ramp.

The team's array of weaponry as they filed out of the ship was, to say the least, _eclectic_. Service rifles, standard issue sidearms, not so standard issue rifles and sidearms, knives of all sorts… and then there was Hunk, who'd come trotting out with an actual rocket launcher. Daniel eyed it with _way_ too much interest. Jace didn't have any interesting weapons, but he had brought an extra medical kit, because he knew how these things went.

Flynn was the last out, stepping up to Keith and handing him his sword. "Raiden reporting."

"Thank you, Kleid." He accepted the sword, reverently running a hand along the sheath, and took a deep breath. "This is going to be interesting."

"I am in agreement, Keith Kogane," Ka said casually. "I am eager to see what happens." The band of hunters were a motley array, to be sure, but not unimpressive on the whole. Bowing his head again, he addressed the new arrivals. "Deepest greetings to you all. I am Ka, and I will lead you to the Fortress. Prepare yourselves, for the trek is not easy."

"All right, team. Lock down the ship and let's do this."

Leaving the spaceport was easy enough; they were loaded onto a curious sort of street-barge, which Ka drove with deft claws through the city outskirts. In only a few minutes they'd reached the trees. A lot of trees. Disembarking from the barge, they followed their guide on a rough path into the jungle.

Another few minutes, and the path began following alongside a river… of _magma_. Vince eyed it nervously, and wasn't sure whether to be less or more worried when he realized the river was artificial. At least to an extent. The banks had a ceramic sheen to them, and thin lines of pale blue coolant ran alongside them, creating a mist that seemed to be shielding the group from most of the convection.

Hunk gave a low whistle. "This place is hardcore…"

"No kidding."

"Fucking hardcore."

"I swear to fuck, if even one of these plants attacks us…"

Ka looked back at Jace and chucked. "It isn't the plants you need to worry about."

"What _is_ it with the plants, Doc?" Cam asked.

"You'll never know. Ever. And you don't want to."

"The way you and the lieutenant go on about it? Yeah I do!"

"If you're super not lucky you'll find out," Hunk warned, "cuz we'll find more of 'em, and then you'll wish you hadn't."

"They're not gonna tell us," Daniel grumbled. "I've asked like five hundred times. Same answer every time. 'You don't wanna know,' like a couple of parrots."

Cam smirked and gave a sharp whistle in Terinian; Daniel glared daggers. So did Jace. "Polly want a cracker, motherfucker."

"…You understood me?"

Lance was glaring at Cam too, but for a whole different reason. "Would you _stop_ calling me Lieutenant! It's Lance. Or McClain, if you must." He shook his head in exasperation.

Daniel eyed him. _Don't do it, don't do it…_ "I still really like Lancey-pants." _You did it._ Next to him, Flynn nearly choked laughing.

Pulling out one of his Axels, the pilot twirled it around before pointing it in Daniel's direction and smirking. "Really?"

Now it was Keith's turn to glare. "Put it away, McClain."

"Saved by the Kogane, kid." He was still smirking as he holstered the gun. Daniel smirked too, but it faltered quickly. Guilt from the scene he'd made on Alcieux was still lurking; he'd been avoiding Lance as much as possible since, but he'd known he wouldn't be able to keep it up indefinitely. It was just a little _awkward_.

Mercifully, the discussion was silenced by a bridge rising up ahead of them. A bridge over the river of magma. It was covered in the coolant fog, with thick ceramic beams housing more coolant channels, and crossing it they felt little more than a slightly uncomfortable wave of warmth.

Beyond the bridge, the jungle opened up, revealing what could only be the source of the magma. The volcano wasn't large, as such things went, but it was still a _volcano_. At its base, a sort of open dome was visible; beyond that, a building that could have rivaled any Alliance fortification.

"Wow," Keith whispered as they approached. "Your planet is… quite amazing, Ka."

His middle ears flicked. "Deepest thanks, traveler. We have fought hard to come to peace with it."

Crossing over the threshold of the dome, most of the group froze. They were in a coliseum of sorts, or a parade ground. Rows of sleek turrets lined the walls, and bones littered the ground. "Um…"

"Oh boy."

"This is… interesting decor…"

"We're gonna need a bigger medkit."

What looked like a huge statue of a Kulaphe was sitting in the center of the coliseum, sheathes of chainmail draped over its scales, each arm bearing a double-bladed sword. Ka left them and hopped up to it, speaking in harsh syllables interspersed with high-pitched clicks.

The statue's eyes opened.

"…Well that's not worrisome at all," Flynn muttered.

"Nope, nah, not at all." Lance tightened his grip on his guns. Pidge drew his knife, quite certain this _was_ the appropriate time for it; next to him, Vince stepped back and hid behind Hunk.

Hopping up to them, the definitely-not-a-statue studied each in turn with piercing gold eyes. "Welcome, challengers."

"Hello." Lance tried his most charming smile. _Please don't kill us_.

"Deepest greetings." She shook her scales out, ringing against her armor. "I am told you come seeking knowledge."

Keith met her gaze evenly. "We do."

"You must earn it. I am Toyle-marok-ci, the Protector. If you can best me, access to the Fortress and all its secrets will be yours."

Several uneasy glances passed through the group. 'Besting' the Hunk-sized lizard kangaroo probably wasn't the _worst_ challenge they could have been given… but it was up there. Keith nodded slowly, drawing his sword and setting the sheath on the ground. "What are the rules of engagement?"

"I will match your strength. The battle must be fair. None of those," she gestured to the turrets, "will activate unless you wish to use those firearms." Almost immediately, Hunk set his rocket launcher down with an innocent grin.

Swallowing hard, the commander looked around at his team. "Do we all need to fight for the access? Or just one?"

The Protector looked them over again. "You are together. One unit, one entity. I will fight as many or as few of you as is your preference, and that will be sufficient for all to gain entry."

Flynn didn't like the question; he shot his boss a sidelong glance. _He's about to do a Crystal Spur thing, isn't he._ Keith looked back at him.

"The turrets?"

"I think they _can_ be taken out with small arms fire," he offered. He had been anticipating the question. "But not fast enough."

Nodding, Keith took a step forward, and his second grimaced. _Yes. Yes he _is _about to do a Crystal Spur thing_.

"Very well. I accept your challenge." He saluted with his sword, murmuring in Japanese, "please don't fail me, Raiden…"

Flynn just gave him an exasperated look; he knew exactly what protesting would accomplish. Jace protested anyway. "Uh, ex-fucking-scuse me, boss, but there's a _bunch_ of us here who can fight without guns." Pidge and Sven both nodded their agreement.

It was true and he knew it, but the Protector had said she would match their strength. Keeping the engagement as limited as possible seemed like the wisest choice… and he wasn't going to let anyone else take the risk. "Then if I fail, one of you can try." _I won't fail. I can't fail._

"I will duel as many of you as required," the Protector agreed. "You may yield and depart at any time. Otherwise we fight until one of us is disarmed or dead." She hopped back a few paces and waited.

Keith paled slightly at that, though looking around at the bones littering the ground, the terms didn't seem half bad. He wondered how much time he would actually have to retreat if necessary… not that he meant to retreat. "Fair enough."

"Uh, even I know this is stupid," Daniel objected—not really expecting it to change anything, but feeling the need to get his input in for the record.

"Fucking idiot," Lance agreed, shaking his head.

Hunk eyed Flynn. "You're just gonna let him do this?"

"You think I can stop him?" All he could really do was let Kogane do his thing… and be ready to order the ninja in at the first sign of him being in over his head.

Keith ignored the votes of confidence as he stepped further into the arena and raised his sword. He _knew_ this wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done. But they'd all done some pretty ridiculous things in the name of necessity, hadn't they? "Ready."

In response, the Protector saluted with her own blades, then sprang forward in a powerful leap.

Sidestepping, Keith raised his sword to deflect as her blades arced towards him. He got the closer pair. The force of the block sent him spinning aside; he moved into the spin, circling around warily. _Damn, she hits hard…_ sighting what seemed to be an opening, he moved in and attempted a disarming strike in between the two blades on her right arm.

Daniel pulled his datapad out; they were going to need pictures. "I should definitely get a free pass the next time I wanna do something stupid."

"No," Jace snorted, "you have to do something that _isn't_ stupid now, to keep the universe in balance or some shit."

The Protector whipped around and lashed out with her tail. Eyes widening slightly, Keith leapt over it and hit the ground rolling, raising his sword to block another blade strike. _Okay, so full contact! Got it_.

One of her blades rattled in its mounting as he blocked it; she glanced at it for a moment before pushing down against him, trying to force him off his feet. Keith winced, shoving back. He couldn't hope to match her in a contest of raw strength, that was certain, but he _could_ match her in precision. Slipping under her guard, he kicked at her stomach with all his strength, hearing the chainmail rattle as he vaulted away from the counterstrike.

Vince peeked out from behind Hunk just in time to see the boss charging, taking aim at the weakened blade. Then he retreated again—he didn't want to watch this after all.

As he rushed in, Keith couldn't help but notice the Protector was _grinning_. And as he stabbed at the blade mounting again, she reared up on her tail and kicked back.

_Kuso! _There was no time to dodge, so he twisted his sword, using the force of her kick as leverage on her own blades for an instant before he went flying backwards. He hit the ground hard, on his back, feeling a jolt of pain from a rock or a bit of bone beneath him. _Can't stay here_. Scrambling back to his feet, he took up a defensive stance as his opponent sprang at him.

"No one back home is ever gonna believe this," Lance whispered.

Flynn, who was unsettled for all the obvious reasons as well as one from _back home_—kangaroos were outright mythical creatures on Dathreil—eyed him doubtfully. "You think _this_ is where they're going to draw the line?"

"…Good point."

It was clear the Protector was startled by how quickly her opponent had regained his feet. She didn't have time to alter her strike, and Keith blocked it easily. Pushing the brief advantage he threw a punch, aiming for one of the few places not armored by either scales or mail: her nose. To his surprise the punch connected solidly, sending her staggering back a few steps.

She was grinning again. That was worrisome. Then she crossed her arms and lunged, stabbing directly at his stomach.

No time to dodge. Not completely, anyway. Keith threw everything he had into his follow-through and managed to spin halfway out of her path, gasping as two of her blades grazed his side. He could feel the blood, but couldn't afford to think about it. Instead he completed his spin, taking one more slash at the blades he'd loosened earlier.

Again she didn't seem to have expected him to recover quite so quickly; it almost looked like she'd been anticipating an attack from somewhere else more than from him. With a sharp screech of metal, the mounting and double hilt shattered, sending the loosened blades in her right hand skittering across the ground.

Daniel was trying to get a decent shot of the battle, and was abruptly interrupted as Cam grabbed his arm. _Hard_. "Dude, it's okay, he'll be fine."

All he did was squeeze tighter. "He's hurt!"

"_Ow!_ I'm about to be too if you don't chill." He awkwardly patted Cam's shoulder with his free hand. "It'll be okay, he can back out any time… and none of us are gonna let him die." What exactly they were going to do to prevent it if needed, he was admittedly unclear on, but someone had to have a plan.

Flynn did indeed have a plan, and his eyes narrowed as he saw blood trickling down to the ground. "Pidge, go help."

The ninja looked up at him and shook his head slightly. "I'm helping most by staying here, sir. He has an advantage. Watch how she moves, she's used to being surrounded. She'd _rather_ be fighting more of us."

_What? _Frowning, he watched as Keith and the Protector briefly retreated from each other. Now that Pidge mentioned it… the Kulaphe sprang forward and took another powerful swipe with her tail, and her remaining blades swept through empty space. With another target or two, she'd be causing sheer chaos. He nodded slowly. "Belay that for now, then."

Keith jumped over this tail sweep too, striking at her other blades, but he didn't have much of an angle this time—he nearly disarmed _himself_, the impact shaking his sword's hilt. Panting with exertion more than pain as he landed, he fell back into a more defensive position and waited for her next move.

Instead of striking again, the Protector hopped around him, keeping her other blades shielded as she circled. He took a step back to keep her in front of him. Something about her calculating movements was worrying him… he kept his muscles coiled tight, ready to react in an instant. Without warning, she spun and swept her tail at him again.

Again, he jumped… and the Protector switched directions mid-spin, slamming her tail hard into his bleeding side.

"Commander!" Cam was digging his nails into Daniel's arm now.

"It's okay, dude!" _Hopefully_.

Jace looked ready to go running in himself; Pidge reached up and grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything unhelpful. They were going to need their medic intact. Lance looked over at him too, trying for confidence. "He's got this, Jace." I _think…_

That was probably an overstatement. No, definitely an overstatement. But as he slammed hard to the dirt, Keith had no intention of staying down. Rolling back to his feet and away from her follow-up strike, he glared and rushed her. His sword arced towards her legs, and this time it was her turn to jump over an attack; he slammed a shoulder into her stomach in midair, then darted around her other side when she moved to react.

Her back was only to him for a second. That was all he needed. Ignoring the pain shooting through his side he leapt onto her back, bringing his sword to her throat. "Yield!"

She froze for a moment, adjusting to keep her balance with an Earthling on her back. Then she dropped to all fours, upper ears twitching. "Well done… but I do not yield, challenger. Disarmament or death!" Throwing herself into a forward roll, she dislodged him from her back and kicked him into the air. He felt her claws drive into his leg and his abdomen.

"Oh…"

"…Shit."

"Cevete."

If he'd been able to hear the gasps from his team, Keith certainly would have agreed with them. But it felt like he was in a fog. Everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion as he flipped, watching the Protector regain her feet, swinging with all his might at her blades before she could shield them again.

For a moment, his sword met resistance, and he heard a short screech that sounded very far away. Then the fog faded and he collapsed on the ground in a heap. _Kuso!_ Despite the wind being knocked out of him he struggled to his feet, feeling new pain shooting all along his leg—he'd come down with it awkwardly beneath him, not to mention the deep gash left by the Kulaphe's claws.

As he came up, he saw the Protector's blades hit the ground… with her left hand still holding them.

"Fucking fuck!"

"That's nasty."

"Holy fucking fuzzmuffins…"

"…I'm with giant donut dude, whatever the fuck he just said."

Vince opened his eyes and peeked out again, wondering what all the yelling was about. He immediately regretted it. The Protector was standing in the ring in a bit of a daze, staring at her severed hand as if wondering where it had come from. Then she turned to Keith, saluting with her good hand and shaking out her scales. "Disarmament it is, then. The victory is yours."

Keith was still in a daze too. He had all his weight on one leg, bracing for the battle to continue, her words only registering slowly. His adrenaline was still pumping. As Jace immediately broke ranks and ran up to him, he pointed his sword at him before realizing who he was actually seeing.

Jace slapped the flat of the blade away impatiently. "Don't stab your medic, it's bad for everyone's health. Sit down. Porra."

Sitting down sounded _wonderful_. Sinking to the ground, he finally let himself exhale. "Holy hell…"

"Hell? _That's_ all you're going with here, Kogane?" The rest of the team came rushing up, and Jace started poking at the nasty wounds in his side. The disinfectant hurt worse than the blades had, and he hissed and flinched away.

"There are medical facilities within, if you would like a more sterile environment," the Protector offered.

Looking around at the dirt and bones, Jace nodded quickly. Being capable of working in these conditions didn't make them suck less. "Uh, fuck yes. Yes please. Let's do that." As he looked up at her bleeding stump, his medic instincts kicked in. "…Uh, I'm definitely not qualified on your species, but pretty sure I can still rig up a tourniquet for that if you need."

"I appreciate the thought, Earthling." With a light chuckle she closed her eyes, concentrating. After a moment a new hand burst free of the stump—the fingers and claws were little more than stubby vestiges, but still. "I will recover."

"…Que porra?"

"Dude…"

"Holy fuck."

The whole team gawked… except for Vince, who knew better than to just peek out without warning this time. "Can I open my eyes yet?"

Flynn eyed him, grinning slightly. "You're probably safe."

"You sure?" He cracked one eye open.

"Around here? Absolutely not." Vince laughed; it was a fair point.

Jace had decided he didn't want to think too much about Kulaphe regeneration abilities. Way outside his pay grade. "So yeah. Medical facilities! Brace yourself, boss, I'm gonna carry you."

"I can walk," the commander objected, standing. Or trying to. The second he put weight on his injured leg it gave out, sending him and his sword to the ground.

The medic rolled his eyes and slung him carefully over his shoulders. "Sure you can." Behind them, Pidge retrieved the fallen sword, looking at it with interest.

"Let the doc carry you, Commander. You're going to be alright." Cam spoke in his most confident tone, doing his best to pretend he hadn't bruised Daniel's arm during the duel.

"Yeah, he's pretty good at the carrying, boss," Lance seconded. "You're in solid hands."

No point arguing. "Just hurry up…"

Ka had watched the whole battle off to the side, and now he hopped up to them again. "Come." Beckoning for them to follow, he started for the stairway that led to the main structure. It was pristine—not a bone or rock or a single bit of dirt marring the dark stone. "Welcome to Andora-cha-engrizat… the Fortress of Ancient Tales."

* * *

Patching their commander up had taken about half an hour, mostly because he was a horrible patient. Jace had finally gotten him in what he judged to be decent shape for traveling, but… "Boss, with the utmost fucking respect here, if you don't stop twitching and bitching I'm gonna let giant donut dude carry you."

"I'm trying." Keith grimaced, why was he always the one getting carried?

Eyeing the pair, Sven made the decision that he was never going to put himself in a situation where he had to be carried by Jace, or anyone, ever. It just never seemed to be enjoyable.

Pidge was walking beside Flynn and ignoring the argument, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Cam wasn't paying attention to their surroundings at all. He was much too preoccupied with their wounded commander… "Doc, I think his leg is bleeding again."

"It hasn't really stopped. If it isn't dripping on the floor it's fine." He said it like it was supposed to be reassuring. Cam was not reassured.

Lance looked around, then turned his attention to their new guide—Ka had left them with one of the librarians, what was his name? Shem, Shen… Shel, that was right. He'd said he would answer any questions. "I don't see any books?" They were in a library, there should be books.

"We have a few books," Shel answered matter-of-factly. "They are special artifacts, hardly things to be left out to be handled and damaged. We are nearly to the reading room… have you not used track-readers before?"

"Are they like datapads?" Lance waved his as an example, just in case Kulaphe didn't have them. Or called them track-readers.

"Not precisely. I will show you… here we are." A door labeled **COMMON ENGLISH READING ROOM** stood before them. Shel opened it, leading them into a small, cozy room. It was filled with squishy chairs that appeared to mostly be suited for Kulaphe, but then their guide hopped to one and flipped it over to reveal a much more humanoid-friendly configuration.

"This is cozy," Lance commented.

Shel chuckled. "We are a race that appreciates comfort. Battles not followed by rest and contemplation are battles that weren't worth fighting."

Flynn was pleasantly surprised by the room. It certainly wasn't what he'd expected after the _circle of bones_ outside. Vince was surprised too, and a little disappointed when Shel flipped the chair; he'd wanted to try them the other way around, they looked really comfy that way.

Jace looked at the chairs for a moment before speaking. "Giant donut dude, pull a couple of those together for the boss, would you?"

"On it!" Hunk was thinking along Vince's lines, and pulled the chairs together without flipping them. The result was a comfy little kangaroo-chair nest; Cam helped Jace lower Keith into it, making sure they didn't jostle his injured leg.

Daniel plopped down into one of the humanoid side up chairs, pulled out his datapad, and began swiping through the photos he'd taken of the fight. There were also quite of few of Doc carrying Keith that needed to be sorted through. Vince saw what he was doing and moved to peer over his shoulder—he'd missed everything, since he was hiding behind Hunk with his eyes shut the entire time. Now that Keith was definitely okay, it should be safe to look. Daniel noticed and angled his datapad so that Vince could get a better view, marking a couple of photos here and there as he swiped.

Once they were situated, Shel clicked for attention. "Now, I will explain. The track-readers are on this shelf." He pulled one off to show them. It looked something like a wide tank tread made of thin glassy film; it fit very comfortably in his paw, though it didn't look like it would be unwieldy for human hands either. He hopped over to wall with a small keypad. "If you select a topic, the conveyor will bring you the appropriate crystals. You take a crystal and place it into the reader, as such." He demonstrated the process, letting them see the words as they appeared. "Then you scroll as such. Are you comfortable with the tool?"

"Seems easy enough." Lance gave him a winning smile.

"Thank you." Shel looked at Lance curiously, then barred a row of sharp teeth in an approximation of his smile. "I will leave you to your study. May you find something useful." He lowered his ears respectfully before hopping out.

"I'm unsure if that was hot or creepy," Lance muttered.

"That was kinda scarier than the Protector," Hunk agreed.

Keith shook his head, feeling reasonably settled and eager to get to work. "Okay. Let's get started, shall we?"

"Let's, please." Pidge grabbed a reader and a crystal. The system looked efficient and fascinating. Vince looked at one more picture before moving to get his own reader; they looked pretty cool. As the team moved to begin their research, they had to puzzle out the conveyor. The topic selection did not include 'Altea', or even 'legendary civilizations'… or in fact many normal-seeming topics at all. But there was one labeled 'Repositories of Ancient Fragments' which seemed… promising? They fetched some crystals from that one and got to work.

Most of them did, anyway. Daniel did not. Research had never been his forte, and the pictures were way more entertaining. He did however turn away from the rest of his very studious-looking teammates, to at least make it _look_ like he was helping.

Vince noticed and snickered, dropping a reader next to him. "This might help your ruse."

Daniel gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"The moms raised me to be helpful."

"They did a great job."

Lance eyed Daniel, perfectly well aware of what he was doing, but he shrugged it off. He still felt a bit awkward about the fight they'd had… and the more he thought about it the more baffled he felt. Sighing, he went back to researching.

Jace was next to Keith, one eye on him, the other on his reader. The boss had his datapad out, watching the others work, feeling weird about not helping… though he knew what would happen if he tried to get up. As if sensing his unease, Cam appeared next to him with two readers and a few crystals in hand. "Here, sir. Maybe it will help distract you."

"Thanks, Starr." Taking the offered tools Keith launched himself into the reading, and Cam finally looked away to do likewise.

Hunk was flopped in a kangaroo chair, hunting through his crystals. "This place ain't so bad." And it really wasn't… at least to start with.

A few hours later they were developing different opinions.

Lance sighed in annoyance. He was getting a headache; it felt like they'd been here forever, most of which he'd spent reading about bodies of water on ancient rocks. Sven was in a similar boat, he loved to read, but the fruitless search was starting to get to him. He'd been reading what was basically a large catalogue of ancient wars for quite awhile, largely because he had to keep re-reading sections after catching himself starting to skim without meaning to.

Finally scrolling down a bit more, he nearly jumped out of his skin in shock. There it was, staring right at him from the next paragraph. "Guys! This one mentions Altea!"

Vince nearly dropped his reader. "Really?"

"Huh?" Keith was startled and Lance jolted out of his seat, he had been falling asleep. Everyone was staring at Sven, waiting for an explanation or at least some more information.

"It's not much, just that they were participants in this war. It doesn't seem to say anything else, but it's SOMETHING."

"What war?"

"Who were the other participants?"

"Against who?"

"_With_ who?"

Lance, Vince, Flynn, and Pidge all rattled off their questions at the same time. Sven had to take a moment to digest them all.

"It's called the War of the Infested. The Drules were involved. But this is only a summary, nothing else is mentioned."

"So we should look up the War of the Infested and see if we can find out more?" Vince asked.

Keith nodded, trying to keep some semblance of command despite being immobile. "I think that would be a good starting point."

"…I think one of the crystals I was looking at mentioned the war. Not Altea though." Flynn retrieved the crystal and began reading it over again.

Even Daniel, who had moved on from pictures to games, set his datapad down at the Altea mention. Briefly. Vince was already up and requesting crystals on the War of the Infested.

Flynn's crystal had been about early Drule encounters. "Got it. This says some very early Seventh Kingdom explorer ships picked up an extraplanar parasite and triggered a war between 'two coalitions of local powers.' It doesn't say who." He looked up. "But that confirms Altea is local, whatever exactly that means."

Vince had gone back to the conveyor and run searches for anything he could find about ancient wars. Now he distributed the crystals to the team, and they launched back into the research with a whole new enthusiasm. Even Jace was almost too invested in his reader to keep an eye on the boss… _almost_.

The enthusiasm was starting to fade after another hour. "I'm not finding anything else on Altea, at all," Lance announced as he finished with another crystal. "Seems like the war was pretty short and not all that interesting."

Daniel had only taken one crystal from Vince, and he was regretting it. Who could stay focused on all this… stuff? "Ugh, reading sucks."

Vince took a break from frowning at his crystal, which only seemed to mention the Drules, to frown at Daniel instead. "It won't kill you."

"You don't know that. I could read myself into a boredom coma."

"But we might find another reference to Altea!"

"The more of us who read the sooner we can leave," Keith added, and the gunner narrowed his eyes at both of them. Why did they have to be so logical?

"I've got one! Dude, I've never heard of any of these people…" Hunk shook his head before reading aloud. "'The Ondori banded with other nearby traders from Altea and Zyris to drive them away…' Any of that mean anything to anyone?"

"Zyris, I have mentions of the Zyris, none of which are fucking _helpful_," Lance muttered in frustration.

Pidge, though, snapped his head up in surprise. "…I've heard of the Zyris. They wiped themselves out five thousand years ago."

"And that is even _less_ helpful."

"Haven't seen anything about _any_ of 'em," Jace snorted, putting another crystal aside as he shared the fruits of his research… or lack thereof.

"Are the Ondori still around?" Vince asked, trying for a bright spot.

Keith sighed and held up his own reader. "No. They were taken over by the Drules. A long time ago."

"That seems to be the overall theme here…" Daniel motioned to his own reader. His one crystal was on Drule conquests of the Second Stellar Era, whatever that even meant, and it was _long_.

There was really only one word Lance could say to that. "Fuck."

"You uh… don't think Altea got waxed by the Drules, do you?" Hunk asked, a little nervous about the answer. They'd known that was a possibility, of course… but it was suddenly seeming like a much more likely one.

Vince frowned. "I hope not."

"Pretty sure if they had this Voltron we'd know about it, if that's what you're asking," Flynn mused.

"I mean it's possible, right?" Lance asked. "Drules renamed Voltron, whatever it is? Or destroyed it?"

"It's possible, but it's also possible that they didn't." Keith winced almost the instant he said it; that had been a lot of words to say absolutely nothing. Then again, the Doc had him on some pretty good painkillers.

"If the Drules had a Voltron and didn't use it in any of those sieges I had to write shitty essays about in the Academy, they're dumber than I thought." Jace looked through his next crystal; it wasn't very helpful.

"I'm sticking with the destroyed theory," Lance decided. Though even as he said it, something didn't feel right somehow… the memory of warmth raced through his fingers again.

"Maybe Altea beat back the Drules?" Daniel was going for optimistic, but he didn't sound all that confident.

"Maybe they did. Or maybe they're doin' the forever war thing like the Hydrans and Kolaliri, yeah? Holdin' out and we just haven't found 'em yet?" Hunk was going for optimistic too. He was a bit better at it; he'd had more experience.

Jace scowled. "We finally found them in an actual fucking book, or not-book, and it's just making it all MORE confusing."

"My head hurts," Lance muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Mine does too," Daniel agreed. "Reading sucks." Sven was slightly horrified by the second half of his statement, but he was used to that feeling by now. He didn't comment.

Lance eyed him. "You're just not reading the right things, kid."

"Yeah?" Daniel sounded skeptical.

Hunk grinned. "When we get back to Earth we oughta introduce you to Comic Lady."

"Make sure she's sober," Keith warned.

"Ain't makin any promises…"

"Comics are the exception. They're awesome," Daniel admitted. He hadn't read many, but the ones he had were pretty cool.

"That's reading, kid." Lance smirked.

"Well, yeah, but it's… _different_." Daniel avoided the words _they have pictures_, figuring it wouldn't help his argument.

Lance made a decision. He did enjoy challenges. "Gonna find you a book you like."

_At least he's not mad you. He should be mad you._ "Whatever you say." Smiling, Daniel looked away and purposefully didn't call him 'Lancey-pants.' His smile disappeared a moment later, when he realized no one else would be able to appreciate the self control he'd just demonstrated.

Flynn finished going through the last of the crystals Vince had given him, and went back for another round, though he wasn't feeling too optimistic. Vince himself was slumped in his chair, frustrated with the lack of new information.

"Porra…" Jace's last crystal mentioned the War of the Infested… but didn't say a damn thing about it, except that it had existed.

Maybe they needed a new angle. "Okay. Do we have any idea where these other civilizations were located during this war?" Keith asked.

"Zyris was near Balto," Pidge offered. "All the way across from Earth, in the Outer Reaches." Keith typed that into his notes.

"Balto know anything about Altea?" Vince asked.

"Not that I ever heard of." Shrug. "I don't know about Ondari, but our maps might have it?"

Lance looked over at their navigator. "Sven, do they?"

"Do Baltan maps have Ondari on them?" Sven repeated, staring at him in disbelief. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"Baltan stellar cartography was integrated with the Alliance starmaps per section 8C-5 of the Alliance charter," Pidge offered helpfully; he'd meant the ship's maps to begin with, but it didn't seem worth making an issue of it.

Oh. Of course they would be; Sven shook his head slightly, he knew section 8C-5 by heart. The fleeting hint of hope had flustered them all. "I'll check the stellar database when we get back to the ship. It might be there, but I don't know offhand."

"And you call yourself the map guy, Viking." Lance smirked.

Sven narrowed his eyes at the taunt, positive he'd never called himself the 'map guy.' "Do I criticize your piloting skills?"

Lance blinked, puzzlement replacing the smirk. "Why would you?" Flynn snickered.

"Perhaps because they could use the criticism," Sven suggested, a small smirk on his own face. Daniel snorted.

"In what fucking way?"

"I'm sure he didn't appreciate the rift sickness," Keith offered.

"That has shit to do with my skills, Boss."

"Not that I want to defend him," Jace broke in as he gave up on his current crystal, "but he's right. Whether someone gets rift sickness is based on their biology, it has fuck-all to do with the pilot."

Sven ignored all of that in favor of defending his own _map guy_ credentials. "The ride over here wasn't exactly smooth, and it had nothing to do with my chosen route." He'd picked the simplest route he could find, and yet…

"You can't appreciate some speed?" Lance shrugged. Daniel was trying really hard not to laugh, but wasn't succeeding one bit. His snickers set off Vince's giggling in a matter of moments, and Cam joined in not too long after.

Flynn eyed Lance, smirking a bit too. "A little constructive criticism won't kill you, flyboy."

Lance looked betrayed. "You were egging me on to be faster!" Now Hunk was giggling as well; Pidge just ignored everyone and continued reading.

"Yes, and you insulted my engines by saying they couldn't keep up."

"And you won the argument, why are you betraying me now?!"

"To avenge my couch covers…" Flynn replied under his breath. Even Lance had to laugh at that one.

With a heroic effort, in his own opinion, Daniel stopped laughing long enough to get his own dig in. "The only thing wrong with your piloting is that you fly like an old man."

"_Old?"_ Lance demanded, officially very offended. "That's almost worse than having my piloting skills questioned."

"What? I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you that you _don't_ fly like an old guy."

"Watch yourself, little dude," Hunk chuckled. "He'll throw you out as bait next time he's gotta thread a red-hot rock needle…"

Even Keith chuckled a little before trying to defuse things. "Okay, I don't think we're going to find anything else. We should get back to the ship." He tried to slide off the edge of his chairs and groaned, immediately regretting the exertion. His side only hurt when he moved… but damn, did it hurt.

Sven was smirking, oddly pleased with the scene he'd created. Jace caught sight of the smirk and grinned. "I'm so fucking proud of you right now, Viking…" Anything else he may have said was cut off when he noticed Keith trying to get free of his chairs. "Okay boss, _stop moving_."

"Just trying to make it easier…" That got him the medic's best glare.

Lance missed the entire exchange, he was still hung up on being called old. "Why did only two of you get to witness the asteroid field… _OLD GUY_."

"If you'd let me fly every once and awhile maybe I could show you how to not pilot like such a fossil," Daniel suggested. He got the occasional piloting shift, but he'd really like a few more.

"Fossil…?!"

"It's a metaphor. Those were around back in your day right?" Daniel's smirk grew into a full smile.

"Take a tip when you get one, kid." Lance shook his head. "I'm _so _setting up an asteroid simulator, and we'll see how cocky you are _then_."

"Bring it on, old man."

"Will you be selling tickets?" Flynn asked hopefully.

Both of them answered at once. "YES."

"Wouldn't want to miss me running circles around his little simulation," Daniel taunted.

Lance snorted. "Circles are a great way to get killed in an asteroid field."

"This time we sure as fuck won't forget the popcorn," Jace declared, and carefully lifted Keith over his shoulders as Cam put their readers away. "Let's get out of here."

Vince was still giggling madly; it seemed to offset the Altea disappointment so he didn't try and stop. Next to him, Pidge was shaking his head at the banter with a great deal of bemusement. He supposed this was funny, he just wasn't sure _why_. "Can we go? The Lieutenant's piloting is perfectly serviceable?"

Daniel just about died with laughter at Pidge's comment. Flynn choked. Hunk, Keith, Vince, and Jace all followed suit.

"SERVICEABLE?! FUCKING…"

Before that could go any further, Flynn grabbed Lance by the arm and turned him around. "That's ninja-speak for wonderful and flawless, don't worry, he's never called anything _I've_ done serviceable…" As he spoke he was quite literally pushing Lance out the door, the pilot still muttering the words _serviceable_ and _old man_ under his breath. Though he _was_ quite enjoying the Flynn manhandling.

Pidge looked after them, still confused; turning, he caught Vince's eye and shrugged. The other engineer matched his shrug, still giggling.

The team had left their weapons in the medical room with the Protector, figuring they were in good hands… well, a good hand, anyway. She was still there when they returned, soaking her newly-regenerated paw in a vat of medicinal fluid to speed its development. It was far from the first limb she'd ever lost. She looked up as the Earthlings entered; they seemed to be in high spirits. "Was your search successful?"

"A little." Sven answered, trying for optimism, as Vince deflated a bit at his side. "We have more information now than we did when we got here."

"Yes, we certainly found things." Flynn was not going to admit to the Hunk-sized kangaroo that none of it had helped much.

"Good." The Protector saluted them with her intact hand.

Cam poked Daniel, remembering something they probably should have remembered earlier. "Dude, the picture." His roommate looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on him.

"Oh yeah!" Pulling the wanted poster he'd drawn out of his pocket, he cautiously approached the scary—awesome, but still scary—alien. "Um, Miss…" _Miss Kangaroo? No don't do that. _He showed her the poster. "Miss Protector? Have you seen this man?"

The Protector tilted her head curiously, peering at the paper. "Hmm… no, I think not. He doesn't look like anyone I've killed recently."

"…Alright, thank you anyway." Daniel nodded, swallowing a little. _That's good. It'd be fuckin weird if you did see him._ Yeah, that was definitely the weird part of the exchange. Totally.

Hunk stared at her for a moment, then quickly began gathering up their weapons. Jace decided this was way closer than he really wanted to be to the scary lizard kangaroo lady, and began helping Hunk. Lance and Vince exchanged uneasy looks and decided they were very ready to go too.

_How many people has she killed?_

"I wish you success, though." The Protector removed her paw from the vat and approached Keith, lowering her ears and bowing her head. "It was an honor."

Keith grimaced. "I'm… sorry I had to take your, um, hand," he said a little sheepishly. "You're an excellent fighter."

The Protector chuckled. "Such wounds are part of the duty. Do not apologize for your accomplishments; be proud of your skill and your victory."

Well that was certainly… an outlook on the matter. But if it made her happy, who was he not to accept it? Keith nodded, saluting her once more, and the team departed from the library.

* * *

The battle had been _disastrous_.

Pollux had an impressive warfleet, for a planet of its size and technology. It was something of a necessity. Before the Drules, they had regularly faced bandits and petty warlords, thinking the small backwater world would be easy pickings. But their defenses had been geared to stave off a greater threat, an ancient legend lurking in the dark…

Taking down a few raiders hadn't sounded like such a tall order. Taking them down alongside the mighty Ninth Kingdom, even less so. But the Drule ships had barely participated in the battle. They'd stayed back, allowing the Polluxian armada to charge into the teeth of the enemy alone.

Now the raiders were driven off, routed to the last shuttlecraft, and a full quarter of Pollux's fleet was disabled or outright destroyed. The death toll had been unconscionable. And the Drules had barely been scratched.

King Kova entered King Zarkon's throne room when his head held high, his sons trailing behind him. Avok was incensed and doing nothing to hide it. Bandor really wanted to be anywhere but here, but he put up his bravest front.

Zarkon seemed pleased to see them; he raised his wine goblet in greeting, motioning for servants to provide the Polluxians with drinks as well. "Ah, our honored allies finally arrive."

"Honored?" Avok spat. His father tried to silence him, but he ignored it and stepped forward. "What do you think you're playing at, using our people as your shields?"

The Drule king paused, looking more confused than offended as he set his wine glass down. "Your warriors were most impressive, Prince Avok. Surely no one has suggested otherwise."

"Yes, they were impressive. As your fleet stood back and watched them die!"

Zarkon studied them for a moment, keeping his puzzled affect up. He understood precisely what was going on here, but would afford their allies every opportunity to think better of it. "We gave you the honor of the vanguard, and your fleet was more than equal to the task. Surely you wouldn't have wanted our armada to steal your glory?"

That finally defused Avok, or at least stunned him enough that he couldn't respond immediately. His father took his arm and pushed him back. "Of course, Lord Zarkon, and we are grateful for the generous opportunity. We only wish we had been forewarned of the conditions of battle."

"Of course. What soldier wouldn't? But the reality of war rarely gives us what we want. Seeing how your forces adapted to the unexpected was valuable."

"Another test?" Avok had calmed a little, but he was still glaring daggers. "Just because we don't always have the luxury of knowing _everything_ before a battle, what kind of strategy is it to further cripple your own side?"

"An understandable question." Avok's hostility and arrogance would need to be dealt with, no doubt. But Zarkon found Kova's obsequiousness much more irritating. The prince was sincere in his beliefs, and that could be worked with. Kova was just saying whatever he felt the moment needed. "Maybe you have a point. Maybe we made too many assumptions in the terms of this alliance…"

It had been a test, and the Polluxian king failed it spectacularly. "There is—there is no need to be hasty, my Lord, our warriors will learn what is required of them—"

"—Enough." Zarkon raised a hand for silence. "As our allies, your fleet will be treated as would any of our armadas. And we may not have made those expectations clear enough. Your ignorance can be forgiven… this time."

Kova swallowed, then regained his composure. "Of… of course, Lord Zarkon. We will do better."

"Our ignorance?" Avok scoffed. "A wise strategist learns the strengths of their forces and plays to them. Why aren't your commanders capable of that?"

That was quite enough. "Because _you_ are now a part of the Ninth Kingdom, Prince Avok." He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Your sister is doing an admirable job of learning our ways. Perhaps you should follow her lead, rather than doing things that might compromise her position."

His tone had remained conversational, even affable. One allied monarch giving friendly advice to another. But nobody in the room missed the threat.

* * *

Off to the side of the throne room, Lotor watched the proceedings with his lip curled. For once, he was in agreement with his father about something; Kova was hardly worth the title of King. He should do his planet a favor and place Avok on the throne, then retire somewhere out of sight. It would be the honorable choice. Once he and Romelle were wed, perhaps he'd be able to encourage it…

As his thoughts went to Romelle, he noticed her shifting uneasily at his side. "Calm, dear a'kuri. You are in no danger."

"I'm trying. I'm alright." She shook her head slightly, steadying herself. Then she gestured to the Polluxian delegation. "I don't understand why Father brought Bandor to be subjected to this."

Bandor? He blinked; he hadn't even noticed the young prince. No wonder, since he was all but cowering in his older brother's shadow. The expression on his face said he was _trying_ to be brave and dignified, but his body language put the lie to it easily.

Romelle had a point. The boy didn't belong _here_. He should be with a governess yet, shouldn't he? Lotor wondered if he ought to offer Dayak's services, but quickly put that thought aside. King Kova might be useless, but Avok seemed to prove whatever royal child-rearing Pollux possessed was at least serviceable. Assuming the child were being raised, rather than hauled along to listen to his father's complaints…

Though perhaps there was something he _could_ do to help. A way to strengthen the young prince, and likely irritate his father as a bonus. "Call him here."

She looked startled, but then nodded and hissed something in her own language. Bandor looked intensely grateful as he looked up and scurried over—Kova looked like he wanted to scold him, then saw who was calling and kept his mouth shut. The wisest decision he'd made all day, really.

Leaving the kings to their discussion, the prince led the two Polluxians into the corridors. Their destination lay only a few minutes away from the throne room… though it could hardly be more different.

The royal stables were chaotic. Certainly not Lotor's favorite place to spend time, though not the most unpleasant either. Soft shrieks and howls echoed around them, and Bandor's eyes seemed to be darting everywhere at once. Though he was uncomfortable with idle talk, one obvious and not-entirely-idle question came to mind. "Do you like animals, Prince Bandor?"

"I… think?" The young prince's Drakure was slow and abominably accented, but he was fluent enough. "I haven't seen many close up. Mostly Father's war horses." He stopped as a roaming moonhound darted up to him, yipped, and ran away. "I've never seen anything like this?"

Of course Pollux would have nothing comparable. He ought to have expected that. "This castle is fully self-sufficient; supply line disruptions were common in the early days of our empire. Most of the creatures here provide reagents for the witches and priests."

Bandor only half-heard the explanation. He wasn't trying to be rude, he'd just been distracted by a pen of tiny jewel-like amphibians hopping about. Romelle, on the other hand, was clinging to every word. She hadn't missed the earlier threat either. And truthfully, she wasn't sure where to be irritated or grateful for Lotor removing her from where her safety was being thrown about as a bargaining chip.

Soon enough, they reached an open pen filled with straw. A bizarre creature was roosting in the straw: it seemed like a seamless fusion of bird and lizard, with a beaked reptilian head, a ruff of dark feathers, leathery wings, and a long scaly tail that was curled around its clawed feet. As Lotor approached it jumped up and crowed excitedly.

"What… is that?" Romelle whispered.

"A calcatrix," he answered, reaching out and patting the creature's feathery crest. "Clever beasts, with a paralytic bite."

Bandor was staring at the calcatrix with wide eyes. "It's beautiful."

Smiling, Lotor led them through a door just beside the pen. "The castle's flock is raised primarily for their venom, but many nobles like to raise them as companions. It was never my calling, I fear." Romelle suppressed a startled glance at that. She'd never heard Prince Lotor admit so easily—or perhaps at all—to being unable to do something. "I still have some books on their care. So, little prince, my question to you." He turned to face Bandor. "Would you like one?"

The boy's eyes somehow widened even further. "I—really? I would…" Pause. "I… ought to ask Father."

Lotor waved that off. "He has more than enough occupying him, and he has no authority over what gifts I choose to bestow upon our allies." He studied Bandor carefully. "Calcatrix are not the easiest creatures to raise, but they are known for their intelligence and loyalty when well trained. I will give you one, if you promise me you will make each other strong."

Straightening, the young prince gave the most dignified salute that could be expected of him. "I promise!"

Motioning for them to wait, Lotor went forward and had a hushed discussion with one of the stable hands. Romelle glanced down at her brother. It felt like the responsible thing would be to admonish him, but he looked too excited… "You'll need to improve your reading of Drakure quickly," she cautioned finally.

"I know," he agreed, nodding quickly. "Lady Aldrys has been pushing it harder lately anyway. I'll do a good job, sis."

"Okay." She patted his head, then looked up again; Lotor was returning. He had a tiny ball of fluff cradled in his hands, pecking at his fingers. It could only be a calcatrix hatchling. Its eyes were closed and its beak was visibly dull, and even its wings and tail were covered with down.

Bandor gasped, successfully fighting down a _very_ undignified squeal of excitement.

Chuckling, Lotor crouched before him and held the hatchling out carefully. "Your first task is simple. This is a newborn; its eyes will open in some five hours. You must ensure you are the first living thing it sees."

"I will!" Taking the hatchling equally carefully, Bandor patted its soft feathers, not quite certain at first what else to do with it. But it started nipping at his fingers, and in a matter of moments he seemed to have worked out a little game with it.

Lotor was still chuckling as he stood and stepped back, and Romelle studied him with some curiosity. The way he'd handled the creature was reminding her of something… the statue of Kistrial, the creature she'd been holding in her hands. From her book she'd quickly gathered that carrying _something_ small and cute was a hallmark of the Goddess of Honor. _Kistrial the Forbearing_…

"A'kuri?"

She blinked, returning to the presence. "I… thank you, Prince Lotor." She gave him a genuine smile. "I think my brother will be much better for your gift."

"I expect him to be." He smiled back, kissing her cheek. "Why don't you catch up with him more, while I send someone to go and fetch those books."

"Of course." That did sound _much_ more enjoyable than returning to the throne room. Returning to Bandor's side, she couldn't help a smile as the tiny calcatrix fluttered its wings. It was a good gift… from an honorable Drule who'd had no need at all to do such a thing.

Not for the first time, she wished she knew whether she wanted to love Lotor or hate him. And she wished he would settle on making one or the other easier for her.

* * *

_*We won't be posting a chapter next week, just a brief time-out for real life. We'll be back the week after!_


	14. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 13_  
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

* * *

The first order of business upon returning to the ship had been to look up Ondari. It was, in fact, on the Alliance's maps… in the middle of the Fourth Kingdom Incursion Zone, nowhere near Zyris or anything else. Which officially shot down their last hint of a lead from Takrekul. Onward to Khoru it was.

Daniel was lying on a couch in the upper rec room, playing a game on his datapad, to escape Cam practicing his Terinian. They had a pretty good system at this point: Cam wouldn't practice while Daniel was in the room, and Daniel would avoid their room for at least a couple hours a day to let him practice. He was fully focused on the video game in front of him when Lance poked his head into the room.

Lance was really looking for Flynn, but seeing Daniel made him pause. Things had been a bit strained and awkward ever since Daniel's big blow up—which was still baffling Lance. He watched him for a second and decided to see if he could make some headway. He liked the kid, he'd rather it not be awkward.

"Hey, kid, what are you up to?"

"Playing a video game." Daniel said, glancing up for a second before focusing back on his game. He was pointedly ignoring the small dash of shame Lance's presence brought out. The game didn't make him feel guilty and awkward, better to fixate on that.

"What's the objective?" Lance moved around the couch so he could look over his shoulder.

Daniel lifted the screen closer for him to see. "It's a racing game, but every time you knock an opponent off the course you get extra points."

"How many have you knocked off course?" Lance asked, biding his time and looking for an opening. The last thing he wanted to do was set him off again.

"Four…" Daniel knocked a car off the course. "Five. If I knock the other two racers off I automatically win." He eyed Lance warily. Him being so nice felt weird—Daniel knew he'd been awful to him.

Lance watched the game with interest, noting it wasn't too far off some fighter pilot training he'd been through. It seemed pretty useful to him, though he was sure many Serious People would strongly disagree with him on that. He grinned. "I'm thinking this is the sort of thing you find meditative."

"Yeah. I don't have to think, I can just play," Daniel said with a small grin.

"I get that when I fly, or at the shooting range…" He hopped over the back of the couch to sit next to the kid.

"I don't really feel it at the shooting range, but definitely when I'm flying." Shooting involved too much thinking to be meditative for Daniel.

That offered a way to lure him in a little more, at least. "Yeah… so I've been thinking I really might try to set up an asteroid field training sim. You'd be into that, right?"

Daniel grinned widely. That would be _awesome_. "Hell yeah… oh come on!" he moaned as his momentary distraction got him knocked off the race course in his game.

"Yeah, you're gonna fail at the sim too," Lance snickered. "So uh…" He scratched the back of his neck, trying to figure out the right way to bring everything up, and rolled his eyes at himself as he went for the direct approach. "We good, kid?"

That instantly cut short Daniel's attempt to mouth off about not failing at the sim; he felt ashamed and awkward all over again. He blushed and looked away, feeling like he should have seen that coming. "I… uh… yeah." _That was real convincing._

Unsurprisingly, Lance didn't buy it either. "Just that… well, honestly, I'm kind of fucking baffled about it all? I'd like us to be good. So, if there _is_ anything you need to speak up about, you're free to. I mean it's me here, not Kogane."

Another sharp of guilt crashed over Daniel, and he distracted himself with his datapad for a minute as he gathered his energy to do what needed to be done. But it was a struggle. Apologies and explanations weren't something that came easy to him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, and started bouncing his legs nervously.

That was the last thing Lance had expected. His eyes widened for a moment; he quickly schooled his features, but Daniel hadn't actually noticed, because he couldn't even look at him. The pilot struggled for what to say. "That's great, I accept… but, uh, for what exactly?"

"For being a jerk." Daniel still couldn't look at him. He knew what came next, and he knew he couldn't explain that he was scared without sounding like some little _kid_.

"Alright… you were a jerk, all is forgiven, just… would like to avoid it happening again, so was there a reason why?" Lance swallowed a frustrated sigh. He felt like he was treading deep water; he'd never been in this position before, and he was sure he was sucking at it.

Growling to himself, Daniel jerked his head up to look at Lance. _Just spit it out already!_ "It wasn't supposed to go like that! It was supposed to be a…" He paused for a second, trying to come up with the right words. "…A preemptive strike!" That worked. "Which failed! Miserably!" He winced a bit, realizing how loud he'd gotten, then fell into a bit of pout. "Because you're weird."

Lance found himself totally thrown again. Shaking his head, he tried to find words, but he wasn't quite processing what Daniel had said… and was gradually realizing that for what had to be the first time in his entire life, he'd been rendered speechless. That was new and he didn't like it. "Preemptive strike?" he asked finally, hoping it was a good start.

"Yeah. It didn't really work out. You're still…" Daniel awkwardly gestured between them. "Doing this…" Could the _awkward_ swirling around them could get any more suffocating? He still didn't understand why Lance kept being so nice to him. "And I was being a complete asshole, and you didn't even yell. So weird." Daniel paused as something occurred to him. "What kind of superior officer doesn't blow a gasket when one of their subordinates is out of line?" It just didn't make sense to him.

_You'd be surprised_. "You _wanted_ to piss me off?"

"Yeah."

"Well fuck, you've gotta try harder than _that_. I mean I know technically I'm a superior officer or whatever, but I don't give a crap about that bullshit. Probably why I'm here…" He shook his head, trailing off that track. "Why, though? Why did you want me get mad at you?"

Suddenly Daniel found himself absolutely offended. "Are you saying my asshole wasn't asshole enough!?" He wasn't yelling, but he was definitely being loud again.

Lance laughed, it was impossible not to, but he had to stay on track. "I'm saying I was confused and frustrated but not mad, and I did yell a little bit, I think? I just didn't get what you were mad about? And well…" Lance sighed and let the truth come out. "I don't want you mad at me, Kid."

"That wasn't yelling, believe me, I know yelling…" Daniel shook his head and decided to just tell the truth, nothing else seemed to work. "And well… you like me right now, but eventually you won't. And that'll suck. So I figured I'd just get it over with, you know?"

That was unsettling to Lance, there were layers there to unpack and it made him worried about the kid, not to mention making him feel like he was back treading deep water all over again. But his gut was telling him to make one thing perfectly clear. "Yeah, no way, kid. You're stuck with me."

Daniel snorted; Lance didn't get it at all. "You say that right _now_, but happens in a month or in six months when you change your mind? I get screwed. I'm tired of getting screwed. So I decided to screw you first."

"Look, I'm not gonna…" Lance stopped himself from saying _screw you_ and sighed. "I'm not going to promise you something here, cause you won't buy it. But…" He nodded. This angle might work better. "How about if I'm still around in six months, I get to say: I fucking told you so, you're stuck with me. Cause I think I get what may have happened to you before, but I'm not most people." Damn right he wasn't. "I'm… what did you say? _Weird_."

Daniel eyed him for a bit and wasn't really sure he bought that either, but he also liked it when he and Lance were cool. Maybe he could give this a shot… he smirked. "You _are_ pretty weird."

Lance snorted. "So, we're good."

"Yeah, we're good… I'm really sorry for blowing up on ya."

"I've dealt with worse and all is forgiven." He tapped Daniel's datapad. "Go on, knock cars off the track, seems like good fighting pilot practice to me."

Daniel smirked again. "See, I think so too… my professors didn't agree though."

"Professors are fucking short sighted, kid." The pilot stood up, watching him for another moment. That had gone better than he'd expected. Somehow.

Nodding, Daniel went back to his game, no longer feeling so guilty about everything… and silently hoping Lance would be around in six months.

Lance took one last look at him before leaving the room, promising himself he'd be still around for the kid in six months. It felt important, even if he couldn't fully place why, but he always trusted his gut.

* * *

The galley was empty when Cam walked in, which gave him a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because Hunk wasn't there to feed him something insane, relief because the Doc wasn't there so at least nobody would be threatening to stab him. He was perfectly capable of making his own lunch.

If the ingredients would just stop disappearing on him…

"I just opened that jar," he muttered as he dug through the cupboards, "where is it this time?" Every time he opened a new jar of peanut butter on this ship, it seemed to vanish by the next day. He was really about over it. "Damn it…" Sighing, he dug a new jar out of storage and started grumpily slapping a sandwich together. It wasn't that big a deal, he knew… but every day? It was just _irritating_.

As he finished up and took a quick bite, he turned and nearly jumped out of his skin. Somewhere along the line, he'd stopped being alone. Now there was a ninja in the room. "Um… hi?"

"Yeah," Pidge murmured absently, then blinked. No, that was definitely _not_ the correct response. "Uh, hi." He moved around towards the cupboard Cam had just been in, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. Cam had barely spoken to their systems analyst, and he'd _heard_ things, but it all seemed overblown. "How are you?" _Can't hurt to try to be friendly, right?_

That earned him a slightly pained look. Pidge hated small talk, but at least he knew the correct rote response here. "Fine, you?"

"Not too bad, I suppose. If someone would just stop either hiding the peanut butter or eating it all…"

The ninja looked confused. "There's… no shortage of peanut butter on this ship?" He knew for a fact there was a whole crate of it down in cargo. A very large crate.

Cam knew that too, and sighed. "Yeah, just… it's annoying, you know? Come in off shift to grab something quick to eat, and the jar I just opened is gone. Half the time I find it in the trash."

"Yes, that's where empty jars go."

He couldn't help but grin at that, though he wasn't wholly certain it had been a joke. "Yeah, it is. But really, who uses that much peanut butter in one day?"

Pidge eyed him, unimpressed, then moved on to the cupboard and pulled the open jar out. "People with different dietary requirements than humans."

Even staring right at him, it took Cam a moment for that to fully sink in. "Wait, you mean you…?"

"That's what I said?" Pidge was not aware of any other aliens on this ship. Maybe their comms officer was a bit dense.

"Oh…" Cam blinked slowly. Now that he'd actually encountered the peanut butter thief, he was feeling a bit less eager for confrontation. "That's… a lot of calories and fat…"

"You have low metabolism."

He'd said that very matter-of-factly. _He _is _different from you…_ well, fair enough, probably. "Well anyway, if you polish off a jar, could you at least be decent enough to put a new one back so the rest of us don't go hunting thinking it just walked off?"

Pidge looked at him blankly. "That isn't my job." In fact he was quite certain he'd heard the doctor yelling at someone for bringing things up out of cargo just a couple of days ago. Something about wanting to keep a handle on the supplies.

Cam stared back at him, equally confused. "Well it's not my job either." Yet somehow he always seemed to be the one opening new jars. "It's just common courtesy."

"It isn't my _job_," the ninja repeated, a little more emphatically. "It gets replaced."

"Do you… not understand common courtesy?" Cam could not, for the life of him, understand what was so objectionable about being asked to move a jar of peanut butter from one side of the galley to the other. "You empty it, you replace it?"

"Do you not understand delegation of responsibility aboard a starship?" Pidge retorted, muttering something probably impolite in Baltan.

"Yeah, I do understand it. And it applies to everyone, even you." It was all Cam could do not to call him an entitled brat. He was _trying_ to tone that down. He did learn from his mistakes, and this was someone from a whole different culture… but hell if he wasn't acting like one.

Pidge was thinking something similar, really. _What part of_ it isn't my job _does this snotty human not understand?_ His hand had gone to his sheath, though he'd barely noticed. "What exactly is that supposed to mean, jalekya?"

"It means it's no one's actual job to replace things in here! We all do it out of respect for everyone on board."

Scowl. "Your understanding of delegation is incorrect. Don't take it out on me."

Cam scowled right back. Maybe the things he'd heard weren't overblown at all. "Well your…" He bit back his first instinct. "…understanding of respectful courtesy seems to be incorrect, too."

"Manners are inefficient."

That… actually was kind of true, Cam supposed, at least in certain situations. He wasn't too sure this applied. "They may be, but they keep people from getting upset when they're hungry and annoyed."

The ninja's bright green eyes lowered to Cam's sandwich. And the bite he'd already taken from it. "You have your food. Let me eat mine."

"Fine! I'm not stopping you." There was no point going on with this. Frowning, he dropped into a chair and took a large, dramatic bite of his sandwich.

Pidge rolled his eyes and turned away, heading for the door. "Ershakka eshal missen cha nye…"

_That didn't sound nice._ Cam lowered his sandwich and stood slowly, glaring. "Excuse me?"

Why was he still talking? Wasn't he supposed to be eating his sandwich? "I said humans are stupid," Pidge translated irritably, turning back around and half daring his teammate to argue.

The glare intensified. "Takes stupid to know stupid."

"…Is that an insult? You call each other stupid all the time." Things like this were _exactly_ why he couldn't figure these ridiculous aliens out in the first place.

"You can take it however you see fit. You're even more of a brat than Daniel."

"_Don't_ compare me to _him_," Pidge snarled, taking a step back. A moment later he became aware his knife was out. Not optimal… but he didn't sheath it, especially when Cam noticed and backed away with wide eyes. Maybe they could finally get this conversation over with. He really just wanted to eat his own lunch in peace.

As they stared warily at each other, the tension was broken by Jace walking in the door, juggling a jar of peanut butter between his hands. He'd long since gotten used to bringing one up after his shift each day. "Hey Starr, hey ninjerk, you better not be making a mess of my…" What he'd actually walked in on became apparent as he looked at Pidge. And his knife. "…Put that the fuck away, I'm the only person sanctioned to do any stabbing on this ship."

Cam breathed a sigh of relief; he'd never imagined he could be so happy to see their grumpy medic. "Hello, Doctor." Pidge, for his part, didn't say anything at all. He just sheathed the knife and vanished out the door with his peanut butter.

Jace turned to Cam and raised an eyebrow. "Que porra?"

The comms officer slowly shook his head. "What the hell just happened?"

"Uh, that's what I just asked you. Since you know, you're the one that was here."

As if _that_ had helped him any. He sank back into his chair and sighed. "I came in to make a sandwich, couldn't find the peanut butter I just opened this morning… again. Apparently he eats the whole damn jar? I just tried to… impress upon him the decency of replacing what he takes…" He trailed off, grimacing. "It didn't go very well."

"Oh, he's the one who's been eating it so fast?" Shrugging, Jace put the jar he'd brought in the cupboard. "Should've known, none of the rest of you keeled over from sugar overload."

"Yeah." Cam rolled his eyes. "Apparently human metabolism is slow."

Jace snorted. "By any objective interstellar average, Baltan metabolism is fast." He pulled a pan out and started mixing things together. "How about you not fuck with the ninjerk, I don't want to have to fix a sucking stab wound in your chest if we can avoid it."

That… sounded like something he'd prefer to avoid too, Cam decided. "I'm not trying to fuck with him," he protested. "Am I wrong for wanting him to have common courtesy? If he takes it he should replace it… or at least get his own jar…" He set his sandwich down and sighed again, suddenly not all that hungry anymore.

"You're asking the wrong fucking person about common courtesy, Starr. Eat your damn sandwich."

Well. _That_, he supposed, was true. Absently poking his sandwich, he considered the matter… maybe there were better options. There had to be, didn't there?

* * *

Hunk tried not to make a habit of being early for his shift. There was just no sense setting that kind of high expectations for himself; all it could do was limit his options later. But every once in awhile didn't hurt. Build up a little good karma for when he lost track of time cooking or rocking out… so it was about ten minutes before actual shift change when he clambered into the bay and looked around.

Vince was on duty. The console that handled the _Bolt's_ cargo manipulator arms had been throwing an intermittent power fault. They didn't use that system for anything—maybe they'd need it when they found this Voltron thing, someday—but leaving power faults in place was just never a good idea. Minor issues had a way of turning into major ones if left unattended. So he was crouched beside the console with his tongue poking slightly between his lips, replacing several old worn-out wires and completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

"Yo, little dude! You want outta here early?"

"Aaah!" The yell snapped Vince out of his zone and into sheer panic. First from being startled, and then from the _crack_ of electricity and the small flames suddenly racing down the wires. "No no noooo, don't blow up…" He leaned forward and tried to blow the flames out, though really, he knew better. A moment later there was a second sharp _crack_, and he jerked back just in time to avoid the surging electrical fire burning his face.

"Whoa!" Hunk had nearly jumped out of his skin himself. Seeing the flames, he grabbed a fire suppression bomb from the nearest shelf and tossed it into the wiring. The shell cracked open, smothering the fire with a large puff of pressurized argon gas, leaving a faint haze of smoke wreathing the younger engineer. He looked dazed. "You okay? Did the boom get ya?" Grabbing a first aid kit from the same shelf, Hunk approached to check things out.

Vince was still staring at the burnt wiring. "No, no, no, no, no…"

By about the third _no_ it was clear to Hunk that the kid wasn't really talking to him. _Should I poke him?_ No, startling him again seemed like a really bad decision. He edged forward instead. "Viiiinnnnce?"

Blinking, finally looking up at him, Vince recovered from the first wave of panic and launched headlong into a second. This was usually about as many chances as he'd had before being kicked out of a class, and this time it was on an actual _mission_. "I didn't mean to, I'll be more careful, I promise, it was an accident, I just, could we maybe, could we not tell Flynn?"

"I think he's gonna notice, there's big scorch marks and stuff." Shrug. "Are you okay?"

Of course there were big scorch marks; he groaned. "Yeah I didn't think so, oh god, what do they do with you if you get thrown off an Explorer Team?"

Hunk cocked his head. He remembered wondering something similar once, though admittedly not on his own behalf. "Hell if I know. You're not gonna get tossed for settin' a little fire though. Trust me, we've done _way_ worse." Grinning encouragingly, he set the first aid kit aside; it seemed clear the kid was _physically_ fine. He did seem way more freaked about this accident than the last ones, but then, they were in the middle of _space_ now…

Or maybe that wasn't it at all. "But this is the third time I've… well…" He grimaced, sagging back a little. "Done a Vince."

_Aha_. Hunk chuckled. "And you fixed the other two up real quick, and this one doesn't look too bad either. Guessin' you were workin' on that fault we picked up earlier, yeah?"

Vince stared at him in confusion. "Uh…? Yeah, I can fix it, I always can, but…"

"…Lemme guess, but you don't usually get the chance."

He sounded remarkably unconcerned. Of course he usually did, he was Hunk. Vince closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to take a deep breath or two and slow down his racing heartbeat. Then he nodded. "Usually there's a lot more yelling. And telling me I have an attitude problem."

"Still not seein' the attitude problem," the big man snorted, "unless they really hate apologies or somethin'. And uh, this one's definitely my fault anyway, yeah?" He grinned again, a little sheepishly. "Kinda figured I made enough noise comin' in, sorry about that."

"I was too hyperfocused, not your fault…" Vince was completely off balance now. He'd have thought he would be happy not to be yelled at, and he _was_, but he didn't have much experience dealing with anything else. "Usually people think I'm lying when I say I didn't do it on purpose."

"Kinda like knowin' the wiring guy is focused on what he's doing. Both our faults?" Shaking his head, Hunk looked at the mess again. There really were some very impressive scorch marks. "Who the heck thinks you'd do this on purpose? There's way cooler ways you could blow stuff up if you _wanted_ to. I could teach ya some."

"No, nope, I'd rather not explode anything to be honest…" Wince. "But that doesn't work out for more than a few weeks at a time."

"Well you've gotta be worth the occasional kabooms if they put you here, yeah? I mean, Explorer Teams get a crazy rep and we deserve every bit of it, but I don't think they'd actually give us someone they thought was gonna blow up our ship." He sat back and frowned slightly. "Hella paperwork."

Even on the trailing edge of panic, Vince couldn't help the snort of laughter at that. "Was hoping not to blow more things up, but… Flynn's not gonna be mad? You sure?"

"Doubt it, as long as it's fixed up. His temper doesn't actually match his hair." Hunk gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Ask him about the time Lance punched him in the face… uh, wait, don't ask him, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that."

Vince's eyes went wide. "He punched… but they're like best friends!"

"Yeah well, pit boss thought bein' friends meant he'd be the first person who ever calmed someone down by tellin' em to calm down, or somethin' like that. It didn't go so well."

"Huh… I guess all of us are pretty weird?"

"The _official_ phrasing of the unit motto is 'we're a fucking Explorer Team'." The big man chuckled. "Anyway, speakin' of calming down, we _should_ see what we can do about minimizing your unsanctioned kabooms, yeah? You need some zen in your life." Frown. "I'm uh, not the person to help you there."

Truthfully, Vince couldn't help thinking Hunk might be just the person to help him there. _Nothing_ seemed to bother him. Then again, he might have developed that talent from being around a large number of explosions, which didn't sound like fun. "The moms tried to get me to do meditation. But I get anxious I'm not breathing right and it's a whole thing…"

"Well that ain't gonna help you. Talk to Sven, maybe? Nothing rattles that dude."

That was also true, and it probably had less to do with explosions. "Yeah, how _does_ he do that? Maybe I'll ask him sometime." Maybe. He wasn't entirely convinced, but…

"Worth a shot."

…Yeah, that. Sighing, he looked at the mess again. "I'd better start fixing this up."

"Yeah, probably better. Don't worry about the burns on the floor though, they give it character." Hunk winked. "Can I help? Or you got this?"

Vince gave a more than slightly chagrined laugh, looking at the scorch marks. Maybe he'd go with Hunk's point of view here, for his own sanity's sake. "They kind of do give it character, don't they… I've got it, it's just, I was almost finished before."

"Practice makes, uh, practiced!" Hunk hopped up off the floor, grinning. "I'll go wayyyy over here and watch the engine panel, then, and I promise I'll make sure you aren't poking anything before I yell at ya next time "

Watching him, to his own surprise, Vince realized he actually did feel better. At least a bit. He'd feel even _better_ if he could understand how these things kept happening, but… it was a start? "Thanks, Hunk." Exhaling slowly, he turned his focus back to the wiring. Time to get back to work.

* * *

Rumors had a way of flying around the _Bolt_ pretty quickly, even with such a small crew manning such a large ship. Rumor currently had it there'd been a little altercation with Grumpy Ninja in the galley. Flynn had mentally translated that to _misunderstanding_, and he was getting well and truly sick of misunderstandings.

Maybe he ought to try for a little more understanding himself? It could only help. Hopefully. And that was how he found himself in the starboard rec room, pulling the Alliance's diplomatic handbook from the _Bolt's_ database. After all, he was at heart a mechanic.

When all else failed, he read the manual.

Balto was given a mere three pages in Volume 4, which was the last volume to actually deal with Alliance planets. Based on that, he was expecting to read about some fringe backwater. But that wasn't at all what he got.

**Shinor, known in English as Balto, is a Class D member planet in good standing. Its civilization is highly advanced and highly isolationist; while always polite and receptive to their allies, the Shinori prefer most of all to be left alone.**

"Well," he murmured. "There's a shock."

_What's a shock, that they like being left alone or that they're supposed to be polite and receptive?_

Moving on…

**The Shinori are a small humanoid race primarily known for agility and intellect. They are telepathic (intraspecies, Type 3) and value logic, loyalty, and pragmatism above all. Military service is compulsory, resulting in a populace well trained in a mix of technologically-enhanced martial arts (colloquially termed 'techno-ninjutsu'). In popular imagination, to the extent Balto is popularly known, all Shinori are thus thought to be 'ninja scientists'.**

_Grumpy Ninja Scientist? Doesn't ring quite right._ He returned to the beginning of that paragraph for a moment; the mention of telepathy had jumped out at him. Could that be part of Pidge's problem? Might the silence be getting to him? Flynn tried to imagine suddenly losing the utility of such a thing. Would it just be like learning a new language, or something deeper, like losing one of your senses? But it didn't quite fall together. Wouldn't the silence, the increased isolation, cause someone to reach out rather than withdraw?

Even research was only reinforcing that he really didn't know _anything_. Which… was distressingly similar to their primary mission. He was getting well and truly sick of that, too.

The rest of the article was fascinating reading, though he doubted the history of the Baltan caste system was going to help him figure Pidge out. Nor was learning that his people had replaced the core of their planet with a massive fusion reactor, though it certainly made him want to visit. But finally at the very end, something that might just be pertinent…

**Given the strict conformity of their society, Shinori are notably poor at assimilating to other cultures and rarely leave their own planet. Those who do may not fully reflect the expected conformity. Baltan diplomats and explorers are well trained for outside interaction, and emigrants are typically either exiles or social outcasts.**

_Exiles or outcasts?_ He closed his eyes, another word briefly drawn to the front of his mind. _Heretics_… it seemed like he should be able to work with that, somehow. But Pidge didn't seem receptive to _friendliness_. Maybe he'd think on it…

Someone knocked lightly on the doorframe. Glancing up, he barely bit back a groan; the other half of the rumored altercation was standing there. Somehow he was certain it wasn't a coincidence. "Starr?"

"Sir." The comms officer saluted respectfully, though his voice held exactly none of that confidence. "I um, I… kinda wanted to talk to you… if you have a minute?"

"I have time." Flynn flipped off his datapad and pushed it aside, waving him in. "What's going on?" _Don't say it. Please don't say it_.

"It's about Stoker, sir."

_Damn it._ Well, at least he'd get the details on this misunderstanding, he supposed. "What did he do now?"

"It… it's not even really that big of a deal, maybe?" Cam shifted uncomfortably. Bringing this to a superior officer had seemed like the correct play until he'd started actually trying to explain it. "But… he eats a lot of peanut butter, and well… I was about to make a sandwich, and the jar I'd opened that morning was gone, and it always seems to disappear that fast, and um, I was just wondering…" Oh, this really sounded stupid. "…isthereanywaytogethimtojustopenhisownthingofpeanutbutter?"

Flynn stared at him silently. That was… not nearly as bad as he'd expected it to be. No, maybe that was far _worse_ than he'd expected it to be, for given values of 'worse'. _That's all this is about? Really?_ "Have you tried asking him?" he asked slowly. The urge to say _he doesn't bite_ came and went; he couldn't really promise that.

"I did." Cam shrugged weakly. "He said it wasn't his job. I wasn't mad or anything, I just tried to, you know, convince him to try a little common courtesy, and next thing I knew he had a knife?"

"…And there's the part I was hoping you wouldn't get to." Of _course_ he'd pulled a knife over something this pointless. Maybe he'd been trying to give it a point.

"I never even saw him pull it, I mean, we were in the galley but…"

"He's a ninja." Flynn sighed, exasperated. "Okay, let me see if I'm understanding this correctly. You want me to intervene with my knife-happy subordinate to convince him to… open his own jar of peanut butter. Even though you have plenty of peanut butter, you just don't want to keep opening new jars."

Cam winced. Somehow the chief engineer had made it seem even worse than it had been already. "When you put it that way, it sounds…" He trailed off, hanging his head. This was not a good way to endear himself.

Flynn let the silence hang for just a beat. "Completely ridiculous? Yes. But that's what we do best." He smirked slightly. What was he going to say about it, really? He'd gone on a personal crusade to change their ship's name to something more mythologically accurate. At least this didn't involve paperwork. "I'll talk to him."

That was not what Cam had been expecting, to put it mildly. "You… will?"

"I will. Kid's got to learn manners sooner or later." That, at the least, he was certain of. Though that being said… "You have to do something for me, though."

At that point Cam would have done just about anything, purely out of gratitude for not being laughed out of the room. "Yes sir."

"He's got to learn manners… but it's not _your_ job to teach him." _Not really mine either, but that is what it is._ "He doesn't react well, as you've seen, and I don't need other people getting on him and making my job harder. Just leave him alone from now on."

And that was possibly the easiest order he'd ever been given; he would be just fine staying as far from the ninja as possible. "Yes, sir. I didn't want to cause any trouble with him. Honestly. I tried my best to keep it respectful, I really did—"

"—I believe you." Flynn eyed him. The kid was eager to be a good soldier, that was for sure. "He just sees things differently. This is for both of your benefits. I don't particularly want you getting stabbed, either."

Once again, Cam wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment. "Doc said that too. After he came in and broke it up because he's the only one authorized to stab people."

Flynn couldn't help the laugh. "Of course he did."

Though he was feeling much better about things now, Cam paused another moment before retreating to the door. "Stoker won't be in too much trouble, will he, sir? I'm really not upset, just… puzzled. I don't want him to get in trouble, but I know if anyone knows what to do here it's you…"

It was all Flynn could do not to laugh again. _Wish I had that kind of confidence_. "He won't be in trouble. I'll just talk to him about manners, alright?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your time." With another salute, the comms officer scurried away.

Flynn looked after him, then looked back at his datapad and exhaled slowly. What he'd just agreed to was sinking in, and it suddenly seemed just as ridiculous as arguments about peanut butter. "Teach the ninja about manners, I said. Faex, what have I gotten into…"

Flicking the screen back on, he decided to reread the Baltan diplomatic notes. He was going to need all the help he could get.

* * *

Alfor was disappointed to be returning to the Castle shelter with nothing much to show in improving the situation of his people. Despite acquiring more weapons, food, and some medicines, his hopes that he would be able to awaken the Lions were feeling half dashed. But he wasn't admitting defeat. Once he settled some matters with his advisors and Allura, he could focus on his notes once more. There were other curious items that he needed to look over.

While his arrival to the shelter was met with quiet celebration, he could clearly see the worry in everyone's faces. Still, he did feel better knowing that those in the shelter were safe. The cavern by the southern tunnel was being used by his advisors as a hub for gathering information; he hoped to speak with them briefly there before resting.

Brief it certainly was, as there was little change in conditions on the surface. A few cities showing resistance to the occupiers had been leveled, their people gathered and taken except for a few who'd gotten deep enough into the tunnels. Resources were getting tight. The one bright spot was that a few more tunnels were being opened, and some passages to the top remained secure, allowing fresh resources to be brought down. After the exchange of information, he decided to withdraw for the moment so he could take in what he learned… and most importantly, to spend some time with Allura.

He found her talking with Coran, poring over lists of supplies and debating ways to replenish some of the more valuable items. Marveling over the maturity she was showing, part of his heart hurt over the fact that she was now having to deal with matters of war. "All the more reason why I must succeed," he whispered to himself as he made his way to them.

If the people had ever had any issue with Allura's impulse to give big hugs to her family, none gave any sign of complaint as she gave her father the biggest hug she had ever given at the first sight of him. "It is good to see you as well, my dear," Alfor said softly to her, then turned to the old knight. "And Coran, it pleases me greatly to see you among us, old friend." Still hugging his daughter, he extended a hand to his advisor with a smile.

"I am pleased as well, to be able to continue being in your service. We were just—"

"—I hope it can wait," Alfor interrupted gently, giving Coran's hand a firm squeeze. "It has been so long and, if you'll forgive me, I would like to indulge in some personal time with just my closest friends and family. I need to take stock of some of my most prized treasures."

Coran smiled and leaned into his best friend's grasp. "Of course. Let's head to your personal chamber, then we can rest for a time there."

Allura resumed her royal manners as she lead her father through a maze of narrow pathways, to the small chamber even most of the refugees knew nothing of. Having a place of the utmost secrecy for the Crown had seemed a necessity when the shelter was built. Early in the journey, Coran helped brush off various other advisors coming to inquire about the progress of matters; soon they had left all of that behind in the labyrinth.

As soon as they reached the private chamber, Alfor collapsed onto the bed.

"Father!" Allura cried out, dropping to his side.

"I'm sorry, Allura." He smiled weakly. "I'm just tired, and worried about so many things. I've not heard anything yet about your brother. The shelter at Falastol is like a maze… I fear he may be in the parts that have not yet been opened up to the bulk of the network."

"Then he is safe," Coran said encouragingly, offering a small glass of wine. Only a small one—such luxuries were dwindling by the day—but surely this moment called for it. "I'm sure his governess will make sure not a hair will be out of place when you are reunited with him."

Nodding in thanks while accepting the glass, Alfor sighed heavily. "Doesn't change the fact that I would rather know that he is well, and able to move about."

"I wish both he and Nanny were here," Allura confessed.

"It might be the best that you two are separated… to increase the odds that our house doesn't fall completely." Alfor grimaced as he spoke. It was the truth, and they had to be realistic, but it ached to be speaking with such pessimism. "I know this battle is hard on you, and very much so for your brother. I promise you, we _will_ get through this. But for now… tell me, how have you been holding up?"

"It's been trying for me. The people are restless, and Larmina… learned that her mother was killed recently." Allura looked down at her feet. "I do try to offer what comfort I can… but I don't think I'm doing the best at it."

Coran nodded. "But she hasn't run completely off, so I wouldn't think you could be asked for anything more."

That was probably true, and Allura didn't really want to spend this precious time with her father feeling sorry for herself. Besides, they had more intriguing news to offer. "Oh… Coran has shared a few of the tales of Lions that he found before… everything happened. There is one we found quite unusual. Perhaps you might have seen something that could explain its strange nature?"

"Oh?" Looking towards Coran, the king raised a curious eyebrow.

"Yes, it's true. Let me read it to you and we can discuss the thoughts we had about it, if you don't mind."

Alfor nodded, settling in to listen. It was the oddest tale, as it turned out… and the debate over it gave him just the distraction from battle that he needed. Distraction, and more than that, hope. Maybe… maybe it could be useful to his search… and bring them one step closer to rising from these tunnels once more.

* * *

"A'kuri?"

The voice seemed like it was coming from very far away. Romelle fought to grasp it. She knew the voice, she knew the word, but it felt like she was trying to think through a thick fog.

"A'kuri, are you alright?"

Where was she? It was warm, and not uncomfortable, though she was sore in several places. How had she gotten here? For that matter, why wasn't this confusion worrying her more? She felt far away, but not unsafe. Perhaps they were related…

A hand touched her cheek, and she blinked. _Prince Lotor…_ Reality slowly broke over her, though there was still only a strange haze where she'd been. Had they had sex? They must have. Had she agreed to it? She didn't even remember coming into his room… no, there it was. She'd been reading, he'd come to talk to her, she'd followed him here, and…

Nothing?

Maybe she could force the issue. Maybe she could clear the fog. But did she really want to, even if she could? No. No she did not. So she exhaled slowly and looked up into the prince's golden eyes, flailing for an excuse. "I… I'm sorry, Prince Lotor. I was just a bit… overwhelmed by… enjoyment." She wondered if her smile looked as painful as it felt.

He smiled too, and his seemed quite sincere. "Were you? You didn't seem nearly so nervous tonight, either. Progress, don't you agree?"

Progress? Was it progress if she didn't remember? It seemed more unhealthy. Maybe she should say something. No, she definitely should _not_ say something. He seemed pleased, and she didn't remember anything. A win-win situation, those were called, weren't they? "I think so, Your Highness."

He frowned slightly at that, and she tensed. Had she said something wrong? But then, "Why don't we dispense with this 'Your Highness' silliness? You are becoming stronger every day, and you will soon be an honored princess of Korrinoth. I think you've more than earned the right to use a more intimate name."

Romelle's eyes widened slightly. _Oh…_ it was strange, really. She'd hardly even thought twice about using his title. Maybe it was a bit improper for a consort, but there was no question about who held the power here. Nor was there any question of the correct response, now that it had come up. "I… would be honored," she murmured. "Is there some… proper counterpart to a'kuri? Or something else?"

"Sincline." He ran his fingers through her hair. "The title of honor for a royal suitor is sincline."

"Sincline," she repeated slowly, nodding. "Thank you… sincline. I hope to continue to make progress."

"I'm certain you will, a'kuri." Still smiling, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Romelle closed her eyes, trying to keep herself steady. Whatever had happened, she knew it couldn't truly be a good thing. And yet as always, Lotor seemed to find it worthy. What would come next?

No… no. She couldn't think about that. She just had to endure it. This was her place, as an honored princess of Korrinoth.

_Honor…_

Sinking back into Lotor, feeling his lips move to hers, she felt the fog moving in again. She didn't fight it.


	15. Serpent

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 14_  
Serpent

* * *

Khoru was a small, mostly desert planet, inhabited by spindly humanoids called the Khorun Rhekolae. It had only been part of the Alliance for a little over twenty years. When the 686 arrived, the most visible sign of the Alliance's presence was a temporary spaceport set up in the sand near the northern pole. Helpfully—or not—the ping frequency Tana had given them to locate this Bokar was leading them right to it.

Landing clearance came from a very bored-sounding controller who didn't even ask who they were, and soon the _Bolt_ was parked on a slab of dusty tarmac looking out over sand, sand, and more sand. The only sign of whatever this spaceport had been built for was a high fence cordoning off, well, _even more sand_ in the distance.

_This should be interesting_.

Flynn was waiting at the airlock, with Pidge, who was looking slightly more surly than usual. They had discussed manners; it had gone remarkably smoothly, which made Flynn suspect the point hadn't gotten across. He was trying not to worry too much about it right now, but he _had_ insisted the ninja come along for this just so he could keep an eye on him.

Keith showed up soon, with Lance and Daniel in tow. Lance grinned and shot the chief engineer a wink. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Strange coincidence, right?"

"So odd."

Rolling his eyes, Keith stepped in and activated the airlock; the Khorun atmosphere was breathable, but the heat was best left outside the ship. "Enough." Behind him, Daniel mimicked the order, drawing a short snicker from Lance. "Let's get down to business. Everyone ready to meet this Bokar?"

Nobody was really there because they were interested in meeting Bokar. Getting off the ship was the important part. "Sure, at least it's not a library."

"Yeah, ready to breathe some real air."

"Very ready. It's a _desert_."

As the outer hatch slid open, Keith and Lance slid on sunglasses. Pidge pulled his camo suit's hood up, flinching a little despite his own glasses filtering the brightness. And Daniel groaned as a hot wind immediately greeted them with a scattering of sand. "Sand sucks."

Lance eyed him. "Bring Hunk a pail of it and you'll have all the food you want."

Did Hunk really need to be bribed for that? "I'll keep that in mind."

Conversation trailed off quickly. It was scorching hot, though at least it was a dry heat… but not even Daniel really wanted to waste precious breath on _talking_. For a few minutes they simply followed the strengthening ping from Keith's datapad, leaving the relative shelter of the spaceport for a field of towering dunes.

Once or twice, they briefly lost the signal. Whether that was the dunes, the atmosphere, or their target not certain he wanted to be found, was impossible to say. The third time Lance couldn't take it anymore. "I hope that thing is right, cause we're wandering in a desert here."

"It'll be right," Keith answered shortly, sounding more confident than he felt. "This way."

"I'd feel better if Sven was the one with the map," Daniel not-exactly-whispered, earning him a slight glare but nothing more. It was too hot to really argue.

Finally, circling around a particularly large dune, they came upon a battered ship painted in haphazard blotches of primer and sealant; it was long and narrow, with stubby wings that carried large turbines on their tips. It looked aerodynamically questionable, so Flynn was immediately interested. "I've never seen a ship like that."

"Well… now you have?" Keith offered. His second shot him an annoyed look. Pidge glanced up briefly, wondering why he seemed so annoyed; it was a perfectly valid statement.

There was a large tent set up nearby, and they'd just barely turned towards it when the ship's boarding ramp extended.

The man standing there was pale and wiry, with flawless features and long blue-white hair that shimmered in the desert sun. He was… not what Keith had been expecting, to put it mildly. It didn't look like they were what he'd been expecting, either, if his pause before heading down the ramp was any hint.

Lance's eyes narrowed slightly as the stranger approached. Something about him seemed… _off_ in a way he couldn't quite place, and instantly it was making him uneasy. Next to him, Daniel was having no such concerns, looking the man up and down with appreciation. _He's pretty_. Flynn and Pidge glanced at each other, and Flynn shrugged; he hadn't had any expectations to begin with. Except that it wouldn't be what they expected.

Keith took another step forward as the man reached the bottom of the ramp. "Hello."

"Hello." He bowed slightly. "And who might I have the honor of speaking with?"

"My name is Keith…" Maybe he wasn't ready to give his full name here, not until they figured out who and what they were dealing with. "This is part of my crew. We're looking for an individual named Bokar?"

The man crossed his arms, immediately looking more interested… and much more suspicious. Daniel also looked more interested. In his arms. "What business do you have with him?"

"Tana referred us to him, from the Great Library of the Ages. We're tracking a criminal, and we were told that this Bokar might have information that could help us."

"_Were _you now." The man's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Dear Tana, always sending along the most _interesting_ things… you're on the trail of a criminal, you say? Do tell me more."

Immediately Daniel pulled out his poster and walked up, eager to get a closer look at the stranger. _He is _hot_._ "We're looking for this guy."

The man accepted it and studied the picture carefully, then gave a long, slow exhale and handed it back… along with a smile that nearly sent the gunner reeling. "Ah, I see. Well, I haven't seen him. But I am Bokar."

Lance's gaze sharpened. _Was that relief? Not liking this._ He glanced around at the others to see what they made of the guy. They seemed noncommittal, except… _is Daniel drooling? _He liked that even less.

Relaxing a little, Keith withdrew the paper Tana had given them. "We have a letter of introduction…"

Bokar accepted the letter, looked it over, then pocketed it and nodded. "It seems in order, but you'll understand if I show some caution. Interstellar archaeology is a lucrative field, and the Alceites have been trying to learn of my other benefactors for years. How do I know you aren't just another of their ploys?"

"You think we're spies?" Lance asked, glaring.

"You think we'd tell you that's who sent us if we were?" Flynn added.

Keith raised an eyebrow. The Alceites they'd met had not seemed like the type to use such underhanded tactics, but then, he supposed building such an impressive library must occasionally call for some shady business. "We've no interest in your… benefactors. We're only looking for our criminal."

"One cannot be too cautious." Bokar gave a low chuckle. "But come now—let's speak in my cooling tent, out of the sun."

"That would be welcome."

As the group followed him to the tent, Lance found himself unconsciously angling to stay between him and Daniel. He couldn't say why, exactly, it just all still seemed _off_. In response Daniel kept angling to keep his eyes on the very pretty man in front of them. He'd have followed this guy anywhere at this point—out of the _sand_ was just an added bonus.

Stepping into the tent, the blazing sun was replaced by a cool semidarkness and the soft hum of a conditioning unit. Pidge immediately pushed his hood down, trying not to look too relieved. It wasn't very convincing. Flynn eyed him and wondered if they also needed to have a talk about wearing black to the _desert_.

Bokar gestured them all to the simple stools scattered around the tent, and took a seat himself. "Now, shall we begin? Tana's letter spoke of your quest for Altea. You understand, I hope, that you're searching for one of the holy grails of my profession."

Keith nodded, glancing around the tent before taking a seat. "Yes, or rather, our criminal is. We've gathered it's quite the prize."

"Indeed. Even if I had information, I wouldn't share it lightly… and as it happens, I do not."

"You sure about that?" Lance challenged. He wasn't sitting, mostly because Daniel had taken the seat nearest Bokar and was watching him with unusually rapt attention.

If Bokar was bothered by the hostility, he brushed it off easily. "If I did have it, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you… and to extract a good price for it. However…"

Lance scoffed. "I believe that."

This wasn't helping; Keith shot their pilot a glare before leaning forward. "However?"

"You've come to me in the grips of a most… unfortunate predicament of my own." Bokar shook his head slightly. "Perhaps we can help each other. I lack information for your search. But what I can offer you is an introduction to a vast… network. A web of hunters and rumors that may be of far more use to you than I."

Standing back by the tent's opening, Flynn arched an eyebrow. _Well that sounds both incredibly shady and incredibly useful_. He could understand Lance's skepticism, though maybe not why Lance was the person it was coming from; shady and interesting seemed right up his runway.

The shadiness wasn't lost on Keith either, but they needed to get what they could out of this lead. He hadn't hesitated to duel a _giant lizard kangaroo_, he wasn't about to back off now. "What sort of predicament?"

Bokar gestured out in what was more or less the direction of all the Alliance activity. "There is an extremely valuable dig site here. I had the rights to unearth it, until the local authorities realized just what I'd stumbled upon. They moved in and seized the site, then called in the Alliance to help secure the area. They complained of looters." He gave a low, derisive hiss. "_They_ are the looters."

…Oh. Well then. Even if they were to admit to being Alliance soldiers, Keith wasn't sure what they'd be able to do about something like _that_. But he kept his expression even. "And how are you thinking we might help you with this?"

The archaeologist smiled faintly. "I know when to cut my losses and run. But I have a valuable cache still hidden deep within the site, and my research assistant is with it… the guards are being quite uncooperative about letting me back into the dig."

"Valuable artifacts _and_ your research assistant, got it," Flynn murmured under his breath; Lance snorted. _Priorities_.

"If you can help me retrieve them, I can take you to my primary benefactor and arrange an introduction."

"I'm all for helping people!" Daniel said immediately, and Lance shot him a withering look. He returned it as innocently as he could muster. _What did I do?_

Lance shook his head, then turned the look on Bokar. "Who is this benefactor, exactly?"

For a moment Bokar glared right back, then it shifted into a wry smirk. "Of course, you have no more reason to trust me than I have to trust you. Very well. My benefactor's name is Glethaun of the Sixth River. With a bit of research, you'll find his name is well known in certain quarters… and that without an introduction from one of his trusted agents, his name will be worthless to you."

"Of course it would be." Lance matched his smirk. _How convenient_. This dude had no idea who he was dealing with, they should just take the name and get out of here. But when he looked at the boss, he looked like he was taking that story way too seriously.

"I see." Keith nodded slowly. He didn't like this, though for wholly different reasons… he wasn't sure how much leverage they really had here, but he decided to test it. "We're hunting this criminal for the Alliance, you understand. So you're asking us to help you work against our employer to gain an introduction to your employer. That's the gist of it?"

Bokar considered that for a moment, then shrugged and shook his head. "Yes, but no. The Alliance has been duped by a corrupt local government. You'd be doing them a favor if you aided me, really… a certain amount of justice would be done."

Lance made a face. There was no way they were actually going to buy that argument, was there?

"…Okay. I think we may be able to help you with that, then."

_Fucking…_

"I could sneak in and grab your things," Pidge offered, "but probably not your research assistant."

"You'd need me to show you the way, anyway. The cache is well-hidden… the site is constantly shifting, and the markers I left are specifically designed so only I can follow them." Frown. "As I said, this profession can be very lucrative, and we must protect our finds."

Lance was swearing profusely under his breath, and Flynn elbowed him slightly. "Relax, flyboy," he muttered quietly. "We'll get what we need from him and go."

"He just wants to use us," Lance muttered back, "we can't trust him to give us anything!"

"He can use me any time he wants," Daniel whispered, overhearing.

"…We're _talking_ later, kid."

"…But I didn't even do anything!"

Flynn had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing—both at Daniel's excessive admiration, and the thought of Lance of all people trying to teach him about caution, be it about flirting or really much of anything else. Though thinking about Lance and flirting only frustrated him, so he shook it off. "We have the name, that's something."

"Which is why we should just cut our losses here!"

While his team muttered behind him, Keith had been considering a plan. Coming up with underhanded plots wasn't really his forte, to put it mildly. But on an Alliance planet, with Alliance military guarding the site, one obvious option was springing to mind. "Alright. I think we may have a way past the Alliance personnel."

Flynn had been about to try to calm Lance down a bit more; he didn't particularly trust Bokar either, but they'd dealt with worse. Much worse. Whatever he'd about to say completely vanished as he heard their commander's words. "Wait, what? You're not going to make us drag you into this kicking and screaming?"

"Fucking fuck!" Lance threw his hands up in disgust. Daniel, though, was grinning. He really felt like Keith not being a pain in the ass should be encouraged. Meanwhile Pidge had completely lost the thread of what was going on around here, and had his hand on his knife just on principle.

Keith sighed slowly. It grated. But they had a mission, and their mission had to come first. Standing, he turned to face Flynn and nodded. "We have to catch our target. You know that. So we do what we have to do."

"That wasn't a complaint. What exactly is your plan?"

"Other than stupid," Lance grumbled.

Keith ignored him, a slow smirk creeping over his face. "Remember those uniforms we… found?"

"Uniforms." Bokar looked at them with new interest. "Alliance uniforms?"

"Yep!" Daniel grinned.

"We're bounty hunters. Have to be prepared for anything."

_He's learning how to lie!_ Flynn gave Keith an approving look, then turned his attention to Bokar. "We've surely got something that would fit you and your assistant. We could walk right in and out."

"My assistant, ah, won't need a uniform. You'll understand when you meet her." Bokar stood, a devious smirk on his own face. "But I like the sound of your plan."

That smirk wasn't doing anything to improve Lance's mood. _Walk right into a trap…_ "I want it on record that I think this is _fucking stupid_."

"Noted." Keith crossed his arms. "But let's get moving. The sooner we help our friend here, the sooner we're on our way to finding our fugitive."

That didn't do anything to improve their pilot's mood either. Nor did it calm the death glare he was shooting the other man. "We can't trust that guy."

"Chill, Lance," Daniel definitely didn't whine. _Don't make the hot guy mad!_

Flynn nudged him playfully. "Flyboy who fears no asteroid field is scared of a shady archaeologist?"

"Scared of him?" Lance scoffed. "No, he's just pulling a fast one, I don't trust him." The hair on the back of his neck was prickling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature in the tent. "It's off, he's _off_."

Pidge pulled his knife, flipping it casually between his hands. Social interaction may not have been his strong point, but he was pretty sure he could offer some reassurance. "I'll stab him if it becomes necessary, sir."

That got him a mildly exasperated look from Flynn, and a more than mildly wary look from Keith. "It's an option if we need it," their commander finally said as calmly as possible. No sense ruling it out at this point. "Let's go."

"Yes, because stabbing makes shady situations better," Lance muttered, trudging after the boss.

Bokar came up next to him and gave a charming smile. "I find it often does, actually."

There were many things Daniel wanted to say right then. Mostly regarding his very strong opinions on circumstances in which he'd let Bokar stab him—none of which involved a knife. He was pretty sure Keith would get annoying again if he said any of them out loud, though… and one look at the blistering glare on Lance's face erased any lingering temptation. He'd just have to think about them. All the way back to the ship.

Stepping out of the tent, the team headed for the _Bolt_.

* * *

"It's a trap, it's a fucking _trap!_ I'll bet you anything! The dude was shady as _fuck_, they all _know_ he's shady! But nooooo…" Lance was storming around the general quarters, pacing and weaving between the bunks in some unfathomable pattern, waving his arms wildly. "Keith, _Keith_ is all yeah, we'll sneak you in. _KEITH!_ It was like he was working some shady mojo."

Leaning back on his own bed, Hunk was watching the display with something close to awe. "They all know he's shady, bro! You just said it! That means they're ready to deal with the shade, yeah?"

_"No!_ No, no they aren't! It's more than just shady, it's…" He shook his head in frustration, running a hand along his neck as the hair there bristled. "It's off, it's _wrong!"_

"Dude, how much crazy crap have we gotten through so far?"

Fair enough, Lance supposed, but usually the crazy happened when they were out of options. "Why go through it if we can fucking avoid it? It's a trap of some kind, something _bad_ is gonna happen. And we've already got the name! Might be harder without Shady McShady's intro but we can pull it off." That seemed like a much better use of their talent for crazy.

Hunk eyed him. "You mean Shady McShadyface."

Glare. "Yes, my snarknaming is the point to focus on." Shaking his head, he calmed down a little, exhaling for what felt like the first time in quite awhile. "I just… I've got a bad, bad, _bad_ feeling."

"Sorry bro." Hunk shrugged sheepishly. "I'm just tryin' to figure out what kinda alternate universe I've gotten dumped into here, what with Keith sayin' sneak the dude in and you not wantin' to take risks…"

Lance stopped pacing, laughing, though the laughter didn't last long. "That, that right there. I don't want to take the risk!"

"Yeah, I got that. It's weird."

That got him another glare. "It's not gonna be good, and none of them are taking it seriously. It's fucking bad." He knew he'd said _that_ a lot of times already too, but he couldn't completely explain it. It was just a visceral unease, churning in his guts, and he always trusted his gut—at _least_ as much with creepy archaeologists as with snarky kids. "I don't like it."

Not even Big Dumb Hunk at his worst could have missed that he _didn't like it_. It didn't seem worth pointing out. "Well, there's one plus at least, yeah? You're not goin', so when they get in trouble you can go save their butts."

"They're gonna _need_ butt saving."

"We usually do." Grin. "We're pretty good at it."

Lance tried to grin back, but the worry was making it hard. The knock on the door to their quarters ended the attempt. "Oh, let's get this farce on the road." Yanking open the door, he turned his best glare on everyone involved.

'Everyone involved' proved to be Keith, Sven, and Jace: apparently that was who they'd deemed most capable of looking and acting like respectable soldiers. Bokar was there too, of course, taking the brunt of the glare as they stepped in.

"Did you guys get the stuff out of the nonexistent smuggler's hold?" Jace asked immediately. "Or are we gonna get to see where it is?"

Like hell they were going to sacrifice the mystique of the smuggler's hold for _this_ guy. Lance didn't actually say that, or anything else; he was busy glaring. But Hunk gestured to a pile of uniforms on an empty bunk. "Have at it, dudes."

"Thank you, Hunk." Keith smiled, heading over to the stack. As the others trailed in behind him, Hunk gave the man who had to be Bokar a curious once-over. He didn't seem any more _off_ than anything else they'd run into on this crazy train. Looking over at Lance again, he noticed the pilot wasn't glaring at Bokar anymore.

He was, however, glaring at _someone_. "Why the fuck are you here?"

Daniel had been trying to hide behind Keith and Sven; he plastered on his biggest smile as Lance noticed him. "Emotional support?" With all his might he struggled not to look over at the uniforms; there had to be _some_ way to get to his without Lance losing what was left of his shit.

It wasn't a very convincing act, and it didn't work for a second. "Oh _hell_ no!" He grabbed the kid's shirt and yanked him back. "You. Stay. Put."

"What—ack!—the hell?" Daniel yelped, trying to shake the hold.

"Keith, tell the kid he's not going."

"You're not going, Brennan." Keith didn't even look up.

"Why not? I'm actually offering to be helpful. This should be encouraged."

"I said no," Lance grumbled, cursing under his breath. "None of them should be going." He couldn't do anything about the others, but he could at least keep the kid out of whatever the hell was about to go wrong.

"You're being weird again," Daniel grumbled back. This wasn't near as nice as Lance's other weird.

"He's just frightened," Bokar said pleasantly, shooting Lance a glare while nobody was looking. He quickly replaced it with a smile. "Nothing to be ashamed of, we can't all be heroes."

Right about then the hatch burst open again, admitting a sprinting Cam. "Sorry I'm late!" He rushed over to grab a uniform, mentally kicking himself. _Way to prove you're the right choice to play responsible soldier_. It wasn't his fault; the heat was doing weird things to the radar. It hadn't stopped squawking since the others came back.

Jace was looking their new 'friend' over carefully. "Toss him one of yours, Viking, probably the best bet." Sven did not in fact _toss_ a uniform to Bokar, but he did politely hand him one. The other man nodded gratefully as he accepted it.

Cam's interruption had not really done much to break the tension in the room. Lance was gripping Daniel's shoulders to make sure he couldn't get away; no way was he letting the kid near Shady McShady if he could help it. After accepting the uniform from Sven, Bokar turned and shot him a slight sneer; he narrowed his eyes in response. "I'll kill you if any one of them gets even _one scratch_."

"I'm sure you will."

"It's a date." Lance got a very unpleasant smirk, his fingers digging harder into Daniel's shoulders.

"Ow!"

"We'll be fine, Lance." Keith had finally found one of his uniforms in the stack. "Ease up on Brennan."

"Yeah! Ease up on Brennan!"

"Oops, sorry." The pilot loosened his grip, a little, still watching Bokar like a hawk.

Even if they hadn't had a job to do, getting this mess broken up seemed like a priority. Keith looked around at the others, checking to be sure everyone had their uniforms, and nodded. "Let's go get changed." They filed out of the general quarters, Bokar tossing one last smirk over his shoulder as they left.

The second the hatch shut Daniel pulled himself free and sulked. "But he was _so hot!"_ This time he most certainly was whining.

Lance stared at him, looked over at Hunk, looked back at him, and shook his head in disgust. "And I'm the weird one!?"

"Relax, little dude, not like you're missin' much. It's a desert, everyone's gonna be hot." Personally Hunk thought the guy looked a little _too_ perfect to be attractive, not that he was really any judge of male attractiveness. Or female. Or really anything but grills and crush cars, for that matter.

The kid didn't seem to appreciate his reassurance, in any case. "Not _that_ kind of hot." He looked back at Lance and pouted. "I can't even enjoy the fact that fanboy was late to something!" It was so unfair. _He gets to go out with the hot guy and I don't!_

"You'll be safe," Lance countered. "All that matters."

"Awwwwwwww!" Hunk clasped his hands together and grinned at them.

"Shut up."

Daniel's own usual reflex to mock the idea of safety didn't kick in. He was oddly okay with Lance being overprotective… he was not, however, okay with being okay with it. And now he was just confused.

Hearing the airlock activate, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. At least Bokar was off _his ship_. Though he was out there with four of _his crewmates_, so the relief was minimal. Turning, he eyed where his rifle was racked up against one wall, then headed over. May as well be ready when things went bad.

For once, he would've liked to be wrong about something. But he was certain he wouldn't be.

* * *

The scientific term for what Keith was feeling, he was pretty sure, was 'deja vu all over again'. Once more he was forging through a desert, with the Viking and their medic, after making a questionable decision in the name of their mission. This time they just had a comms officer and an archaeologist tagging along behind them.

Hopefully this would go more smoothly than the Kithran expedition had. "We're coming up on the checkpoint. You all ready?"

"Yes sir."

"Totally."

"Ready."

Up close the fence was a reasonably effective construction: some ten feet high, with barbed wire and regularly-spaced warnings of high voltage. The locals were serious about keeping this place secured. The Alliance troops they'd called in, on the other hand…

Sergeant Kel Alisko had been stuck in this hell desert in full uniform for going on twelve hours. Oh sure, the checkpoint had air conditioning, but that was only so much help when you were stuck in a glorified tollbooth with the sun pouring in. He watched the approaching squad and counted his meager blessings; at least he wasn't out there wading around in the sand.

It didn't mean he actually felt like checking ID. Five other uniformed soldiers were as far from suspicious as it got, even if they did have Explorer Team patches. This mission was low priority, it got all types. "Patrol duty?"

"Yes, we've been sent to reinforce the site."

What the site didn't need was reinforcements, other than maybe a few more people for checkpoint duty. Alisko waved them in tiredly; wasn't their fault. "Sucks to be you. Happy melting." That got a snort from the one with the medical kit.

"Thank you." Keith nodded to the guard and led the others into the site, suppressing a low sigh of relief. He'd been ready to show his own tags and hope they wouldn't ask for the whole group, but he was just as happy _not_ to have to put his name to this at all.

Once they were in, the endless stretches of sand started to resolve themselves a bit more. Several large excavation pits bustling with Khorun workers had been dug into the desert, with ropes and flashing electronic tags designating various subsectors. Other stretches of the site remained pristine. This operation would be going for a long time yet.

"This way." Bokar was watching the sand carefully, occasionally switching direction, though their path seemed to always be more or less leading to a valley between two towering dunes. As they reached it he started pacing in circles, hissing in concentration.

It all just looked like sand to Keith, but after a few moments their strange companion nodded and seemed to simply walk into the larger of the dunes. He blinked, glancing back at the others; there was a _tunnel_. With all the sand blurring together in the bright sun, he never would've seen it without stumbling right into it. "Nice trick."

The tunnel widened a little ways in, reinforced with what looked like some sort of structural canvas and lit by the occasional dim lantern. They were clearly going downhill, though it wasn't steep. Soon it brought them to a dead end, and Bokar started to pace again. A moment later, a wall of sand fell away to their left, revealing what looked very much like a gaping canine mouth with long, vicious fangs.

Jace jumped back. "Oh _fuck_ no!"

"I agree." Sven hadn't jumped, but he'd definitely tensed.

"Great, another damn cave in a desert…" Making a face, Keith started checking around them for any other worrisome signs.

"Cave?" Jace repeated. _"Cave?"_

"It's… only a doorway?" Bokar was looking at them all with a great deal of confusion. "This site is an ancient city. They had some… unusual decor."

Their medic wasn't buying it. "You're absolutely fucking _positive_ this place isn't some giant-ass dead monster?"

Bokar stared at him blankly, then turned to Keith. "Is he… alright?"

_That_ was a loaded question. "No. We had a bad experience before."

Cam stepped forward hesitantly, wondering if this was another thing like the legendary murder vines. "Sir, I can go first, if you need me to."

"No, Starr. It's alright." Keith looked at the other two, who hadn't exactly _relaxed_, but at least seemed to be wound a little less tight. "Just a city, right?"

"Just a city, I assure you." Bokar hissed softly. "The only danger here are the _looters_."

Following him through the doorway, they found themselves in a large chamber covered in colorful mosaics. It seemed otherwise empty. Another door on the far side brought them to a tunnel with a cobbled stone floor to it; it seemed they might be walking on the city streets. Every so often they would pass through another building, all of which seemed to be empty, though their walls were surprisingly well preserved.

The work was impressive, really. "How long did this take you to dig? All by yourself?"

"My assistant did most of the digging. She has a knack for it." Bokar paused briefly at a fork in the tunnel, then took the left branch. "Proper excavation is intensive… and expensive. We were attempting to map the site out through tunneling before hiring a full crew, we were a few months into the work when the Khorun moved in."

"And when was that?" Jace frowned slightly. "Or at least, how long has this assistant of yours been stuck down here?" He'd packed a light kit with the proper supplies for dehydration and exposure, but there was only so much he'd be able to do.

"Awhile… a few weeks. She did have supplies, but I fear they'll be running out any day now."

Keith's eyes narrowed. Whatever else may be ill-advised about this operation, they couldn't just let someone die down here. "Then let's hurry up and get her out." With answering nods, the others picked up the pace.

A few minutes later, entering another half-intact building brought them out into blazing sunlight.

"What the…?"

Bokar hissed something that was almost certainly profanity. "I didn't realize the main excavation had gotten this far. I hope you can talk our way through this…" A grouchy-looking guard with a plasma rifle was already moving in on them.

"Hey! What are you lot doing there, this area is off limits!"

Fantastic. Keith turned to face him and took a deep breath; maybe he should've made McClain come along, he was the expert on talking their way out of things. Then again, he'd also have been bitching this _entire time_. He'd just have to do his best. "We're surveying the site, exploring some tunnels we found. We have a mission."

"Ah." The guard lowered his gun. "You're here to check out the disappearances?"

Well if the guard was going to give him a story, he was damn sure going to take it. "Yes, we are."

"Disappearances?" Bokar repeated at the same time, worry clear in his voice. Keith winced.

The guard looked between them for a moment, then shrugged. "Don't blame you, man, I don't like listening to briefings either. Been a problem for a couple weeks now. Workers going missing, bones turning up later, fun stuff. It's cutting into the work here something awful."

_Bones turn up later?_ Sven winced too. "Wonderful."

"All right." Keith fought down a sigh of relief. "How about you clear everyone out of here until we finish? To be safe."

"You got it," the guard glanced at his rank patch, "Commander. Good luck." He turned away and started yelling for the other guards to get moving, and Bokar led them back through another doorway.

Cam glanced over his shoulder, swallowing nervously. "Sir, if something is hunting the workers, it might try to hunt us too…"

"Yes, Starr. I know that."

"Won't be the first time." Sven shrugged. "We'll be fine."

"Won't be the first time?" Cam was not reassured in the least. "Um, Lieutenant, what are you talking about?"

"Terinian wildlife. It was handled."

"Kid, you are fucking adorable."

"Calm, Starr." Keith looked at Bokar, who seemed to have gone even more pale since hearing about the disappearances. "Let's go. Hopefully your assistant is okay."

"Yes, I… hope so," the other man agreed, gathering himself. Jace pushed him forward, more or less encouragingly.

"Move it, we'll find her."

Watching the others troop down the tunnel, Cam couldn't help the slow smile spreading over his lips. _They're fucking badasses… I made a good choice!_ Still grinning, he rushed to catch up.

A few more twists through the tunnels brought them into a large, haphazard chamber being held up with rough wooden supports as well as the canvas. The ground was a delicate mosaic of the same canine creature they'd seen in the doorways; it looked like it might once have been a town square. A ramp led up to a large stone door with a crumbling hole in a bottom corner. Bokar stopped, nodding to the door. "In here."

Keith took one of the lights stuck to the walls and shone it into the hole, hoping to get a sense of whether they were about to be walking in on a dead body or not. What he got instead was a pair of glowing red eyes lunging for him.

"Kuso!" He stumbled and fell back, nearly bowling over Cam. Sven and Jace both jumped away as well, drawing their weapons, though neither moved to use them. Lunging at the snake to try to stab it seemed like a bad idea; shooting in this fairly precarious chamber seemed even worse. As they tensed, the enormous hooded serpent that had struck at Keith slithered free of the hole and reared up, hissing furiously, preparing another strike—

"—Senac! That's no way at all to greet our friends."

Immediately the snake froze, turning to face Bokar, then hissed softly and backed away.

Jace slowly lowered his gun. "…Really?"

"Bokar…" Keith stared at him as everything came together. "You really could have told us that your _research assistant_ was a _cobra_."

"A Denorin burrowing cobra, to be exact." The snake slithered up one of the supports and draped herself over his shoulders. "She's extremely efficient, as you've seen."

_"Really?"_ Jace repeated, shaking his head.

Cam moved up around Keith and looked up at him with concern. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Fine. Just shaken."

Bokar reached up and patted the cobra's head; she gave a hiss that wasn't wholly unlike a purr. "Have you been eating the workers, Senac? I know they're stealing from us, but that does seem disproportionate."

This time the entire team stared at him in disbelief, dead silence stretching for a few incredibly uncomfortable seconds. "She's been eating…" Keith closed his eyes. "I didn't want to know that."

"I was afraid she'd have to resort to it," Bokar agreed grimly, sighing. "Very unhealthy for her. Anyway, shall we gather my things? The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can give you your… introduction."

Jace caught Sven's eye; the Viking looked just as incredulous as he felt. _We're a fucking Explorer Team. We're a fucking Explorer Team. We're a fucking Explorer Team…_ The mantra wasn't helping a whole lot, and when Sven turned to give Keith a questioning look he followed.

"…Yeah." Keith let Cam help him up and dusted himself off, shaking his head slightly. What else were they going to do? They were in a labyrinth of tunnels under the desert, it wasn't the place to make an issue of things. _We do what we have to do_. He looked at Senac. "To get her out past the guards, it might be best if she… pretends to be dead? We can say we successfully found the threat."

He'd been a little worried about how the _giant cobra_ might take that, but she seemed calm. Bokar chuckled. "She's quite adept at such stealth, Commander. Don't worry." He moved up the ramp and pushed the door open, revealing a grand foyer that still looked pretty impressive despite being buried in the sand for who knew how long. There were a few boxes and several satchels lying about… and some bones. Not a _lot_ of bones, but more than enough.

Grimacing, Keith found an empty box and started gingerly placing the bones inside. "We should take them the remains."

"That would be a kind thing," Bokar agreed, moving straight to a smaller satchel that appeared to be full of tiny wriggling snakelings. Nobody was about to say a word about that; nobody really wanted to know if Senac also happened to be a proud mother.

None of the packages were particularly large or heavy, which did seem sensible for a one-person, one-cobra operation. They packed up quickly; Sven spoke for all of them as he waited by the door. "Let's get out of here."

"Yes, let's." Bokar gave a smile that Sven for one didn't particularly like, though he wasn't going to say so. That would be rude. "Thank you all for this." As they headed out, Senac went almost completely limp over his shoulders. She really did look very dead.

And scary. Still definitely scary.

Coming up on the breach in the tunnel, they found two guards waiting for them. That seemed like exactly the opposite of clearing the place out. The one they'd spoken to before eyed them suspiciously. "So what exactly _are_ you people doing here? The Director says she didn't send anyone to look into the disappearances."

Keith went still. "…Well we found the creature," he tried finally, "and some more remains from further down in the tunnels." He offered the box of bones with his most businesslike expression.

The other guard gave a slight glare, flipping her pistol in her hand. "Let's see the rest of those 'remains'."

Sven and Jace exchanged glances; the boss was not _that_ good at lying. He really wasn't good at lying at all. Even Cam was silently unclipping his holster, he could drop a pretty good pistol-whip if necessary…

Bokar tried to intervene, giving his most ingratiating smile. "You _really_ don't want to see them, they're quite brutal, you know. Better if we just get them to the proper authorities."

"Yeah, just let us handle this. You don't really wanna fuck with it, do you?" Jace threw a friendly arm over the first guard's shoulders… and casually stabbed him with the syringe of sedative he'd palmed. He went down like a sack of bricks. "Whoopsie."

The second guard startled, bringing her pistol up. "Hey, what do you think you're—" Turning to Jace meant she'd turned her back on Sven, who quickly stepped up with a sleeper hold. She collapsed next to her squadmate.

Keith blinked, staring at them and reminding himself not to piss them off too badly. Ever. Jace looked about as stunned, looking at the empty syringe in his hand as if wondering how it had gotten there, then turning to look at the fallen guards. "…Well that was a couple of fucking bad ideas worthy of giant donut dumbass himself."

Wasn't _that_ the truth. "Let's get out of here before more show up."

"At least we didn't put them in the boxes," Sven pointed out.

"True, true." As Jace recovered what he'd been carrying, the female guard started to twitch. "…Book it, bitches!" He broke into a sprint, the others right on his heels as they vanished back into the tunnels.

"What about putting them in boxes?" Cam demanded.

"You don't wanna know!"

"Don't ask! Just run!"

Though they'd passed through several branches on their way in, there was really only one way _out_ of the tunnel network; the various forks had all been burrowed in one clear direction. Within a few minutes they burst out onto the surface, the blinding flash of the sun disorienting them all for a few moments; as they recovered, distant yells started to sound in the distance. More guards.

"Oh for fuck's _sake_." Jace did not have enough sedative for this. "Anyone else got any bad ideas?"

"Just go!" Bokar reached into his bag, grabbing a handful of the little snakelings and starting to run forward. The guards approaching them weren't shooting yet, at least. In fact they mostly looked to be trying to body block the group, and that was fine with him. As their paths were just about to cross, he threw the snakelings to the ground.

Suddenly there were a dozen giant cobras, identical to Senac, lunging for the guards.

"What the…?" Keith had a lot more he wanted to say there, but none of it seemed like a good idea. Instead he lowered his head and ran faster. _Here we go again…_

"What the hell are those?!" Cam yelped.

"You don't want to know!" Bokar yelled back, earning a remarkably sullen look. "Just _run!"_

Sven had momentarily frozen in shock. Only momentarily. He'd already recovered and started moving again when Jace grabbed his collar and yanked. "Do what the creepy motherfucker says, Viking!"

Shaking the medic off his collar—that had been _totally_ unnecessary—Sven did as the creepy archaeologist said, and _ran_.

* * *

It took another handful of snakes to get them past the checkpoint, and the spaceport might as well have been miles away under these conditions—never mind that the spaceport might also be on the lookout for them. The group found a cluster of large rocks and staggered into the shade they cast, all panting heavily. It was too hot for this. At least the heat would also work against their pursuers…

"Have we lost them?"

"Don't see 'em. Fuck…"

"Catch your breath. Probably haven't shaken them for long." Keith rubbed his side, gritting his teeth; he hadn't been officially recovered from Takrekul for all _that_ long. Cam looked at him with concern, but he waved it off. They had bigger problems.

Bokar was gasping for air as much as any of them, but froze up as Senac suddenly thrashed and hissed in pain. "They're killing the decoys," he snarled, hissing himself as the snake twitched again. "Bastards."

For a moment Jace considered pointing out his snake had been _eating the workers_, but it didn't really seem like the brightest move. Glancing around he could tell he wasn't the only one having the thought.

"What do we do now?" Sven gasped out, still doubled over. It was _much_ too hot for _any_ of this nonsense.

"We have to get back to the ship." Keith looked around the cluster of rocks they were in, moving over to a boulder that masked a small crevice. It looked like a good hiding place… "We'd be faster without these boxes."

Bokar eyed the group, and Senac gave another pained hiss. They could hear shouting in the distance again—it sounded like their pursuers had gotten through the snakes at the checkpoint. Nodding slowly, he slipped the boxes he was carrying into the crevice. "Let's stash them. I can recover them once things are calmed down a bit…" A sly smirk crossed his face. "And I'll be faster without _you_."

Before anyone could react, he punched Cam in the face, dropped another handful of snakes, and took off towards his own ship.

"Ow! Chto za khren, dude?" Cam hit the sand, rolling to recover, and looked up to find a rearing snake in his face. "Der'mo…" It lunged and he just barely dodged, but a second later Sven drew his knife and slashed the cobra in two. Rather than slumping, it _disintegrated_; by the time its body hit the ground, it was reduced to a scattering of dust on the sand. Scrambling to his feet, Cam stared at the dust for a second—it was all the time he dared take. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

"You're welcome." He spun around and slashed at another snake, barely missing and getting his sleeve ripped open by gleaming fangs for his trouble.

Jace, meanwhile, was chasing after Bokar himself. "Oh fuck no you don't." He tried to tackle the backstabber, only to have Senac slither off his shoulders and strike at him. The medic retreated, trying to kick her—it connected, but she was a snake, it didn't do much but annoy her—or at least she seemed pretty annoyed when she reared up and hissed at him. "Yeah, fuck you too." He grabbed her by the… throat?… and made an attempt to toss her aside, which didn't work overly well either, but it gave him enough separation to get back to following the main target.

Running right on Jace's heels, Keith drew up short as Bokar threw down another handful of snakes. _How many of these things does he have?_ Didn't matter. One thing was more than clear enough; he hit his comms. "We need backup! Heading for his ship!"

Cam and Sven caught up, shooting and slashing at as many snakes as they could, and they kept right on running.

* * *

"We need backup! Heading for his ship!"

Flynn was in the engine bay with Pidge as the comms crackled. For a moment he just stared at the speaker, then took a long, steadying breath. "Fuck, flyboy's going to be insufferable."

"Yessir," Pidge agreed, nodding. "Is that different from usual?"

"I FUCKING SAID IT!" Lance's roar over the open comms silenced that discussion.

"Yep. You said it." Daniel had been watching their pilot pacing furiously around the bridge for the last hour. _I'm never gonna hear the end of this. _We're _never gonna hear the end of this._

After another moment of exasperation, Flynn remembered he was currently in charge of the ship. Right. Time for that backup, then. "Guns now, yelling later. _That means you_, Lance." He took off from the bay, heading for his quarters to get his rifle. "Group at the rear starboard airlock and let's go see what they've gotten themselves into…" He didn't transmit the last part, but couldn't help saying it. "…this time."

Lance already had his rifle, and was halfway off the bridge before he reconsidered and turned. For a moment he just stared at Daniel. Then his eyes flickered to the helm, then the guns, then back to Daniel. It might just work. Oh, it would totally work. "…No. I have a fucking better idea."

That was met with what felt like an excessively long silence. Finally Hunk was brave enough to answer. "We're gonna do an Explorer Team, aren't we?"

"Fuck yeah we are!"

Despite the circumstances, Daniel couldn't help but smirk. He knew what that meant. _This is gonna be awesome_.

* * *

Much like… several other things they'd had to do on this bullshit assignment, Academy training had not covered the proper manner of combat with _dozens of giant cobras_. Knife fighting was less than effective; Sven had more than a few bites and scrapes from his attempts. Sidearms weren't a whole lot better. Jace was doing his damndest to pick the darting targets off, and Cam was backing him effectively, but all they were really accomplishing was keeping back the tide. Barely.

Keith was wrestling with one that had gotten through. That was yet another combat discipline not intended for snake combat; finally he managed to get his sidearm free and shoot it in the face. It disintegrated.

"Kufot…" Sven slashed another snake, not managing to kill it but at least driving it back. They just seemed to keep _coming_.

Ahead of them, Bokar was aware of exactly how many decoys he could unleash, and it wasn't nearly as unlimited a supply as it felt like to his pursuers. He just needed to hold them off long enough to get to his ship, then he'd make these fools very, very sorry… drawing his own sidearm, he turned and took a few warning shots. He intentionally aimed wide, not wanting to hit his decoys, but maybe it would make them think twice.

Without hesitation, the commander hit the ground and opened fire in return, and his shots came _quite_ a bit closer. Bokar winced, realizing the problem a second too late—if it devolved into a gunfight, they had nothing stopping _them_ from shooting to kill. _Didn't think that all the way through_. To be fair, in all his long and often dangerous career he'd never quite been in _this_ situation.

Spinning around, he increased his pace. His ship's weapons would solve the issue nicely.

Sven looked at the scorch marks Bokar's shots had left in front of him and made a face. He was deciding right this moment that he didn't like snakes; now he was also reminded that he still didn't like guns.

Cam helped Keith up, both of them firing on another snake as it tried to lunge at them. "Thanks, Starr." He hit his comms with a scowl. "Kleid, where the fuck is our backup!?"

"Working on it."

_Working on it?_ "Work a little faster, will you?"

"Oh sure, _now_ the boss drops the fucks," Jace grumbled, grabbing a snake by the tail and attempting to swing it at another one. That didn't work particularly well either. Mostly it just pissed the snake off, and he dropped it and darted to the side just in time to avoid a pair of fangs to the face.

Bokar's ship was coming into view now, the sun glinting off some exposed metal. He paused a moment, then threw down the rest of his reagent bag—he was so close, no sense saving any resources now. He'd have plenty of time to replenish once this little unpleasantness was dealt with.

A literal _wall_ of snakes rose up from the sand, writhing and hissing.

"Sukin syn…" Cam jumped back, eyes wide. "They multiply like moonrabbits, don't they?"

Keith looked at him blankly. "Isn't there just the one?" He'd heard the tale of the moon rabbit pounding mochi—not so much the tale of the moon rabbit having a population boom—as a snake came at him, he decided this was definitely _not_ the time to worry about it.

Just as well, because a few moments later, a faint roar became audible over the hissing of the snakes. A very familiar roar, getting closer, and quickly.

"…Is that what I think it is, sir?"

It couldn't be much of anything else. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Of fucking course they did."

"Of course!"

As the four of them turned, the _Jupiter's Bolt_ appeared over the horizon, just barely skimming above the ground with its gear. "Yeah, the cavalry is coming…" Keith shook his head slowly, unsure whether to be relieved or just… well… "…and we're gonna hear it…"

The _Bolt_ touched down in a spray of sand, rolling forward at a rapid clip, and Lance stuck his head out of the front airlock to see what was going on. His yell easily overpowered the engines. "ARE THOSE FUCKING SNAKES?!"

Pidge was on monitoring duty, and frowned slightly as the yell came over the comms. "They do seem to have been reproducing quickly at some point, sir, but it doesn't seem to be what they're doing at the moment." Next to him, Flynn opened his mouth to say something and immediately thought better of it. Much better.

Maybe mercifully, Lance wasn't really listening. "I. FUCKING. CALLED IT!" Cocking his rifle, he took aim and let loose. Even Jace forgot to swear as the ship came bearing down on them, raining lead over the snakes like some kind of crazy-ass avenging angel.

"About time!" Cam grinned. "Slowpokes!"

"Slow?" At the helm, Daniel jerked the ship forward slightly; he was certain he'd been pushing this thing as hard as it could handle. "Did he just call me _slow?!"_

"Daniel, I need the ship fucking steady!" Gritting his teeth, Lance re-aimed and started unleashing a second round of shots.

"Sorry! Blame Cam." He hit the brakes, in any case. _Ramming_ the other ship would probably mean he didn't get to fly again any time soon.

Though the _Bolt_'s entrance had been _very_ impressive, it hadn't actually stopped Bokar from approaching his ship. The boarding ramp extended as he drew near, and he looked back at the mess of snakes he'd left behind. "Senac! We're leaving!" His familiar immediately detached from the swarm of her clones, slithering through the sand as quickly as such a large snake had any right to move.

The motion of the boarding ramp caught Keith's eye; he growled and took aim, but one of the decoys threw him off. "His engines!"

"Got it!" Lance narrowed his eyes, taking aim at one of the ship's huge wing turbines; his shot rang harmlessly off the metal, nearly grazing Bokar as he ducked away. Taking another equally ineffective shot, he noticed the one giant snake on Shady McShady's heels. That seemed like it might be important. Giving up on the engines, he dropped his aim over the snake and fired.

The bullet didn't hit cleanly, tearing through one of the snake's flanks. It jerked back, blood spurting over the sand. Lance took two more quick shots, and these hit true: one through the hood, one through the head. With a long, ragged hiss, the snake slumped over and went still.

As one, the rest of the snakes shriveled up and disintegrated as though they'd been shot themselves, leaving a pile of dust that swiftly began dispersing in the wind.

"What the…"

"…Holy fuck."

Bokar had reached his boarding ramp, and spun around as he heard Senac's last gasp. "…You're going to _regret_ that!" With a look of absolute hatred, he darted forward, retrieving the snake's body, then raced up the ramp and slammed the airlock closed.

Lance rang another shot off the hull, but it was too late. "Fuck, need more firepower for the ship…"

Back in the engineering bay, Flynn was still _technically_ in charge of the _Bolt_. Flyboy was kind of running this show. Not that he'd have required much convincing to use something more than small arms fire against a spacecraft. "Brennan, do it!"

"On it!" Daniel jumped up from the helm and ran back to his usual station, bringing up the missiles. The sensors didn't really want to get a heat lock here—fine, it was a stationary target. Hitting the guidance override, he took aim and fired.

The escort group was still staring at the remnants of the snakes in disbelief. "What the hell just happened?" Cam finally managed.

"No idea," Jace muttered, "but Lance is gonna have our asses for it…" He turned back to the ship just in time to see two of the _Bolt's_ missile launchers blossom with fire. "Porra!" He dove to the ground beside Sven, as Keith shoved Cam to the sand and covered his head.

Both missiles slammed into Bokar's ship, one punching through the hull, the other hitting something inside… and the explosion was nearly enough to knock Lance off his perch. "Fuck yeah."

"Direct hit, fuel cell rupture," Pidge reported somewhat unnecessarily. Then he hesitated. "I think? It looked like a fuel cell, anyway." He'd never seen a ship like this before today either. Vince shot him a look from the other side of the bay and just shook his head slightly. It was another _interesting_ day.

Daniel grinned as the strange ship burned. "Awesome."

Standing slowly, Keith helped Cam off the ground and sighed. "You alright?"

"I think so, you?"

"Yeah."

Sven took his time getting up; he really didn't feel like it. He'd have happily taken a nap right here in the too-hot sand, after all this… though on the other hand, maybe what he needed was a shower. Yes, definitely a shower. Beside him, Jace started trudging for the rear boarding ramp—the one Lance _wasn't_ at. He knew they'd be hearing plenty about this, but he wasn't ready just yet. It seemed like a good idea; Sven and Cam both followed him.

"You're welcome, Jace!" Lance yelled over at him as he vanished into the airlock.

Keith took the ramp to where Lance was; may as well get it over with. Though Flynn spoke up over the comms first. "So here the fuck is your backup, Kogane. Want to tell us what the fuck we were backing you up against?"

"I'd be happy to, Kleid… as soon as we figure it out." All he was completely certain about was that there had been snakes, and…

"I TOLD YOU!" Lance yelled as soon as he was within earshot.

No point arguing that. "I know. Good shooting."

"Good? It was fucking amazing."

Definitely no point arguing _that_. "Who was flying?"

"Daniel." Lance finally let himself smile. "He did good."

Nobody had ordered Pidge to _stop_ minding the sensors, so he was still silently watching the ship burn. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary… until abruptly something did. "Sir, some kind of biological signature spike from the wreckage."

Flynn whirled on him, rushing over to look at the screen. "What."

"Biological…?" Keith slowly turned back to Bokar's ship… just in time to see several fiery chunks of wreckage go flying. A very large, scaly green hand emerged from the flames, then another.

With a furious hiss, a snake person that had to be twenty feet tall came climbing out of the wreck, brandishing the leading edge of one of the ship's wings like a scythe. "Bassstardssss… that _sssstingssss!"_

"Holy fucking _WHAT?"_

"Holy shit!"

"Oh, _fuck_." Keith blinked; that was the second time he'd used that word today. Must have been something about snakes. "Get inside!"

Lance had opened fire—swearing the entire time—but it didn't seem to be having any effect. Whether because he was at the edge of his effective range or simply because the _giant snake_ needed more firepower, he didn't know and probably didn't care. Emptying out his current magazine for good measure, he got his ass back inside.

"Completely. Fucking. Insufferable," Flynn muttered under his breath, sighing. Then he steeled himself. Kogane hadn't actually retaken command yet, and he was currently running around in a hallway, so… "Battle stations!"

Slamming the airlock door behind him, Jace started trudging for his battle station. "Fuck today."

"Brennan, somebody, shoot that damn thing!" Keith ordered as he ran for the bridge. "Kleid, I have command!"

_"Thank _you!"

"Don't think our missiles will lock on that thing," Hunk warned. "Any luck, little gunner dude?"

"No. Too small, no radar lock…" Daniel switched from the mass and signal scanners to infrared, though he already knew what he would get there. "And way too hot." That definitely hadn't just been directed at the targeting system.

"Next time you guys are going to fucking _listen to me_," Lance snarled, skidding onto the bridge. "What now?"

While the team argued, the snake man was moving… though he wasn't moving in on _them_. He may have been a twenty foot tall cobra monster, but the _Bolt_ was a four hundred foot long spaceship. Bokar was many things, but he wasn't stupid. Glaring at them one more time, he ran for the city.

"Follow him," Keith ordered, eyes narrowing. "Get us off the ground, we'll drop the missiles on his head if we have to."

"We uh, probably ain't gonna be getting off the ground without goin' back to find a solid surface, boss."

"Kogane, he's heading for the dig site. No way we can fire on him in there with _anything_ without collateral, and we don't have any way of knowing where the workers will take cover."

"Kuso…" It was a good point, but they couldn't just leave the snake monster alone. They were responsible for this mess. "Ideas?"

Vince hesitated. He really didn't want to contradict his superior officer, but he knew the disruptor cannon wouldn't cause splash damage. Trying to target with it would be iffy, admittedly… but it was an option… no, it wasn't a good option. He stayed silent.

Next to him in the bay, Hunk was also hesitating. But hesitating for long wasn't Hunk's style. "Uh… well, this thing can't take off from sand, but it can roll on it. And I've got a rocket launcher, and a bunch of us have got rifles, and we've got a hatch up top…"

Lance's eyes lit up. "Brilliant."

"…We're going to do _another_ Explorer Team, aren't we?" Grinning slightly, Flynn slung his own rifle over his shoulder. "Kid wrenchlings, you have the bay. Don't break anything." He ran for the nearest elevator, Hunk on his heels.

Watching them go, Vince came to a decision. "You got this, Pidge?"

The ninja blinked. "Where are you going?"

"To take the gunnery console while Daniel's flying. Just in case." He tried for a smile that came out more like a grimace. "I did those test fires fine, right?"

Pidge stared for a moment, then shrugged. "Go for it." He could monitor the bay fine by himself.

With a quick nod, Vince ran for the bridge, just as the Bolt's engines began to roar.

* * *

Bokar was, to put it mildly, _displeased_. He'd lost his ship, he'd lost his precious familiar, and he'd probably lost the use of this alias… damn it, he'd been fairly attached to this identity. Well, fine. He would just have to abandon subtlety, get off this miserable rock, and start again. Wouldn't be the first time…

Near the center of the dig site, he'd managed to find the Alliance's command post. Most of the soldiers stationed there were elsewhere, probably chasing him and the intrepid but none-too-bright bounty hunters somewhere they weren't. The ones that were left were raining fire on him; the plasma bounced harmlessly from his scales. The actual bullets were less harmless, stinging as they impacted, though more annoying than dangerous.

In return he took a swing with his makeshift scythe, knocking a couple of them over and leaving deep gashes in a couple more who didn't dodge fast enough. "I'll make thissss sssimple," he hissed. "You're going to get me a ship, and clearancccce to leave here. Or I'm going to make you very, very sssorry."

"Like hell we will!" The one he was pretty certain was the site commander took aim and bounced a plasma bolt right off his nose.

Well that was insulting. "Fine! We'll play thissss your way." He took another swing with the scythe, sending the cluster of guards scattering, and started moving in on one that had gotten himself cornered. Perhaps a hostage would clarify things for them.

A dull roar echoed somewhere in the distance. A roar he'd heard already today, not too long ago. He knew what it was, but surely he couldn't be right, because nobody could actually be that insane. Not even…

The bounty hunters' ship came howling over the horizon. _Again_. Its tires were kicking up huge plumes of sand, and there were large chunks of wire dangling from its wingtips; the fence hadn't stood a chance.

Poking his head out of the top hatch, Keith braced himself and sighted on the snake monster with his rifle. "This is such a bad idea."

"Our fucking specialty." Jace was crouched beside the disruptor cannon, holding one of the docking clamps with one hand and his duty rifle with the other. Marksmanship wasn't his specialty, per se, but it sure as fuck beat his battle station.

Lance was moving up the hull, finding a partially sheltered spot at the edge of the hyperspace thruster cowling. "This is the best idea." Dropping flat to the hull, he opened fire; opposite him, Flynn took a similar position and did the same.

A little behind Jace, Hunk was sighting with his rocket launcher. "Never BBQed snake before," he said casually. "Heard it tastes like chicken." As the medic snickered, he yanked the trigger.

Bokar had frozen in disbelief as bullets started pinging off his back. Yes, they actually were that insane. "You can't be ssseriousssss…" Turning to face the incoming ship, he promptly took a rocket to the face.

"Fuck yeah! That oughta do it!"

"The BBQ is on!"

The celebrations were cut short as the snake man swatted a few flames away, stumbling back from the impact, but otherwise just giving them an exasperated look. "Honesssstly…"

"The fuck? He's fire resistant?"

"You know," Flynn muttered, "we probably should've guessed that when we blew up his ship and he just walked out." Shaking his head, he took a couple more shots that glanced off the monster's hood.

"How are we supposed to kill this thing?"

"Apparently not with fire!"

Keith hissed as his next few shots had no more impact than anything else. "We need to find a weak spot!"

"Great idea," Lance snorted, "got a suggestion?"

"Where's a snake's brain?"

Jace shot their commander a look before returning his attention to his target. "In their head, where's _yours?"_ Keith made a mental note to smack him once the opportunity presented itself, though in all honesty he'd probably deserved that…

"It's the fucking scales," Lance growled. As Bokar looked up at them, meeting his glare with a snakey smirk, he felt his focus sharpening. "Eye sockets lead to the brain, right?"

"Usually?"

"Worth a shot."

"A literal one."

That it sure as hell was. Staring into his scope, Lance breathed out slowly and squeezed off a shot… which missed, grazing the snake man's cheek. "Fuck!"

"Fine." Bokar was still staring at Lance as the _Bolt _rolled to a halt in front of him. "We can play. I'm going to enjoy thissss." He took a running leap and sprang onto the ship's nose, slashing with his scythe and leaving a respectable dent.

Flynn gave a hiss that could've given the snake man some decent competition. "Get the _fuck _off my hull plating, _lizard_." Setting his rifle aside in favor of his sidearm, he took a shot that actually made Bokar flinch… slightly.

Pidge was still monitoring from the bay. "It's not a lizard, sir."

"Not the time, Pidge! It's a snake, it has legs, it's a fucking lizard!" He took another shot, only to have the gun jam up. For something called a Desert Eagle, it really didn't like when actual sand got into its workings. "Faex."

The yelling had gotten Bokar's attention; Lance growled in frustration. He was trying to get another shot, but it wasn't going to work out with him facing the wrong fucking direction. Scowling, he opted for the direct approach. "HEY! Asshole!"

"Oh, hell's bells, Lance…" Keith shook his head and reloaded.

Bokar took another slash at the hull, this one leaving a gash in the armor, then turned and glowered. Crouching on the _Bolt'_s nose, he took another leap… landing directly in front of Lance, forked tongue flicking merely inches from his face as he glared. "Yesssssssss?"

Smirking as the others scrambled to intervene, Lance pulled one of his pistols and dropped his sights straight over the snake's eye. "I told _you _so, too."

He fired.

This time he didn't miss.

With a shriek, Bokar staggered backwards, dropping the makeshift scythe and tripping over it as he clutched his bleeding eye. As he flailed to recover, he staggered right in front of the disruptor cannon.

_Oh, yikes! _Vince had been listening to the comms and hoping things weren't as bad as they sounded when suddenly _scales _filled his targeting monitor. Before he even realized it, he'd fired—was it his imagination, or had he seen a spark that actually hadn't set the console on fire?

Probably his imagination, considering the blinding light filling the monitor in the next instant. Bokar was flung bodily off the hull, sailing through the air, lightning arcing over his scales and turning them from bright green to an odd, dull brown.

After all they'd seen so far, Lance wasn't about to count on the bastard being dead this time either. Grabbing his rifle, he sighted again, squeezing off one more shot at the apex of Bokar's arc that ripped through the monster's other eye… and the _rest _of him. As the group on the hull watched in stunned silence, he fell out of the air, bounced off the _Bolt_'s nose, and hit the ground hard.

"That was _seriously _badass," Hunk whispered.

Keith's immediate thought was Jace, who'd been right next to the disruptor cannon when it fired. "Doc, are you okay?"

"Que fucking porra!"

Snort. "Yep, he's okay."

Scrambling forward, nearly slipping on snake blood, Lance peered over the edge of the ship to see if he was actually staying down this time. What he saw was a motionless snake monster curled in a shallow pit of sand. Falling back, he exhaled, feeling it turn into a ragged laugh of triumph. "I _hated _that guy."

Flynn came up next to him, having a look at the scene. "We noticed."

"I was right."

"We've heard."

"Did you see that shot?"

"Sure did." Smirk. "Whoever's on the cannon nailed him."

Lance rolled his eyes, but returned the smirk, accepting Flynn's hand to stand back up. "Sure, they did good too."

"Shut her down, Brennan." Keith dropped back through the hatch, motioning for the others to follow. "Let's go make absolutely certain this snake is dead."

As the group disembarked, Daniel paused at the top of the boarding ramp and looked sadly at the snake monster's remains. "Is it wrong that I think he was still hot as a snake?"

Lance and Pidge both eyed him, one notably more disgusted than the other. "Kid, we need to have a conversation about your taste."

"Given the ambient temperature, it seems accurate." Both Daniel and Lance rolled their eyes at that; they'd heard that joke already today. Though the ninja probably wasn't joking.

"Dude." Cam shook his head slowly. 'You've got some _strange _definition of hot."

Lance was admiring his handiwork; that had been _extremely _satisfying. He could see and hear the guards approaching, but he really didn't care. They'd bagged a snake, nobody could complain all that much.

Hopping off the ramp, Jace walked up to Bokar and kicked him; the scales didn't seem very solid anymore. Flynn eyed him. "Is that a medical test?"

"Is now." Beside him, Sven snorted. It seemed valid enough.

Hunk shook his head slowly. "Dude… what even _was _that?"

"_That_ is a Najari," a sharp voice snapped from behind them. The guards had arrived, with the site commander at their head. "Infamous as looters and smugglers."

Several of the team blinked. "Wait, giant snake-summoning snake-people are a known thing around here?"

"Around archaeological and historical sites, yes. They're known for their skills with quantum camouflage and decoys… and this was a very old and powerful one, based on the size." Of course, she wasn't preparing to thank them for ending the threat. "Why _exactly _did you bring it here?"

"Yeah guys," Lance grumbled, "why did you _do _that?"

Keith sighed, looking at the Director and saluting weakly. "We're on a mission of the utmost importance to the Alliance. We needed him to—" Flynn elbowed him. Hard. In the same side he'd had injured on Takrekul; he gasped slightly. "Gods dammit, Kleid…"

His second gave him a brief apologetic look before turning his attention back to the Director. "What he means is, we were here undercover trying to find your looter."

"Yeah," Jace agreed, giving Flynn a slight kick in the calf. Just to make it clear he'd noticed the elbow. "You know, the one that's been eating your workers."

"Nobody told you because they thought it might be an inside job. Looks like it wasn't. You're welcome."

"He ate people?" Lance muttered to Sven, who grimaced and shook his head. It wasn't worth explaining. "I fucking knew it!"

The site commander seemed to have been rendered speechless by their sheer audacity, which certainly wasn't the worst response they could have gotten. Finally Hunk decided someone ought to break the awkward silence, and looked up at the mess Bokar had made of the _Bolt'_s nose. "So uh, you guys got a proper repair pad around here we can use?"

She stared at him for a very long moment. "…Yes. You can use our port facilities. As long as you promise to _stay in your berth_ and _not help us ever again_."

A few of them couldn't quite suppress the snickers at that; even Keith had to cover it with a cough. "Yes ma'am." He gestured to the rest of the team. "Load up, let's get back to port."

"And on the way," Lance added, "I'm going to spend at least fifteen minutes expounding on the meaning of the words _I TOLD YOU SO."_

Sigh. "Of course you are."

* * *

Tanner sat listening to the sound of the caves… every sound possible. From the drips of moisture from one side of the dark, to the mumbles of some of the elders sleeping on the other side. With the prince in this shelter and no word on his father or sister, his guards had been extra vigilant. Supposedly there was an expansion tunnel that led to other areas, but Tanner never moved even between caves unless someone had doubled checked it first.

He could understand it, despite being frustrated beyond measure. The shelter felt like a prison. He wanted to stretch his legs, move about, have some light… be _useful_. But it seemed like his guards, Captain Sherion especially, were second guessing themselves at times. If anything happened to him on their watch, it could be disastrous. So, no risks.

Perhaps it was their numbers. There were only so many of them available to look after him, and… Tanner shifted on his makeshift bed. There were many civilians with them that were in need of help. So many scared at times. This was as foreign to them as it was to him, and the tunnels and caves were strange. He could sense things moving about sometimes… it could have been people, it could have been creatures, it could have been ghosts. It creeped him out at times. But he would remind himself of his place and his duty. He would be strong, and he _would_ see his family again.

For now… it was best to wait and listen. Making himself a burden would help nothing.

A sudden growl startled him, until he realized it was his stomach. He pulled a small bag to himself, retrieving a morsel from the last time he ate. It was some kind of processed ration, kind of bland, but it was filling. Being the prince didn't, and shouldn't, mean he had anything special under these circumstances.

He frowned at the bite he took, though. There was a kind of earthy aftertaste to it. Very slight, but enough to notice. Grabbing a small glow light to inspect his food, he didn't see any odd growth or molds on it. There wasn't even an off smell. He took another, smaller bite to see if he was just imagining it. Yes… there it was.

Letting it sit in his mouth for a bit, he finally shrugged. Maybe some dirt had been kicked into his bag and that was the reason. Didn't change the fact that he was still a bit hungry and needed to eat.

He had to keep his strength up, to be ready when he finally returned to his family. That was the most important part.


	16. Reroute to Remain

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 15_  
Reroute to Remain

* * *

As promised, the team had been permitted to use Khoru's port facilities the repair the _Bolt_. They had not been permitted to use anything else, touch anything else, or leave their berth for anything but arranging the initial delivery of new hull plating. That meant no use of their subspace relay to report to Hawkins, who was probably going to get what Hunk had termed a 'nastygram' for their little adventure. It also meant no connecting to the Alliance's full intelligence database—they were limited to what the ship carried. Which was none too shabby, but didn't have the depth they might have preferred.

Pidge was sitting at the conference table with his datapad linked to the ship, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at him. He didn't like being the center of attention at all. At least the research itself was keeping him focused… he was typing quickly, scanning through information as it came up, trying to get a solid overall picture before reporting his findings. It was all pretty much leaning one way.

"He did say the name wouldn't be any use to us without an introduction." Flynn was sitting on the table, watching him type, trying to catch any glimpse of the information—though it wasn't doing him any good, it was all in Baltan.

"Yeah, he even _warned_ us we'd get nothing," Lance muttered from where he was leaning against the wall. "Snake."

"No doubt." The ninja frowned slightly. "But maybe he was a bit overconfident about how many people named 'Glethaun of the Sixth River' exist in the galaxy."

"Oh, he was over-_con_-fident," their pilot snorted, earning a glare from Jace.

"You've been insufferable enough about this without the fucking _puns_."

"I saved your asses."

Keith sighed. "We got it, McClain."

"Good. Hopefully next time I say _don't trust a guy_, I actually get listened to!"

"We will do our best to heed your warning next time," Sven promised before Jace could say anything else; Lance grinned.

"Heed? Good word, Viking."

Rolling his eyes and drumming his fingers on the table, Keith decided it was about time to get back to business. "So, Stoker. What do we have on this… Glethaun?"

"Drule, likely Seventh Kingdom origin." Glethaun was not at all an uncommon name among the Drules, it turned out. The Sixth River, though, was the sort of title one only claimed out of arrogance; it was a mythological reference to a paradise of extraordinary wealth. He'd basically named himself Glethaun the Filthy Rich. "Known to Alliance intel as a major underworld player rimward of the Fourth Kingdom Incursion Zone. Smuggling, drug running, blackmail, protection schemes. Possible assassinations, but that's never been definitively proven."

Several eyebrows around the table had risen progressively higher as Pidge went down the list. "So… all around bad guy, got it."

"What a _lovely_ resume for the employer of Shady Snake Voldemort." As usual, only Hunk snickered at Lance's reference. "What a shock."

Pidge was still reading. "His opsec is tight. Intel believes his operation is based on a planet called Dradin, right on the edge of No Man's Land." He scrolled down a bit more. "He runs an organization called the Zengara Syndicate. Alias Boss Dread."

"Boss Dread," Keith repeated. "Doesn't sound very… welcoming."

"Kind of gives the game right away, doesn't he?" Flynn agreed.

Lance tilted his head. "Cool name…"

"Okay, now you sound like Lance again," Hunk snickered, earning a grin in return.

"…But do we really wanna contact the guy _that guy_ told us about?"

Jace and Sven both eyed him. "You got any better ideas?"

"It's the most promising lead we have right now."

If he were being honest, Keith thought Lance was right. He also knew better than to actually _say_ Lance was right; they were already never going to hear the end of it. Instead he looked at Pidge again. "Any known associates that might be easier to get in touch with? …And maybe a little less shady?"

The ninja was quiet for a few moments. "Nothing coming up. The Syndicate itself…" He scrolled a little more, then shook his head. "'Consult report .539.2'. Nothing in the general database."

Lance shrugged. "Well fine, we can go to him. Just suggest not being stupid about it this time."

"We weren't that stupid about it last time," Flynn protested. "For us."

"You—well not you specifically—you all walked a criminal right to his goods!"

"A very pretty criminal," Daniel mumbled.

Luckily, Lance didn't hear that, because Jace had spoken up at the same time. "And how'd it work out for him?"

"I killed him!"

"Vince helped."

"I did?" Vince startled a little. He supposed he had, but it had kind of been half reflex and half panic.

"You did, it was pretty epic."

"Yeah, that was an awesome shot."

Heat was creeping up Vince's neck and ears; he wasn't sure how to handle all this attention. Maybe Hunk noticed. Maybe he was just being himself. "Daniel helped too!"

"Yes, epic piloting."

"I _was_ pretty epic."

"And my kill shot was the _most_ epic."

Keith smirked. "It took you two shots to bring him down. Not that impressive."

"Did you even do anything?" Daniel muttered, earning a jab from Cam.

"It was perfectly serviceable," Flynn murmured at the same time. Lance glared; he winked.

Unable to wholly hide his smirk, their pilot shook his head and turned his attention back to the boss. "He was a _giant snake_. It was impressive!"

Nobody seemed ready to keep that argument up; Pidge gave the silence a few seconds. "Dradin is interesting."

"How so, Pidge?" Sven was also eager to get back to the actual business.

"Yes, apologies, Stoker. Please continue."

"Independently held planet. No native life. The Alliance and Supremacy both acknowledged a diplomatic claim on it about twenty years ago, from a Karkinosi businessman named Argos Mansetti." The ninja leaned back slightly. "By 'businessman' I mean another smuggler."

"Argos Mansetti?" Lance grinned slightly. "I like it." It might not have had the badass points of Boss Dread, but given how things had gone with the snake that might be just as well.

"So Dradin is…" Keith trailed off a moment, trying to remember the exact phrasing. "…a wretched hive of… scum and villainy?"

"Ooh, Boss dropping the pop culture!"

"I do listen to all of you occasionally. Not much choice."

"It doesn't seem to be, sir." Pidge, as usual, simply opted not to acknowledge whatever nonsense was being thrown about this time. "Its primary industry appears to be tourism."

"Tourism?" For a moment he wondered if that was a euphemism, but no; if the Alliance knew there was smuggling going on, they'd say smuggling. It had caused the occasional diplomatic incident. "What kind of tourism?"

"Y'know, now that you say that, I'm pretty sure I've heard of Dradin…" Hunk leaned over Pidge's shoulder to have a look. It didn't help him, he couldn't read Baltan either. But a moment later the room's main screen lit up with a riot of bright colors and flashing lights.

"Welcome to fabulous Dradin!" an excited voice boomed. "Come for a relaxing getaway—or all the adventure you can handle! Visit the Spur-famous Leisuredrome, see the—" That was about when Pidge recovered enough to mute the ad, though it kept playing, splashing images of everything from fancy cocktail galas to huge twisted roller coaster tracks over the screen.

"…Really?"

"Holy shit, it's Vegas!"

"Wow…"

"We're going, right?"

"I remember now!" Hunk's eyes had lit up as he watched the commercial. "The galactic crush car finals were there a few years back, the place got all sorts of coverage, it looked _epic_."

Keith grimaced, wondering for a moment how this mission had gone from libraries to _this_. But… "Well, if that's where our intel is leading us, that's where we're going."

"Yes!"

"This is gonna be fucking awesome!" Lance nudged Flynn, who looked like he was still trying to sort out what he'd just watched. "Don't worry, I won't let an Elvis impersonator marry us, no matter how drunk we get." …_Shut up!_

"Yeah," Jace snorted, "wouldn't want to subject the poor Elvis impersonator to that." He turned his attention to Sven and smirked; the Viking in Vegas could be _fun_.

"Wait, who's getting married to an Elvis impersonator?" It was the first time Cam had spoken—he was trying to lay low around Pidge—but he couldn't keep that one down.

Lance breathed a long sigh of relief at the derailment, though he noted Flynn pointedly not looking at him and winced. "It was a joke, Cam, relax." _It was just a joke_.

"You need better material," Daniel snorted.

Vince had a whole different concern on his mind. "What's an Elvis impersonator? I mean, who is Elvis?"

"I would like to know that as well," Sven agreed. He was equally pointedly ignoring the smirk Jace had shot his way; he'd _heard_ things about Vegas, and could only imagine what debauchery the medic was planning.

Since Lance had apparently been struck speechless, Hunk fielded the question. "He's the King of Rock and Roll, bro! People will try to tell ya he's dead, but don't believe it."

"…Ooookaaaay…" That clarified next to nothing.

"I thought that was Michael Jackson…?"

"Oh! I know him!"

"Michael Jackson was the King of _Pop_," Lance finally managed to grumble. "How do I survive with you people?"

Keith was wondering the same thing. "Alright, let's get back on track. Stoker, this Mansetti, anything else on him?"

Pidge had been working on that; he certainly hadn't minded having the rest of the team _not_ breathing down his neck for a few minutes as he did so. "He seems pretty benign, as smugglers go. Most of his fortune was made sneaking through local restrictions rather than conventional contraband, so he's unwelcome on quite a few planets but never really ran afoul of any interstellar authorities. At least not enough for them to go after him."

That sounded way more attractive than a dude that snake had pointed them to. Lance crossed his arms. "I like this guy."

Keith nodded slowly. "He may be a safer option than this… Boss Dread."

"Dradin has undergone some major new development recently. Publicly he claims it's his retirement project. Intel doesn't believe he's retired. Further information in report .48679." Pidge looked up. "He sounds less risky, but he does also seem to have a Drule mafia organization operating right under his nose."

"I would think he'd notice that," Vince muttered, drawing a few answering nods.

The ninja was typing quickly. "Intel can't confirm any operational links between Mansetti and Boss Dread. They also can't rule it out."

"Maybe not, but it's best to have options," Keith mused. "If he does have a link, maybe he can set up a meeting for us. If not, we're no worse off than we are now."

Flynn frowned thoughtfully. "If he owns the planet and is advertising it as legitimate entertainment, he must be more… restrained than a criminal overlord?"

"Wait, the famous smuggler who owns the planet might _not_ be able to pull as much bullshit as the shady crime boss?" Jace demanded. "That's what we wanna go with?"

"…Possibly?"

"Yep."

"Unless we want to walk into the underworld blind, I think the planet owner is the best option," Keith said in a tone that made it clear the matter was settled.

Shrug. "Just checking."

"Alright. Pidge, what might be the best way to get in touch with this Mansetti?"

The pause was worryingly long this time. "Uncertain. I wouldn't suggest going through the Alliance's diplomatic channels. Relations appear strained."

"Understood. Bounty hunter personas and improvising, then."

"Strained between who?" Flynn muttered under his breath. "The Alliance and Mansetti, or the Alliance and _us?"_

"I definitely feel my relationship with the Alliance is strained," Lance agreed. "We're complicated on Spacebook."

Vince and Daniel eyed him. "People still use Spacebook?"

"Old people."

"Ahhh."

Most of the team snickered; Lance didn't. "Again. _Joke_." Maybe he needed to teach people around here some humor, along with pop culture and beer.

Hunk tried to back him up, at least. "Spacebook is definitely a joke."

"Alright, _focus!"_ Keith barked. The thought of starting to run some early morning drills was wandering through his mind… they had a job to do. A bizarre job, but a job nonetheless.

"But focusing is so boring," Daniel whined. "And hard."

Their commander wasn't dignifying that with a response. "This could be our most dangerous stop yet, folks. Smuggler-owned planet, possible mob entanglements, who knows what we could be getting into here." Talking about something more dangerous than kangaroo guardians and giant snakes made his side twinge slightly, but he had no doubt it was the truth. "We need to find a way to get that report to Hawkins, sooner rather than later."

"Yes, definitely because _this_ is going to be dangerous. Not because the Khoruns want our asses nailed to the wall."

"Why not both?"

"If they'd just _listened_ to me…"

Keith glared. "Yes. Both. The point remains."

"We'll have to go through the Atlantis Sector to get to Dradin," Pidge offered. "It's on the other side of the Break."

"We can wait, then." The Break was the nickname for the small area where No Man's Land directly bordered Earth's Five Sectors. The sectors themselves were heavily developed; that particular stretch of the border even more so. Getting access to a subspace relay there for an 'important military matter' should be doable. "Though, I'd still like it to be as soon as possible. Sven, I want the quickest route to Dradin, ASAP."

The navigator was not wholly convinced he wanted to reach Dradin that fast. But they did have a mission to accomplish. "Yes sir."

"We're goin' to _Dradin, baby!"_ Hunk crowed, high-fiving anyone willing to cooperate—so, Lance and Daniel. And smacking Jace lightly on the back of the head, just on principle.

_I'm going to regret this, aren't I?_ Sighing, Keith stood. There wasn't really anything else to be done. _We go where the mission takes us._ "If there's nothing else, dismissed."

* * *

The plan lasted about a week. Which was, to be fair, pretty good for the 686.

Sven was on the bridge prepping some contingency routes when a low beep sounded from his monitors; one glance gave him a strong sense of deja vu. He gave a deep sigh, mixed feelings churning in his gut. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Sir." The word summoned Keith's attention from whatever he was doing to his command chair. Sven remembered him saying something about it needing adjusting, but he was already focusing on the needed equations for the spatial rift forming ahead of them. If they decided to hitch a ride on it, the sooner he got started the better.

"Yes, Holgersson?"

"We've got a rift, sir."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "A rift? After last time?"

"It would shoot us past both Drule territory and No Man's Land, and shave our route time down significantly." The navigator hadn't looked up from his math during that entire statement.

Keith glanced between him and Lance, who had immediately started up some pre-rift stretching. "Give me some more details, Holgersson. What, how, where, when, and… why?"

Sven blinked. That was too many questions, a few seemed irrelevant, but orders were orders he supposed. "A rift, I don't have sufficient time to explain how a rift forms, close to our current position, in a few minutes, and as to why… to shave time off our very long trip?" His tone held a hint of annoyance; Lance snickered, while Keith glared.

"Doc would be proud of you, smartass, but he'll murder you for suggesting this if you do end up sick again."

Sven didn't feel the need to point out that Jace wouldn't murder him. Endlessly mock him, most definitely, but no murder. He did however feel the need to defend himself against the accusation that he was _suggesting_ this nonsense. "I answered your questions, and I am not suggesting anything." He had little desire to heave out his stomach contents, _again_, but he'd be failing utterly at his job if he didn't mention it. "I am making my commander aware of our options."

…Well, nobody could accuse the Viking of insufficient commitment to his duty. Keith could appreciate that. Especially with how things had been going lately… he sighed and hit the comms. "Kleid, prep the bay for a rift. Doc, get your biometric sensors out, and find a place you can strap in." As he finished the orders he strapped himself in, with Lance finishing his stretches and doing likewise. "All hands, prepare for rift jump."

"Ooh, Viking gonna lose his guts again?" Jace snickered. "On my way."

"Copy," Flynn responded, turning to his wrenchlings. "Hunk, you take the hyperspace thrusters, I'll watch the main engines. Vince, you're on shield calibration. Pidge, monitor the main console."

"Yes sir…" Vince swallowed. "Are rift jumps as bad as they say?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"On if ya win the vomit lottery," Hunk offered.

"Oh… I'd like to stay not winning that. I've never vomited." For a moment everyone, even Pidge, turned to stare at him in shock; he nodded a little sheepishly. "I haven't."

"Some veteran advice then: don't start!" Hunk patted his shoulder, then took off for an auxiliary panel.

Daniel and Cam came running onto the bridge, taking their stations and strapping in. Cam looked over at Keith. "What exactly are we about to do here?"

Even if Keith had felt qualified to answer that question, they didn't have time. Someone could explain it properly later. "Just buckle in and pray you don't get sick, Starr."

"Viking, your math gonna tell me how hard this is gonna be on my shoulders?" Lance asked.

"It does not tell me that, Lance."

"Knew it was a long shot." Their pilot began doing a few more stretches in his chair, hoping his muscles wouldn't be too sore this time.

Flynn was working on the engine syncing. It was a bit more difficult on the _Bolt_ than it had been on the _Firecrown_; having hyperspace thrusters to sync with as well really made a mess of things. "Send us those numbers when you can."

Right as he asked Sven was finishing them up. "They are on their way."

Not a moment too soon. Jace jogged onto the bridge, arms filled with bio monitors. "Big Brother is here for your biometrics."

"Just slap them on me and get it over with," Lance groaned, watching as Sven grabbed the bridge's trash can and moved it over towards his chair. "Viking, maybe you'll get lucky this time."

"I'm hopeful." He was. _Very_ hopeful.

"Hope must always spring eternal—OW!" Lance yelled as Jace slapped his bio sensor on a little harder than necessary.

Daniel had been silently watching everyone, and as they talked his face scrunched up in slight worry. He strapped himself into his chair. "This is going to be interesting, huh?"

"It'll fucking suck, just pray you don't throw up."

Daniel looked at Lance and nodded; that was in no way reassuring. Cam wasn't reassured either, watching the exchange and tightening his straps in response. Jace moved away from Lance and walked over to Sven, quickly putting his sensors on, absently glancing over his shoulder as he did so. He blinked and did a double take.

"…Uh, Viking, is that showing where we're actually going?" His tone was unusually tense.

"Yes," Sven responded calmly

Jace looked at the bright yellow line going straight through the Fourth Kingdom Incursion Zone. "…Not to tell you your business, but that looks like a really, really long fucking way through space we're really, really not fucking allowed in." As he hooked up everyone else's sensors, he glanced back at the monitor every few seconds as if wishing that the image would change.

Lance, hearing him, pulled the image up on his own monitors. "Whoa…"

"Fuck," Daniel said with a raised brow, glancing at Lance's monitors.

"We'll be fine. We're not stopping for souvenirs," Keith told them. Sven nodded in agreement.

"It's not physically possible for us to actually stop there, so it will be okay." He opted not to explain the other half of that equation—any attempt to stop a ship in the middle of a rift jump would also smash it into a few tiny scraps of foil. That would definitely not help reassure anyone.

Jace eyed him warily, muttering under his breath as he put on Cam's monitors. "And this is why I fucking hate space travel, I'd bitch a lot more if it weren't _you_ doing the math."

"Understood." Sven smiled.

"Just think, Doc, this was his idea." Keith grinned.

Sven swiveled his chair and glared, he'd had quite enough of this. He wasn't even sick yet. "Next time a rift opens up I will be sure to keep my mouth shut, sir."

Lance snickered at the Viking being sassy, and Keith chuckled. "Just make sure you throw up in the trash."

With a great deal of effort, Sven kept his mouth shut and fought the urge to deck his commanding officer. _Is this what Daniel feels like all the time?_

Speaking of Daniel, he was the last one Jace was hooking up. And he looked nervous. "What are you all jumpy about?" the medic asked. "This rift thing is reckless and stupid, you'll love it."

"I'm not jumpy, I just… I'm not the one piloting." Reckless and stupid sounded so much more enticing when he had at least some control of the outcome.

"Yeah, thank fuck." Last thing Jace wanted was the kid piloting them through this.

"It's always so nice talking to you," Daniel snarked.

"Hey, at least one of us enjoys it!" Jace shot right back, finishing with his monitors and heading off to the bay.

The _Bolt_ was starting to rattle violently as they approached the rift well. Lance would have expected a larger ship to be sturdier, but he supposed it also had more surface area for the fluctuations to hit. Cam braced against the jolting and tried not to pull on his sensors. _At least these don't poke us with needles, but… _"These things suck."

"Don't fiddle with them, Jace will poke you harder," Lance warned.

"Are they supposed to itch?" Cam asked, rubbing one of the pads.

"Don't mention the _itch_."

"But they do itch," Daniel countered. Lance ignored him, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that. He had to focus on keeping the ship steady, not the fact that the monitors did indeed itch like a bitch.

"Send me the details on our entry when ready, Viking." Immediately the acceleration and trajectory equations appeared on his screen, and he nodded. Time to do some awesome. Though the numbers seemed… optimistic?

"How long will we be in the rift, Holgersson?" Keith asked.

"Can we really shoot that far?" Lance asked right after.

"We will be in the rift a little longer than last time, but not by much, and yes we can. The HPR drives have increased our speed which increases our rift jump range," Sven explained.

"Awesome." Lance grinned. This sounded even more fun than the last rift.

_HPR drives?_ Flynn looked up from calibrating the engines to shoot a dirty look at the comms. "Honestly, Holgersson. You're getting enough grief right now without using the _unrepresentative academic term_ for my hyperspace thrusters."

Sven shook his head; apparently this was pick on the Viking day? _When did Jace become the most enjoyable person here?_ "I don't understand your issue with my usage of the correct terminology."

"Hyperspace thrusters sound cooler," Lance informed him. "By a fucking lot."

"After the jump we can discuss the differences between mass-burning engines and zero-propellant drive theories if you like," Flynn offered. "Might put you to sleep, but if you do get sick you'll need the rest?"

"I am sick… of _all of them_," Sven muttered to himself.

"Nah, Viking, you love me." Lance reached over and gave him a playful swat, then started skimming the rift well to get the _Bolt_ into position. This was going to be _good_.

Jace entered the engine bay, glancing around quickly. There was not a place to strap in, per se, but there were bracing bars for the poor saps who had to be standing and running around in here during crazy maneuvers. "I'm camping back here with you assholes," he announced, starting to hook up monitors.

Shrugging, Vince just nodded at him. _If I do get sick at least he'll be close._

"Fine, don't touch anything," Flynn ordered, watching the medic finish up and secure himself at an empty station. "Kogane, we're set back here."

"Alright. McClain, take us in."

In the back of the bay, Pidge and Vince exchanged looks as they braced themselves. Pidge was intrigued; he'd never been on a rift jump before. The Alliance frowned upon its line ships performing such risky maneuvers. Vince was much less intrigued; he was just holding his breath and telling himself over and over that everything would be fine.

Daniel and Cam were exchanging similar looks. But their attention was quickly redirected to Lance leaning forward slightly, hands tight on the control rods, as the _Bolt's _engines spooled up to full power. A moment later they were hurtling forward into a seething mass of color and light.

"WOOHOO!" Lance cried out, a huge grin on his face as he wrestled with the controls. This would _never _get old.

Daniel laughed, all his previous nervousness vanishing in an instant as the ship lurched. Cam's nervousness hadn't gone anywhere. "This is crazy. He's crazy. We're all crazy!" Keith had his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing, or he might have offered some agreement.

Flynn listened as the _hyperspace thrusters_ made a deafening shriek, very unlike the standard engines as they tore through the rift. A few moments later they were drowned out by Vince's own shriek.

"Oh holy heck!"

"Fuck, kid, the word is 'fuck'," Jace corrected, tightening his hold on the bracing bar.

"The word is WHEEEE!" Hunk re-corrected.

Vince considered that a moment, clinging tighter to his own bar. "I'm agreeing with Jace."

"Hey, you _are_ smart."

"It's been mentioned."

Mercifully, Pidge missed the entire conversation; he had his hands over his ears because of the engine noise. His full focus was on the console in front of him, the occasional adjustments to the ship's power distribution, and trying not to be thrown across the bay as the turbulence increased.

"This is _awesome!"_ Daniel crowed as they approached the final stretch. Sven cracked an eye open, glaring. He was already not finding this awesome; he half expected the hull to fall apart around them, the way the ship was being bounced about.

Lance was keeping them on track with all his might, and quickly called off the gunner's celebration. "Hold on, the hard part is coming."

At the same time Flynn heard the engines change pitch, indicating they were about to flame out. A deep rumble echoed from somewhere below the bay; as the engines sputtered, the breach drive was barely holding its containment field together. "Exit breach incoming!"

The _Bolt_ burst back into real space, spinning to a stop with what Lance would call a fucking flourish. All of the engines went dead silent; the lights went out for a few moments before backup power kicked on.

"Fucking ow…" Lance threw his straps off and stretched, feeling like his shoulders had been encased in cement. The warm-up stretches hadn't helped even a little.

Daniel jerked around, his equilibrium a bit off, before managing to get out of his own restraints. He was laughing. "Still awesome!"

"Try flying it, kid… eh, never mind. It _is_ fucking awesome," Lance agreed.

Keith slowly opened his eyes. Everything looked intact, but he'd believe it when he had confirmation. "Status reports as soon as systems come back up."

Pidge slowly pulled his hands away from his ears, looking around the suddenly dead silent engine bay. "Mijtairra…"

"Whatever you said, ninjerk." Jace unclenched his hands from the bracing bar, checking his scanners.

Vince cracked an eye open. He wasn't sure when he'd closed them; he was supposed to be watching the ship's shield calibration. Looking around, he flinched slightly as he noticed Flynn watching him. The chief looked amused. "Shields alright?"

He checked his monitors and nodded. "Minimal disruption. They're resetting now."

Pidge checked the main status panel without prompting. "Backup systems are optimal. Engines are down."

"…Yes. Thank you, Pidge." Flynn gave a half smile. "Keep an eye on things."

Sven's eyes were still shut tight, though it wasn't helping the nausea ripping through him. At all. He had absolutely zero intentions of giving any sort of status report, because _holy Odin_ this had to be worse than last time. Finally he managed to yank his straps off and rush towards the trash can he'd moved earlier.

"Oh, ugh… Viking, you're cursed." Lance winced in sympathy, and then in pain as his own curse reasserted itself. He leaned back and rubbed his shoulders, wincing. "Damn it, those stretches were useless."

"Oh god…" Cam felt his stomach start to quiver, quickly covering his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of Sven retching. It wasn't working.

Sven for his part was oblivious to what was going on around him, he was far more focused on how an entire body could be nauseous. How did his _fingers_ feel like heaving? If this was what an HPR-drive-assisted rift jump did to him, no way in _hell_ was he ever going to mention a rift again.

As the bridge struggled with the aftereffects, Vince came to a realization. "Oh hey, still on Team No Vomit!"

"Good!" Jace shook his head slowly, checking Hunk's monitor. It looked okay. A certain other monitor very much did not. "Giant donut dude, if you get queasy, sit your ass down and I'll come back. Viking needs me, _rapidamente_."

Hunk grinned. "Awwwwwww!"

"Fuck you!" Jace snapped before bolting from the bay.

Lance was listening to the comms, and laughed as he overheard the exchange. "Don't worry, Sven, your man is on his way!" Keith blinked and decided to just pretend he hadn't heard that. Cam didn't hear anything except Sven—it was impossible to ignore, and he couldn't hold out any longer. He grabbed another trash can.

"Ew." Daniel swallowed back a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the rift. "Oh, that's nasty. I'm leaving." He unfastened his straps and fled the bridge, nearly colliding with Jace as he entered.

The medic looked around, checked his scanner again, and raised an eyebrow. "Starr, knock that shit off, there's nothing wrong with you."

Cam looked up at him and grimaced. "I know. I hate being a sympathy puker…"

"Sympathy does suck," Jace agreed with a snort. He grabbed a couple of pills from his kit and handed them over anyway, then headed over to Sven. "Dude, your readings are _fucked_."

"Hnn." It was the only sound of agreement Sven could manage.

"Let's get you out of here." Jace handed him a sterile bag to replace his trash can. "Next time you're gonna navigate from the sick bay."

Sven leaned into him as they stood up. "Not doing it again," he managed before burying his face in the bag.

"Atta boy." Jace patted his shoulder. "That's our fearless Viking." It was so nice to have a real sick bay he could drag the dude to this time… and he really did pretty much half drag him from the bridge.

Hunk took a few experimental steps around the bay, waiting to see if the world would go all spinny on him. Everything seemed alright. He looked at the silent engine shafts for a moment. "What's the plan, pit boss?"

"We'll check the main engines. You take the left side. Vince, Pidge, basic inspection on the hyperspace thrusters," Flynn ordered. Vince nodded, and he and Pidge departed for the elevators—those maintenance shafts were on the deck below.

Inspection went quickly and smoothly, which was Flynn's favorite kind of inspection. Engine four took a couple of test fires to recover, but at least it hadn't undergone any catastrophic damage. Or non-catastrophic damage, even, it had just been a bit stubborn. He couldn't really blame it. After the abuse they'd just put this ship through, he might be a little stubborn too.

As he emerged from the engine shaft to wait for the kids, he glanced over at Hunk, who was poking at his datapad. A moment later, music filled the bay—he didn't recognize it, but he could make out the words _we are the crazy ones_, which seemed apt. "Is that entirely necessary?"

"Entirely, pit boss!"

"Okay, carry on." He smirked. "At least you wore pants this time, thanks for that."

Hunk burst into laughter loud enough to drown the music out.

Pidge and Vince returned a couple of minutes later, bearing good news: the hyperspace thrusters had survived the jump as well. "Kogane, the engines are fine, we'll have them firing at full in ten. Breach drive needs to reset itself."

"Roger that, Kleid. McClain, you alright to get us started towards Dradin?" Keith asked.

Lance gave a wide smile, the ache in his shoulders immediately forgotten. "Fucking good for planet Vegas."

Keith nodded, standing to check the navigation coordinates. They were right where they were supposed to be… then he hesitated, checking the map again and realizing where they'd actually turned up. Quite near to Dradin… on the other side of the Break. Closing his eyes, he mentally kicked himself; he really should have thought of that at the time.

Oh well. They would probably hit Dradin faster now than they would have made the Atlantis Sector before. "Good. Get us moving, then. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can move forward on our mission…" He shook his head. "And hopefully use their subspace relay."

_Explorer Teams. As usual._

* * *

Being the only person willing to brave the Forest of Altair had been serving Larmina well so far. It meant she wasn't competing for rolis with anyone else—which both meant more meat for everyone, and her kill count easily starting to surpass Hanso. But she hadn't seen any banewolves. And even in the forest, the oncoming winter was making its presence felt.

There was no sign of any rolis at all today, and she sighed, stopping to lean against a tree trunk. At the least she'd be able to bring some berries back to the tunnels, but berries would hardly make a dent in the problem…

A familiar yip sounded off to her left.

Turning, she saw two banewolves approaching—one blacker than the shadows around them, the other pure white and nearly glowing in the filtered sunlight. She froze for a moment, watching in awe. _There they are._ The same ones who'd helped her before? They had to be, didn't they?

They weren't alone, she realized after a moment. Smaller shadows were trailing behind them.

_Are those… puppies?_

One of the little shadows broke ranks and ran at her, growling and yipping excitedly, batting at the loose strap on her boots with one paw. Yes, _definitely_ puppies. They were varying shades of gray, with darker paws and markings, unlike the adults.

"Are these yours?" she asked, as the white banewolf wagged its tail and watched her. The black one nudged a few others forward, and a moment later she was surrounded by tiny, leaping balls of fluff.

_I guess that means I'm allowed to do this…_

She knelt and ruffled the first pup's soft fur, giggling as it licked her face in return. "Nice to meet you." The other pups scrambled to her hand, tumbling over each other until she'd pet and scritched every single one… some probably more than once, that first one kept pushing its way back in for more.

A rustling somewhere nearby silenced them, and Larmina fell silent too. Whatever it was, it was large and _loud_, nothing like the graceful banewolves. The banewolves themselves bristled, the adults stalking forward slowly… the white one looked back as if to tell her to follow.

_Really?_

It kept staring at her until she obeyed, drawing her bow… just in case. There had never been any Drules in this forest before, but there also hadn't been Drules on Arus until all of a sudden there _were_.

The noise, it turned out, wasn't a Drule. It was a rock deer, chewing on a branch full of pale leaves. It briefly turned its head to her, but didn't seem concerned. Not that she would've been concerned either, if she'd been a hulking mass of strong muscle and sharp antlers that feared only…

…_Banewolves_.

Suddenly the pups were deadly focused, charging forward as swift and silent as the wind. The deer tried to turn and run, but the pups were too quick. And _clever_. They surrounded it before it could do anything, driving it to the ground and…

Well…

Larmina blinked, watching as the pups gnawed at the deer's fur. Their sharp claws and teeth were still tiny, and they weren't actually getting through its thick hide.

_That's a little… anticlimactic._ She bit down a wholly inappropriate giggle. This was the savagery of nature she was watching, but it was also awfully cute watching the little fluffballs scramble over the huge deer, yipping in frustration.

It stopped being cute when the black banewolf abruptly sprang forward, ripping the deer's throat open with a single efficient strike from its claws.

_Oh_. She swallowed, stepping back as the pups crowded the kill. Maybe this would be a good time to get out of here and go find some berries. Or maybe just—

—As soon as she took another step back, the white banewolf snuffled and trotted up next to her, pushing her to the right. Well, she sure wasn't going to disobey after _that_ display.

They walked together for a minute or two, then that loud rustling sound came again. Another rock deer. This one seemed not to notice her at all, fully intent on the leaves it was eating.

_Okay…_

The wolf nuzzled her hand with the bow in it, pushed its head forward to indicate the deer, then looked back at her.

_This doesn't make any sense…_

Larmina stared into the great beast's golden eyes, trying to understand what was happening here. How could it know what the bow was for? Why was it leading her to prey? This was a wild animal! And yet… the legends said the banewolves were creations of the Golden Gods, created when they overthrew the Usurpers and reclaimed Arus for their own. Could that be true? Were these creatures the agents of the gods even now?

Not that the Golden Gods had been any help to them _yet_. If her prayers had finally been answered, she wasn't about to reject it. Nodding to the wolf, she readied the bow and fired.

Her arrow flew true, piercing the beast's chest. It reared back, stomping and grunting in distress; she tried to line up a second arrow, but the way it was thrashing led to it only hitting the leg. That wasn't helpful. Wincing at the obvious pain of her quarry, Larmina reached for a third arrow.

She didn't have to use it. The banewolf sprang forward, striking a killing blow almost identical to what its mate had done to the other deer. Immediately it stilled and dropped to the forest floor.

Larmina hesitated, eyes widening as the wolf padded back to her and yipped. She knew what she'd just seen, but it was too crazy to accept. "Are you… teaching me to hunt?"

It jumped up on its hind legs, licked her face, then vanished into the undergrowth.

"…Thank you," she whispered after it, then looked back at the dead deer. With two arrows and some unbelievable help, she'd done better than a dozen rolis. This could feed the survivors for days by itself…

_So how are you going to pull this off, exactly?_

…Once she somehow dragged it back to the tunnels.

Slinging her bow over her back, Larmina grabbed one of the deer's legs and yanked with all her might, managing to budge it about an inch. Oh, this was going to be an adventure.


	17. What Happens On Dradin

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 16_  
What Happens on Dradin…

* * *

There was good news, and then there was bad news.

Good news: the rest of the trip to Dradin went smoothly.

Bad news: using the secure subspace relay on Dradin required permission from the proprietor.

Good news: Argos Mansetti, proprietor, was in fact available for appointments with anyone willing to pay the surprisingly reasonable appointment fee.

Bad news: his schedule was quite full, and he wouldn't be available until tomorrow.

Good news: the spaceport's automated concierge system had not only been able to set up the meeting, it had been able to give them directions and a room reservation that evening for a bar a few miles from the spaceport.

Bad news: it was not even close to evening. Which meant Explorer Team 686 had a whole day on Planet Vegas to get themselves into trouble… and they generally didn't have much difficulty doing that anyway.

Jace was sitting on the _Bolt's_ boarding ramp, watching the activity around the ship and wondering when he'd accidentally taken some psychotropics. This place was insane. It was like Prox's biggest Carnaval, Halloween on the Garrison, the actual Las Vegas, and Disney World had gotten together in some crazy orgy and ended up with the grandbaby from neon hell.

And that was just the spaceport. He wasn't quite sure whether he dared go beyond that or not. His tolerance for crazy had gone way up since this assignment started, but this was… a whole fucking lot of crazy.

"Doc." He heard the footsteps behind him, but didn't look up. "No Sven?"

"Hey, boss. Careful, it's a jungle out there." He snorted. "Viking gave me the slip. Here I complimented his math and nursed him back to health and hardly even made fun of him, and he runs off with Lance and the Chief because he thinks I'm gonna try to drag him to some glitzy strip club."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying you wouldn't have?"

"Oh I totally would've, you fucking kidding me?" He glanced up, smirking. "Ought to haul you to one instead, you need to learn to have some fun."

"Hey! I'm fun." The medic just gave him a _look_. "Actually I was thinking of going to check out the big martial arts convention that's apparently going on."

"…Really?" That did sound like it could be entertaining. He turned around fully. "Both of you?"

"Both…?" Blinking, Keith turned, and jumped a little; Pidge was standing right beside him. _Ninja, right_. "Well, if he wants? I won't say no to a crewmate coming along."

Pidge had really just been coming out to have a look around, but this sounded as worthwhile as anything. "Sure."

"How about two crewmates?" Jace hopped up. There was safety in numbers, and maybe the convention would be slightly less insane than… well… everything else.

"The more the merrier?" Keith shrugged.

"Sure, let's go with that." He looked at the other two and shook his head slightly. "We're on Planet fucking Vegas and we're going to a martial arts convention, how fucking on-brand are we?"

"Very."

"Doesn't that just mean we're acting appropriately?"

Jace shot Pidge a look similar to the one he'd given Keith earlier. "Yep, and so did _that_. Lead on, boss. Assuming you know where this thing's at."

"Something like that." Keith glanced at his datapad, where he'd copied down some directions. "All right. This way."

By the time they got off the spaceport grounds, they'd already waved off half a dozen robotic taxis and nearly the same number of helpful guides. Dradin certainly was welcoming to guests. Nothing so far made it look like a smuggling haven… though really, if there were shady business going on around here, who could tell?

The planet really was on the very edge of No Man's Land, and not so far from Sixth Kingdom territory either; a number of Drules were walking the streets alongside dozens of Alliance and independent races. It took a little getting used to; Keith wasn't the only one who tensed reflexively as they passed the first few. But gradually they relaxed. By the time a couple of Drule children running down the street bowled him over, not even Pidge was on edge enough to pull his knife.

"You alright?" Jace offered a hand as the kids murmured something apologetic and ran off again.

"Yeah, fine." Accepting the help, Keith pulled himself to his feet and shook his head. There were a lot of kids on this street; the booths and kiosks around them were painted with cheerful cartoons, and the nearby rides looked geared towards younger guests. For some reason he hadn't expected Dradin to have a children's section… but why not? It seemed to have everything else. "This place is wild."

"That's a word," Jace snorted. They crossed through a gate, leaving the kids' zone and entering some kind of space-themed section. The pavement was jet black with tiny stars shining through, and starship roller coaster cars whooshed by them as they headed down the street. "Not sure it's the word I'd use, but it's definitely a word."

Keith checked the street sign—Interstellar Avenue, that seemed apt—then turned them down Supernova Boulevard. "What word would you use?" Immediately he winced. _Probably don't want to know that…_

"Louco como o caralho," he retorted. Pidge gave him a confused look; he shrugged and translated. "Crazy as _fuck_."

"…On brand," Keith murmured, and opted to focus on his directions for a bit.

It was twenty minutes later when they turned onto a street full of kiosks, and all stopped on some unspoken signal. Mostly because they had definitely turned onto this very same street five minutes before.

"Great. Now what?"

"I'm starting to think we should have just gone to the bar." Rubbing his forehead. Keith studied the directions again. "This place is crazy."

"You're halfway there," the medic said, frowning.

"Halfway to where?" They weren't anywhere near the bar, and if Jace knew where the convention was he should really help them _find_ it…

Pidge was looking around at the kiosks, bewildered. They were mostly selling food. That seemed safe to assume by the fact that the patrons were eating their purchases; he'd never seen anything like any of this. One of the kiosks was literally _on fire_. Reassessing—slightly—just where humans really fit in on the scale of 'weird', he turned his focus back to his teammates just in time to catch the exchange. "I believe he meant halfway to 'crazy as fuck', sir."

"Ninja nailed it."

Keith blinked, then looked over at their excessively smug-looking medic. "You're a horrible influence."

"I was only helping him clarify?"

"I'm a fantastic influence." Smirk. "So are we lost or what?"

"…Might be," the boss admitted, sighing. "When I wrote the directions out, it didn't seem like they'd be so hard to follow."

"Commander can't read his own writing, got it."

Glare. "Mine's more legible than yours, I bet… _Doctor_."

Jace was too impressed by Keith actually sassing his profession to argue with that—he couldn't have done it in good conscience anyway. "Sure, but _I_ can read mine."

"I can read it just fine." He looked at the datapad again, then turned back to where they'd come from. "It's figuring out where this Cacophony Street is, we should be close by now."

Glancing around his shoulder to have a look, Jace shook his head slightly. "Next time I'll tie the Viking down in the sick bay, we could use him."

"And then you'd be in a strip club?"

"Ideally."

Keith grimaced. "Poor Sven."

"Truth."

As they spoke, Pidge had found a large sign with a map on it and wandered over to have a look. The map itself was only marked in symbols; it offered a key for download in various major languages. He'd just finished cross-referencing the symbols to the names on his datapad when the other two walked up to him. "Any luck, Stoker?"

"We're here." He pointed on the map. "In between the Condor Coil Coaster, Palace of Grim Jokes, Jumbo Spire, Popcorn Potato Shack, and Enchanting Rapids of Death." While he was speaking, he indicated each of the attractions both on the map and in their surroundings, then paused. He looked slightly pained. "…None of those words mean anything in those orders."

"Jumbo Spire means something, but you don't usually talk about it in polite company."

Keith glared at Jace and seriously considered smacking him. Or perhaps pointing out he didn't constitute 'polite company', though that would probably backfire. Instead he turned his focus back to the ninja. "Enchanting Rapids of Death? Really?"

"That's what the map says, sir."

Sighing, Keith started to look between the symbols and Pidge's datapad, trying to sort out the street names. The ninja handed it over and looked up as the Jumbo Spire launched a train. Jace followed his gaze. It seemed to be some combination of launch coaster and drop tower… two things he could absolutely do without. "Crazy fuckers."

"It seems like a remarkably inefficient line-to-attraction ratio." Pidge had been counting; from launch to finish, the ride lasted exactly thirty-six seconds. He imagined it would feel even shorter in the moment. And the line was, well… very, very long.

Keith glanced up for a moment before going back to the map. "Yeah. It's very popular."

"There's way easier ways to induce vomiting," Jace snorted.

"You don't like roller coasters, Doc?"

"Fuck no. Like we don't get enough near-death experiences without strapping ourselves into some bullshit little train and getting slingshotted around? Especially with McClain piloting…"

Pidge gave him a mildly annoyed look. It got more annoyed when their commander had to cough back a laugh. "His piloting is perfectly serviceable." He didn't understand the human practice of downplaying others' skills. Not only did it cause unnecessary confusion, but he was pretty certain it ran afoul of those _manners_ Flynn had lectured him on. But, whatever. He watched another train shoot up the vertical track and frowned. "It doesn't seem fun, though."

Keith nodded in understanding. "Depends on your definition of fun."

"How about not pulling five G's for no damn reason?" Jace suggested.

"That's fun… for pilots." The medic made a great show of rolling his eyes.

Having lost the thread again, Pidge looked back at the map, and blinked. There was a flyer nailed to one of the supports. He'd bypassed it initially, but… "Sir, I think I've found the problem."

"Yeah?" Turning and leaning over to read the flyer, Keith started frowning, and didn't stop.

**DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES, Cacophony Street and the Wild Fair district are currently inaccessible. The Dojo Dradin Martial Arts Fest has been relocated to Silversand Bay.**

Both of them looked from the map to Pidge's datapad, and back again. Jace came up and looked over the ninja's shoulder. "Good thing that's not literally the opposite direction from the spaceport…"

"Darn it." Right then, Keith finally found Cacophony Street. And unless his sense of direction was more warped by the chaos than he thought, they'd walked right by it, and even commented on it… because it had been barricaded, and they'd debated whether the closed street was some kind of attraction or actually just closed.

That answered that.

"Honestly also feels kind of on brand," Jace said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Never a dull moment." Shaking his head, Keith looked down the street. "Well, should we try to backtrack to the convention, or just… look around and see what we find?"

"No sense backtracking. The bar's on this side of the spaceport too."

"True."

Wandering the streets without a destination in mind quickly became overwhelming. There was either too much to take in, too much neon to see, too many people for a clear view, or all of the above. After a bit longer they all ducked beneath a small overhang and watched the people passing by, exchanging bemused looks.

"Crazy as fuck," Jace repeated quietly.

Maybe he was right. Looking around where they'd stopped, Keith caught sight of a large, looping steel track with what looked like a fairly short line. "Now there's something that looks to have decent…" What had Pidge called it? "…line-to-attraction ratio."

Jace looked around for a sign, found it, and read aloud. "The Brass Knuckle Supreme, known for its twelve inversions and the perfectly vertical 450-foot Demon's Drop…" He stopped and stepped back as if the sign itself were toxic. "Fuck _that_."

Grin. "I'm going."

"Have fun," Pidge said as flatly as he said most things.

"Don't die," Jace added, then reconsidered. "Don't puke, either, Viking won't ever let you live it down after all the grief you gave him…"

"I've yet to _puke_ on a coaster, Doc. You two going to wait or go on?"

"Hmph." The medic rolled his eyes even more theatrically, somehow. "Much as I'd like to be here to make fun of you, we may as well keep moving. See you at the bar?"

"Alright. Be careful." With a nod, he headed off for the line.

"…Be careful?" Jace repeated in disbelief. "Us?" He looked at Pidge for support, getting only a noncommittal shrug for his trouble. "We're not the ones running off to ride the Pain Train or whatever the fuck it—oh _hey!"_ As they turned he'd caught sight of something much more attractive. "Scrambler! C'mon, ninjerk, here's a _real_ ride for you!"

Pidge came up beside him, looking at the Scrambler. He didn't look at all impressed. "…Have fun, Doctor."

Snort. "Shouldn't be surprised you fuckers have no standards. Fine, catch you later." He tossed a salute and ran off.

Now Pidge was officially more confused than ever. Shrugging again, he headed down the street in the general direction of the bar; it wouldn't hurt anything to be early. But he hadn't gone particularly far when he came across a large booth surrounded by people. They seemed to be throwing small plastic rings at bottles… and missing.

_Why are they having so much trouble?_ Curious, he stopped to watch. Nobody had any technique to speak of—no surprise, they were probably all civilians—but they were certainly getting _angry_ enough when they failed. A gangly Quasnot nearly ran him over as it gave up and departed in a huff.

…_Why not? Maybe it'll be a challenge. Maybe it'll be… fun._ Watching for a moment longer, Pidge stepped up to the vacated spot.

* * *

Safety in numbers had brought two of the other kids together, with somewhat more success. Cam grinned over at Vince, who was being quiet as usual even in the face of Dradin all around them. That wouldn't last. Or maybe it would? He'd never gotten _loud_ on Halloween. Either way, it seemed like it should be impossible not to have fun in this place.

"What is it you want to look at, exactly?" Vince asked. He knew Cam wanted to get to some shopping; may as well get started.

"Not real sure." He looked around and shook his head, there was no way to narrow anything down. "Anything strike you as interesting?"

Dradin was bright and busy and crowded. Vince looked around and it was almost too much shiny—a feeling he was starting to get used to. "Uh, everything."

"Ain't that the truth," Cam chuckled. Looking around, he spotted something bright pink and felt drawn to it. "How about that? The… Flamin Gogh."

"The Flamin Gogh?" Vince groaned at the pun. "It's shiny though, let's look."

"What's the worst it could be?" Cam asked as they walked inside.

Vince stared after him for a moment, wondering why anyone would ask that. Especially anyone on _this_ team. But he followed him in, and his eyes went wide. "Oh my…" There were too many _things_, most of the bright pink and glittering or glowing.

Cam brightened at the sight of flamingos everywhere. Everything was amazing, and he was about to say as much to Vince when he got a great idea. "You think we should get a few for Daniel, since he couldn't come with us?"

"Doesn't he hate birds? Or is it just you whistling like them he hates?"

"He does, well both… just a couple?" He grinned and hoped Vince would go with him on it, it would be fun.

Vince laughed, thinking about Daniel's temper. "It's your funeral, not mine."

"It seems to be an… unnatural phobia. Aren't friends supposed to help their friends get over their phobias?"

Frown. "Unnatural is kind of the point with phobias, they don't make sense." Vince was looking around, thinking this might be a good place to get his Gran Diva a present. She liked tacky things, and she already had some flamingos in her yard.

His companion wandered off a bit, having spotted an adorable flamingo stuffed toy, a lot like a classic stuffed bear. He came back holding it up almost plaintively. "How is this scary?"

Vince looked up from a figurine he'd found of a flamingo with wild purple hair. Which was _odd,_ but he knew his grandmother would love it. He looked at the stuffed toy and grinned. "Well, I think it's cute, but I'm not Daniel."

"It _is_ cute," Cam insisted, because that was the point.

Shrug. "You wanna buy him the bird teddy, go for it…" As long as Daniel didn't blame _him._

"They aren't scary! Granted they can be annoying, but they aren't _scary_."

"…But don't say I didn't try to warn you he might try to kill you."

"I won't." Nodding, he grinned as he spotted a big blow up flamingo, it was almost too tempting to resist. "We could totally have fun with this, putting it in random places on the ship."

Vince followed Cam's gaze and cringed. "Why?"

"I've always heard stories that crews play pranks on each other all the time." It had always seemed a little odd to him at the Academy, truthfully, but now that he was aboard a ship with a team he _completely_ understood. "Can you imagine? Have this guy sitting at the galley table with a bowl of cereal? Next day, hanging out in the showers?"

Okay, that _did_ sound pretty funny. And at least one of their crewmates would surely be game. "Hunk would be up for it, I bet."

"Maybe we could even hide it in the decontamination shower in sick bay."

"Do you have a death wish? Jace will not be amused."

Cam frowned. "Second thought, you're right. Doc would kill _it_, if not me."

"Yep, punctured flamingo."

"Doc does like pointy things."

"Sure does."

Helpfully, right next to the inflatables was a stack of patch kits with bright pink medical symbols. "I'm gonna give him one of these kits, just to see his reaction, I think. He'll probably stab me extra but…" He shrugged, happy with his plans. It would be worth it.

Vince stared at him. For such a dutiful soldier, he was kind of nuts. "Well, what's a little risk of bodily harm?" he asked sarcastically.

When even Vince started getting snarky, that was enough to give Cam pause. "I'm not being an asshole, am I?"

"Well yeah, a bit," the engineer answered honestly.

"I don't mean to be…" He looked at the stuffed flamingo and sighed. "To heck with it. I'm buying it and if he doesn't like it, I'm keeping it."

"It _is_ pretty cute."

"It is… how can anyone say no to this cute face?" Cam held up the toy, with a cute pout of his own that almost matched it.

Vince laughed again, but felt compelled to try to talk him out of it one more time. "Just don't forget, I _warned_ you he might try to strangle you."

"We're an Explorer Team, right? That implies risk."

"Yeah—why do I hear Lance swearing as he says that in my head? I guess it's true, I just like to try to curb risk when possible."

Cam laughed. "Cause that is what he does… I swear if we had a credit chip for each time he and Doc cussed, we'd retire in a week."

"Be billionaires," Vince snorted in agreement.

They made it to a register without further incident, paying for their flamingos and continuing to debate the profits from their crewmates' cursing. "We could buy a planet."

"This one seems shiny."

"Very shiny. So where to next?"

"Well, I got something for one grandma, still should look for the moms, Granny Bea, Granny Mel… Maybe we could find a place with a lot of shoes? Granny Bea loves shoes."

That made Cam look at Vince oddly. _How many grandmothers does he have?_ But he was all for more shopping. "Yeah, we could do that. I'll keep an eye out for something that Gran would like too. She's kinda… kitch, you know?"

"No doubt we'll find _something _kitch."

"In this place? Yeah."

* * *

"…woulda come myself, but it was my first year of the Academy and some of my profs didn't think the _biggest crush car derby in the galaxy_ was a good enough reason to skip classes, can you imagine? But Pops came in fifth, not bad!"

Hunk and Daniel were heading down a crowded main drag, with Hunk clearing the way for them pretty much just by existing. The fact that he was gesturing wildly as he told his war stories didn't _hurt_, though. Daniel was listening with rapt attention. "That's awesome! Well, not the not being able to go part. But him coming in fifth is pretty cool!"

"Totally." Grin. "Woulda medaled if I'd been here to keep the crew runnin' right, but there's always another time…" He paused in an intersection and looked around. It turned out the track from the galactic crush car finals Dradin had hosted had been converted to a bumper car circuit. No _way_ was he missing that.

Neither was Daniel, though he'd lost track of where they were going a long time ago. "You know where we're at, right?"

"Totally. We're on Dradin." He looked up at a sign and frowned slightly. "On Besta Fiesta Boulevard."

Daniel nodded; good enough for him. "Where do we go from here?"

"I think this way." Taking one of the turns put them on a street dotted with model crush cars every couple hundred feet. Seemed like a decent hint. "Second car to the right, straight on 'til morning?"

"Huh?"

"…Nothin', little dude." Chuckling, he led the way down the road for a few more minutes. Soon enough they came within sight of a large, spiraling roller coaster track that looped halfway beneath the pavement. Hunk's eyes lit up. "Oh hey! I recognize that!"

"Oh yeah?" It looked impressive, though it wasn't a crush car track.

"_That_ is the Corkscrew Blitz. They talked it up a lot on the broadcasts. C'mon, wait'll you see this." Giving Daniel's shoulder a light tug, Hunk ran for the loops.

Well, what the heck? Daniel ran after him. They passed between the high fences protecting the coaster track, finding a railing overlooking a road that went straight through the corkscrew. Almost the moment they arrived, about four dozen bumper cars came zooming down the pavement.

"Wow…" Daniel's eyes widened. This really was _awesome_.

A few stragglers came through a moment later; a brightly-painted bumper dragster slammed into two of the cars ahead of it, sending them skidding around and bouncing off the railing like pinballs. Hunk looked at Daniel, who was grinning wider and wider every moment. "Looks pretty much like real crush cars, but without the repair bills."

"It looks like fun! Where do we get on?"

"Pretty sure this was around the start…" He knew perfectly well this was around the start, he'd memorized the track layout at the time, but he wasn't here to show off his ability to read a map. "So I think if we just start walkin'," he pointed in the direction the cars had come from, "we oughta get to the start pretty quick!"

"Well come on!" Daniel took off in that direction at full speed.

The racetrack wound through several other attractions, and at one point even passed across a main street. There were _crossing gates_. More model crush cars pointed the way, and soon enough they came across a huge pavilion, declaring itself the **Dradin Galactic Racetrack** in bold neon letters.

The line didn't look too long, and they took up a spot at the end wearing matching grins. "This is gonna be awesome."

"Totally."

"I used to race the other kids in my neighborhood on dirt bikes." Daniel leaned over the railing to watch as a new wave of cars left the station, shooting off into the distance with a roar. "Nothing close to crush cars though."

"Yeah, definitely don't wanna crash on those." Hunk winked. "But you got some pretty good practice on Khoru, yeah?"

Daniel laughed. "Yeah… rolling through a desert wasn't exactly covered at the Academy."

"Little dude, _nothin'_ we do was covered at the Academy."

It only took a few minutes to reach the front of the line. An attendant was waiting there, some sort of canine alien with a businesslike expression. It held two small digital pads out to them with one hand and held the other even with Daniel's neck; he stepped back slightly, startled, but the attendant didn't seem to even notice. "You must be this tall and sign this waiver to ride," it announced in a clipped accent.

_Ohh_. Smirking, Daniel accepted the waiver and signed off on it. "Good thing we didn't bring Pidge."

"True that." Chuckling, Hunk glanced over the waiver; eight languages of legal mumbo-jumbo he was certain he didn't really care about. Though the fact that it existed amused him. "You get a lot of use for these?" he asked as he signed and handed it back.

"We haven't had a serious injury in weeks," the attendant answered with a dismissive wave. "Just ensure you actually fasten your restraints, as detailed in paragraph 4."

"Yeah, Hunk. It's been a couple _weeks_, we'll be fine!"

"I was just curious!" They both laughed as they approached the pavilion proper, and he leaned over to whisper in the kid's ear. "_Exactly_ like crush cars without the repair bills." Daniel laughed even harder.

Another attendant, this one a humanoid with shocking magenta skin, opened a gate for them. "Enjoy your race, sirs." Before either of them could snicker at being called _sirs_, the gate swung open and pushed everything else from their minds.

"Oh, _dude…_"

The lot had _everything_. There were rows and rows of bumper cars in nearly every form imaginable—from old Earth classic cars to Drule fighters, Vex-Cha freight hoppers to fuzzy animals. Tucked away in a corner was one that was definitely a roasted turkey with a glaring face painted on its front. Hunk was sorely tempted by that one, but opted instead for some sort of alien tricycle-racecar with giant chrome fins. Best for everyone on the track if they knew he was coming.

Daniel was torn between a gleaming purple racecar and a huge fluffy panda. As he wandered the aisles trying to make a decision, he spotted a sleek purple alien racing panda with a wicked smirk on its face; with a matching smirk he hopped aboard.

"We on the same side, little dude?" Hunk pulled up in his race-trike and grinned. "Or are we playin' King of the _Bolt?"_

Hmm. A good question. On one hand, Hunk was a professional… sort of. On the other, like hell Daniel was going to let _that_ intimidate him. Maybe it would depend on the others filing into the lot. "Let's crush everyone else first, then we'll see."

"Works for me." The big guy revved his engine—it made _much_ more noise then was remotely necessary for its horsepower, but that was part of the fun—and grinned broadly. "Vroom vroom! Eat my dust and feel your doom!"

Exchanging nods, they both floored it, shooting out onto the track in the midst of several other cars. "Woohoo!"

"Let's rock it!"

Immediately they were jostling for position with the others; a Vex-Cha bomber bumped Daniel from behind, sending him spinning into a wall. He recovered control and narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? It. Is. _On_."

At the same time, a sporty little… triceratops-looking thing?… breezed by Hunk, the Drule driving it giving him a mocking wave as she passed. He glared. "Oh it's _so_ on. Switch 'em up, little dude!" He wrenched around and slammed into the bomber that had hit Daniel, sending it spinning away backwards down the track.

"Nice!" Laughing, Daniel gunned it, coming up behind the triceratops and ramming its side, making it plow into a carousel sled and leaving it—and Hunk—in the dust.

Oh, he wasn't going to get away with that. Punching his racer as fast as it would go, Hunk threaded the needle between two cars, leaving them to crash into each other as they tried to cut him off. King of the _Bolt_ it was, then.

This was gonna be _epic_.

* * *

The bar was called the Dizzy Blanket—something had probably been lost in translation there. It was tucked in between a casino and a laser tag park, and had the trio of worn-out explorers not been looking for it they might easily have missed it entirely. Which wasn't all bad. It was actually relatively _quiet_ inside.

After spending the afternoon in the heart of Dradin's gaming district, even Lance could appreciate a little quiet.

The back room Keith had reserved for them was small and cozy, and empty. Apparently they were the first to arrive. Dropping into a booth, Flynn shook his head in bemusement. "We tried to play a game of throwing sharp objects… against a Viking. What were we thinking?"

Lance scooted in next to him, smirking. "I almost had him, speak for yourself."

"'Almost'. And I murdered you at ski-ball or whatever it was."

"I had a defective ball!"

Sitting across from them, Sven silently thanked the entire Norse pantheon that Jace hadn't been here to hear that. "Why is it that when people lose, it's never their fault? It's the equipment."

"Because maintenance is _always_ the first thing to go," Flynn muttered. "Clearly." He probably wasn't even being sarcastic, but Lance punched his arm anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. I didn't say I had defective darts."

"And you were very close, Lance." Sven smiled. "We'll have a rematch sometime."

"Fuck yeah we will. Okay, let's see what we've got." He grabbed the beer menu and blinked; it was _extensive_. Extensive, as in, written in even more languages than the rest of Dradin's signage. He flipped through until he found the part he could actually read, which was still two large pages in small print. Closing his eyes, he dropped a finger in the menu, then checked out where he'd landed. "Okay, what do you all think of a beer called the Awesome Assassin?"

Flynn slowly raised an eyebrow. "I think we should make Pidge try it."

"It's not made of ninjas," Lance snorted. "I think."

"Well I'm certainly not touching it if it is." Shrug. "We should let Holgersson pick, he got us here in one piece." And they'd given him a hard enough time while he was doing so—he surely at least deserved a beer for the trouble.

"True, we do owe him one." Lance handed over the menu as a very attractive Hydran waiter appeared with glasses of ice water. Accepting his glass, the pilot looked the man up and down appreciatively. "Thank you."

Sven was quickly getting overwhelmed by the beer menu. "I never took Lance's class, I don't know which of these is any good…" Right about then his eyes fell on something called Snake Wine, and he handed the menu back with a flinch. It was _too soon_.

"I'm not even sure what any of these are," Lance admitted, pointing blindly again. "We could go with… Mabel and Yarddog?"

"That even sounds disgusting." Flynn took a long sip of his water. "If they're going to have a menu like this they really ought to do samplers."

"Oh they might." Waving the cute waiter over again, Lance gave his most flirtatious smirk; Flynn was briefly seized by the urge to dump his water over his head, but shook it off. "Hello, hi… do you have beer sampler platters?"

The waiter completely ignored the smirk. To be fair, he probably got them a lot around here. "We do. You can get a sample of eight, twelve, or fifteen."

"We'll go with the fifteen…" Looking at the menu again, the thought of choosing _fifteen_ of the beers seemed oddly even more daunting than picking out just one. "Surprise us."

"We're going to need more water," Flynn murmured; Sven nodded in agreement.

"We will." Lance grinned. "Some of them have gotta be good."

"Bet they'll taste like beer."

"You're a lost cause." _Good thing he's pretty_. Shaking his head, Lance looked away and focused on… well, elsewhere… until the server returned with the tray.

"Wow…" Sven stared at the sampler and wondered if this was a good idea after all. Even without being full sized glasses, fifteen beers was a lot of beer.

Lance was having no such second thoughts. "Amazing, thank you. So, what's your best burger?"

"The Bacon Decadence."

"Yeah, that and loads of fries, please." Watching the waiter leave, he turned his attention to the tray of beer. Each glass had a beer name etched into the base, filled in with metallic paint in various colors. Not only did they have beer samplers, it seemed they were a serious _thing_. "Hey, there's one called Safety Hops. Maybe that's good for the newbies… or the hopeless."

Flynn eyed the Safety Hops doubtfully as Lance pushed it towards him. "Isn't that a song?" He was certain he'd heard Hunk blasting something to that effect before.

"Close. It's the Safety Dance."

"Makes just as little sense." He sipped the beer and fought down an immediate wave of revulsion. Even he could tell it was hideous… schooling his expression, he looked back at Lance. "Guess what?"

"Tastes like beer?"

"Tastes like _flowers_." He shoved it back at him with a disgusted scowl.

"Flowers?" Lance repeated in disbelief, taking a sip himself. He nearly spat it out; it tasted like walking through the Academy gardens in the middle of spring. "Huh? This is some next level beer."

As the other two debated the Safety Hops, Sven was studying the other fourteen glasses. He was sure he didn't want to drink flowers. One glass kept catching his eye; the liquid seemed to shift between blue, pink, and purple at the slightest flicker of light. It was beautiful, but it couldn't possibly taste good… could it? "Why not?" he muttered to himself, picking it up and taking a tiny sip.

Getting beer in the Viking was rare enough that it immediately drew the others' attention; Lance leaned over to read the glass. "Okay, so that's called Null Virus. Is it good?"

'Good' wasn't the word Sven would have chosen, though it wasn't bad either. He wasn't sure _what_ it was. Taking a longer drink, he offered the only thing he could really determine. "Tastes like unripe blueberries."

"Blueberries isn't bad." A glass labeled Napalm Satan in fiery orange letters caught Lance's eye. No way was he passing that up. Taking a much bigger drink than was probably wise, he was treated to the brief sensation of his entire throat turning into a magma flow. "Whoa! That one has a kick." He took a more cautious sip and grinned. "I like it."

Sven finished the Null Virus, and still didn't know if he actually liked it or not. Didn't matter now, he supposed. Continuing with picking his beers by appearance—it was as good a standard as any—he took one that was almost jet black. "Sexy Gorilla…?" Something was probably lost in translation there too, he hoped. He took a cautious sip and nearly gagged. "Oh! That's disgusting."

"Taste like gorilla?"

"I'm not sure?" He took another drink, as if that would help—it was still disgusting, anyway. "I've never eaten gorilla."

"That even sounds like a terrible idea," Flynn commented, picking out a nice normal-looking glass and giving it a try. "Now _this_ one tastes like beer… Opal Snapper?" Nothing about the beer seemed to have anything to do with opals or snappers. "Did we even need the beer? We could've just sat here laughing at the menu."

"I like both!" Lance declared, taking another glass. "This new beauty is called Dilapidated Baby… got a bit of a peachy finish." As he snickered at Flynn's mildly distressed expression, his burger arrived; he took a huge bite and grinned. "Ooh, _yum_."

Shaking his head, Flynn snagged a few of Lance's fries and looked over at Sven. "Viking, pick something worth buying you a mug of."

Sven blinked. He'd finished the nasty gorilla beer, and his head was spinning already. Did he really need a mug of anything? He was saved by someone else walking into the room—Keith, he determined after taking a moment for his vision to stop swimming.

"Oh, boy." The commander stared at all the glasses, noting how many were already empty. "This is going to be a long night…"

"Boss, my dude! Try this one." Lance pushed a glass labeled Buffer the DragonFly at him.

"Um, Lance… I don't drink beer." He was certain they'd discussed this before. More than once.

Flynn snorted. "We had to, you have to."

"Everyone drinks at least one tonight!"

"Unless you want me to throw it right back up, I'm passing on the beer." Keith took a chair and nabbed someone's untouched water. Probably Lance's; he was definitely keeping himself otherwise hydrated, chugging the beer Keith had refused while rolling his eyes.

Pretty much all of Lance's stuff was getting stolen, really. Flynn took a couple more fries—they were actually pretty good, and he was still trying to get rid of the aftertaste of _flowers_. Lance scowled at him. "Hey, sticky fingers, get your own."

"I've had six!" the engineer protested. "You ordered, and I'm quoting, _loads!"_ He took a few more just on principle, earning a shrug and a wink.

Shaking his head, Keith flagged down the waiter. He needed a rum and cola, and clearly they were all going to need more fries. Though that was almost immediately undermined by a familiar voice ringing through the doorway.

"…not sayin' you _weren't_ badass, little dude, but I definitely ran at least three more of those amateurs off the road than you did! It's math!"

"And I'm not saying you didn't bump into a lot more cars than me, what I'm saying is that I was way faster, therefore I won the race!"

"I mean sure, but it's called bumper cars, yeah? Ain't called speedy cars…" A grinning Hunk and Daniel came striding into the room, both carrying sparkly plush trophies; Hunk's grin only widened as he saw the table. "Oh _hey!_ We're havin' the fun party, huh?" He snagged a glass—Hootenanny Rain—and downed it, sputtering slightly. "Good stuff."

"Welcome to the party," Lance said with a matching grin. "You gotta try this bacon burger."

That was the first time Hunk looked past the beer sampler, and his smile abruptly gave way to a scandalized look. "That's all the food you've got? That's how you get _hangovers_, my dudes. Yo!" He waved the waiter over; he hadn't managed to escape the room with Keith's order yet anyway. "Can we get burgers for everyone, and another of those beer platters? Thanks, bro!"

As they both dropped into seats, Daniel picked out a beer as well. _Lit Iguana?_ He shrugged, wasn't like he was going to be picky. Taking a long drink of the vivid green beer, he went back to the previous discussion. "It's still a race, so I still won!"

"Ain't about what you call the game, little bro. It's about how you keep the score!"

That was… solid logic, really, and the Lit Iguana was tasty. Why argue when they could party? "Alright, how about we both won?"

"It'll do!" Hunk chuckled and clapped his shoulder as the new food and drinks arrived.

Sven gave his plate, or at least the blur he assumed must be his plate, a skeptical look. He'd been keeping to himself and drinking more beer this whole time; he was way past being responsible tonight, may as well try to erase the memory of the nasty gorilla beer from his taste buds. He'd gone through Friday Violence and Compulsive Duck—he felt a little bit like a compulsive duck himself just now—and was currently sipping very slowly on something cloudy gray called Jeering Miasma. He was way beyond buzzed at this point, and food was about the last thing he wanted.

Across from him, Flynn didn't look much more convinced by the Bacon Decadence. He was poking it with a fork, trying to figure out if there was actually anything on the bun except for bacon. It seemed like surely there must be, but he might have to dissect it to find out. It didn't seem worth the effort; he resolved to ignore it and focus on his fries.

Lance reached for a beer from the new tray. "Hmm. Bang the Cyclone."

Keith coughed on his own drink. "Bang the _what?"_

"Cyclone."

"Sounds dangerous," Flynn observed.

Lance swirled and sipped it, then shrugged. It wasn't much, really. If he hadn't known better, he'd almost have said it tasted like beer.

It didn't take much effort, at all, to find the 686's room by this point. Jace had wandered into the Dizzy Blanket with some trepidation, and the state of the tables confirmed every bit of it. "What the fuck kind of trouble did you people get in that made all of _this_ necessary?"

"Trouble? This is just party 101, dude."

"I'm a sweet innocent angel, Doc. Pull up a chair."

"Not that we didn't get in trouble."

"Speak for yourself, we signed a waiver."

"A _waiver?"_

"Yeah, it was awesome."

As the medic shook his head at them all, Sven looked up from the beer he was sipping. "I wonagame," he slurred, then blinked. This definitely should be his last drink…

Whatever Jace had about to say to the others completely vanished as he stared at Sven. "Holy fuck, you actually got him drunk," he muttered under his breath. Looking at the navigator's untouched plate, he pulled a chair up and glowered. "Viking, I will force feed you fries if I've gotta. Open the fuck up."

"I really hope that's not in your seduction technique," Lance mocked. But Sven was much too buzzed to protest; he obediently opened his mouth. "…Oh wait, can't be, it worked."

Jace stared for another moment; even he hadn't _really_ expected that to work. But since it had, he stuck a fry in the Viking's mouth and shook his head in bemusement. "Didn't even have to pay him."

"Payme for wut?" Sven asked as he munched on the fry, and Lance snorted so hard beer went up his nose.

"Fuck."

Finishing up the Lit Iguana, Daniel started on drink number two. He didn't feel all that buzzed… really he didn't feel buzzed at all. But clearly he had to have been, because when he looked up a moment later, he saw Cam walking in the door… wearing a huge sombrero with flashing lights, carrying a large pink flamingo under one arm and a bag of shoes in the other hand. "The hell…?"

Vince came in right behind him, wearing a gigantic pair of glittery sunglasses and carrying a pair of tiger striped stiletto heels. Flynn stared at him blankly, then looked around the table. "Okay, which of these got us drunk just by sitting here? It's the only explanation."

Looking between the new arrivals and Sven, Jace surrendered to the inevitable. "Fuckers driving me to drink after all, fine…" He took the most normal-looking glass of beer left and checked the name. "Yolo Days? Sounds right for this crew."

Chuckling, Hunk took a second beer—Angry Slang, that seemed more than a little appropriate—and clinked glasses with him. "Cheers, bro!"

"Saúde." The medic downed the whole thing in one gulp.

Cam reached the table and tipped his giant sombrero at them. "Hey guys, how's the food?"

"Amazing, little dude. Killer hat!"

With a sigh of relief, Vince fell into a chair. His legs ached like crazy; this may have been just one entertainment district, but it was _huge_. He set the shoes on the table and shook his wrist out, getting a _look_ from Lance.

"Uh, Vince… um? No judgment, but I never took you for tiger prints and heels."

Vince wasn't entirely sure if that was a joke or not, though it probably deserved an answer either way. He pushed the sunglasses up and made a face. "They're for Granny Bea."

"Your granny wears stilettos?"

"All the time."

"I'm impressed." Smirking, Lance handed him a beer called Wild Robots; it seemed like his kind of thing. "Drink up."

Oh. The younger engineer eyed the beer warily. "I've never had one."

"Perfect timing, then."

That wasn't how Vince would have described it, but he supposed he couldn't really say no. He looked at the beer—it looked a lot like hydraulic fluid—and exhaled slowly. "When in Dradin…"

"What happens on Dradin stays on Dradin, little bro!" Hunk clapped his shoulder with a grin, and the beer nearly ended up in his lap.

"Yeah," Jace muttered, "especially if you throw it up…" He was still trying to force Sven to eat. Getting anything substantial in him seemed to be right out, but at least he was nibbling grudgingly on some more fries. "Better than nothing, dumbass, you'll thank me in the morning."

In the meantime Cam had dropped into a seat between Keith and Daniel. The gunner most definitely _was_ buzzed now—starting right in on beer number three, a vaguely metallic-tasting concoction called Hundo Trombone, had helped with that—and eyed him suspiciously. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed as Cam held the flamingo out to him. "Got you something, bud!"

Daniel stared at it in horror, then downed the rest of his drink. "Why?" He didn't touch the flamingo, of course, because what the fuck.

"Peace offering? It's cute! Made me think of you."

The Hundo Trombone was going _right_ to Daniel's head. He blinked it back as the flamingo started to spin a little in front of him, turning to Cam and narrowing his eyes. "Is this your sick way of declaring war?"

"I tried to warn him," Vince muttered, sipping his beer.

"No! It was a gift! But if you don't want the cute little fella, I'll keep him…" Sulking, Cam nabbed a beer from the tray. "Jupiter Mint?" It was a swirling mix of red and orange and green, and he wasn't wholly certain he trusted it… maybe he should just order some vodka.

Daniel was still glaring at the flamingo as though it had personally offended him. As indeed it had. "Birds bring nothing but pain. It's _not_ staying in our room."

"But…"

A second wave of burgers came for the new arrivals, calming things down a bit. Gradually the rest of the beer vanished, but they were still missing someone… Flynn kept glancing at his datapad between slow sips of Gunmetal Fire, which tasted like beer. Every so often he glanced at the clock on the wall, too, even though he had all of zero idea how to read whatever alien time format it was displaying. It was a reflex. So was being on edge when the ninja was out of his sight for too long.

"I wanna go home," Cam was singing softly, "I wanna go home… Lord, I just wanna go hooommmme…"

"One too many vodkas, Starr?" Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm from the moon…" He giggled. "Fly me to the moon…"

"…That's a yes."

"Youse singings are bad," Daniel slurred, giving him a bleary-eyed glare. Cam waved the flamingo at him.

Jace looked at the kid, considered an intervention, then decided he was too busy with the Viking. Sven was leaning back in the booth with his eyes closed. Really he was probably in about the best shape here… for now… the medic dipped a napkin in some ice water, pressed it to his forehead, and sighed. "He's probably never gonna drink again now, you assholes."

"Sure he will." Hunk was eating Flynn's burger. "Ain't gonna remember this at all."

"Point."

Picking up the last beer, Lance raised it triumphantly and cleared his throat for attention. "Last one! And the winner is…" He read the name and snerked. "Softcore Pond!" Several of the others couldn't help snickering as he downed it.

"So many bad decisions…"

"These are great decisions, what are you talking about?"

Flynn glanced at his datapad again. "Where _is_ he?" he muttered. He'd really have _liked_ to be able to sit back and laugh at his drunk teammates without worrying.

"Ninja can take care of himself, Flynn."

"It's not him I'm worried about," the engineer protested. "It's whoever he's getting stabby with."

"That's fair."

Vince was facing the door and nibbling the last of his fries, very glad he'd restrained himself to the _one_ beer. Though a moment later he found himself questioning if even that had been too much.

A giant pile of stuffed animals walked into the room.

"What the fuck?!"

"Oh no… wows… itsa monser."

"Damn."

"I feel drunk for the first time in my life."

"Standing by what I asked about intoxication by proximity…" Flynn paused, catching sight of two hands poking out of the pile. Two hands in black gloves with a slight iridescent sheen, pretty much exactly like a Baltan stealth suit.

At the same time, a giant… fluffy turtle?… started to waver on the front of the pile. Hunk was closest; he reflexively reached out and grabbed it before it could fall. As he pulled it away, Pidge's face poked out of the hole.

"Aaahhhh!"

"Ninja monser."

"Kid, you should _not_ drink… but you're not wrong, exactly."

Pidge sought Keith out, looking as businesslike as ever. "Sorry I'm late, sir."

"Really, ninja?" Lance demanded. _"That's_ what you're leading with?"

"…Yes? I'm late?"

"You're a walking stuffed toy factory!"

"You can put those down, Pidge, we have the room…"

At Flynn's invitation Pidge immediately dumped the pile on the nearest empty table, more relieved than he cared to admit to offload them. Keith finally recovered enough to address his apology. "Um… you're forgiven, Stoker. Have fun?"

"I did, sir." He looked chagrined. "You might get a report, though."

"…What did you do." Flynn sounded resigned.

"I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "The goal of the ring toss game is to land the rings on the bottles, kir sa tye? I just did what the rules said to do and they told me I had to leave."

Several of the team burst into laughter; Keith just blinked. "Oh dear. You cleaned them out?"

"They didn't seem unorganized."

"Dude, he means you won most of their prizes, right?"

"Oh!" Pidge nodded. "They ran out. But I still had rings left." He looked back at the pile in what looked like some distress. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with them."

Jace eyed the pile too. There were all kinds of alien critters represented, but they were all large and fluffy. "Can I borrow a couple? Gonna need something soft for the Viking to fall on when we leave."

"Whys 'Ven gonna fall?" Daniel asked blankly.

"…Let fallen angel over there borrow one too."

"He has one," Cam objected, patting the flamingo; Daniel gave him another unfocused glare.

"Whys are you s'mean to me?"

"He's gonna need something bigger than that flamingo," Lance pointed out. "Hand over a unicorn." He was pretty sure he'd seen a couple of large rainbow ones in the pile.

Pidge was looking at the flamingo, though. "I think I got one of those too." He pulled out a gigantic pink eagle and pushed it in Daniel's general direction.

Flynn nearly spit out his beer; Hunk practically choked on his bacon burger. Cam's eyes lit up. "Oh! It's adorable!"

"Ohmgods." Daniel was not quite scared sober—he was way past that—but he was sure as hell scared. Scrambling back to try to get away from the huge pink bird, he fell off his chair with a thud. A moment later he sighed, relieved. He couldn't see any _birds_ from down here.

"…I think you were supposed to fall _on_ the stuffed animal?" Pidge set it back down, looking confused.

"It's not real, kid." Lance shook his head, laughing, and bent down to have a look under the table. "You good? Need help up?"

"M'happy here."

Shrugging, Lance handed him some fries. Sometimes you really just had to roll with it.

* * *

Since she'd returned to the tunnels lugging the rock deer behind her, Larmina had hardly been able to get outside on her own. The militia was convinced she was lucky. So she hadn't been back to the forest, hadn't seen any banewolves, and certainly hadn't tracked down any more deer.

She certainly wasn't actually lucky, either.

It was a much less triumphant band of hunters trudging back to the caves today, all three silent and shellshocked. Larmina wasn't sure if she was dragging Hanso and Allendar, or they were dragging her. Perhaps it was somewhere in between. Every few steps one of them would glance over their shoulders, making sure they weren't being followed, though surely they'd have heard it if they were.

All that was following them was in their own heads. Even blinking brought it back. There had been so many _bodies_. The Drules were supposed to be finished with that kind of barbarity, they were supposed to be content to threaten the people and plunder their resources…

Reaching the main cave, she immediately caught sight of Allura, who just as immediately started hurrying over to them. That was the last thing Larmina needed—the militia didn't know about her bloodline, and she'd much prefer to keep it that way.

Next to her, she felt the other two flinch. "We… have to tell Her Highness, don't we?"

"We have to report to the Captain first. Chain of command."

"But—"

A twinge of responsibility shot through Larmina as they muttered to each other. They were right, they had to report. And while she knew Allura wasn't nearly so intimidating as they might think… maybe it would go better if she heard it from someone she knew.

"Go on and report to your Captain," she said quietly, pulling away from the other two. "I'll tell Aun—uh, I'll tell the Princess what we found."

Both of them stared at her. "You sure?"

"Let us do it, we signed on for dealing with… this stuff…" Not even Allendar seemed to believe what he was saying. The militia had certainly _not_ been formed with the thought of fending off alien conquest and occupation. They hadn't been trained for the horrors of war any more than Larmina herself had. "…It should be our job," he finished lamely.

Not so long ago, she might have said yes. She might have stepped back and run from the responsibility. Now she shook her head slowly. "It's okay. I should be able to do _something_ other than argue about our roli numbers."

That part, at least, wasn't a lie.

With one last pair of concerned looks, they started off to the makeshift militia post, and not a moment too soon. Allura was within earshot. "Larmina, are you okay?"

She almost laughed at that. "Auntie…" Glancing around, she saw a few eyes darting in their direction. Nobody close, but the princess' movements always drew attention. "…um, is there somewhere we can talk that's quiet?"

Nodding, Allura led her back into the labyrinth of the private royal tunnels. She kept a close eye on her niece every step of the way. Larmina was shaking. She didn't seem to realize it, but it was clear in just a few moments of watching that she was trembling with each unsteady step. When they stopped she nearly collapsed against the wall; Allura offered a hand to steady her. "What is it?" she asked gently.

"Um…" Now that she'd insisted on making the report, words refused to come out. "We, um. We were hunting in the mountains. A ship was there, one of the big ugly ones—you know, as opposed to the little ugly ones and the medium ugly ones…" She made a face, she was just babbling now and she knew it, though Auntie only looked that much more worried. "It was over by Elauria. We saw it open fire…"

Allura paled, biting back a soft cry of pain. Elauria was one of many small villages dotting the mountains, so inconsequential the Drules had sent only a token force to keep them in line. That particular village was very near one of the furthest tunnel exits; a few of the villagers had been helping to smuggle critical medicines down to the shelters. "Are they…?"

Larmina squeezed her eyes shut and immediately regretted it; the burned-out buildings were there waiting for her. "They burned most of the village and rounded up most of the people. There are some survivors, the village isn't quite gone." Her tone had gone a bit numb—she had to get it out somehow. The village itself hadn't even been the worst of it.

Not that it wasn't bad enough_. Why? Why them, why now?_ Allura blinked back a few tears, though it didn't stop more from falling. She had her suspicions. One slip from the silent resistance was all it would have taken… a pang of guilt stabbed through her, but she forced it aside as best she could. There wasn't _time_ for guilt now. "Is there anything we can do to help the survivors?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't come back here with us, they were afraid of being tracked. We came the really, really long way through the foothills, just in case." She took a steadying breath. "Auntie, they're taking captives to…" What was the name? For the first time she wished she'd paid a little more attention to diplomacy lessons. "…Kronoth? They told the ones they left behind that's where all the prisoners were going."

"By the gods… they are?" That was the first Allura had heard of prisoners being taken from the planet, and it could really only mean one thing. "Our people…" _Slaves. They're taking Arusians as slaves._ The occupation had been bad enough. This was a whole new kick to the guts.

Larmina nodded, her voice going very quiet. "They didn't… they didn't really take all of them."

"No?" _Why not all?_ For an instant, those words gave Allura a flicker of hope. Only an instant. Much darker possibilities provided themselves on the heels of that hope. She may not have heard of prisoners being removed to Korrinoth, but she'd certainly heard rumors of the occupying troops taking captives for comfort and pleasure… she tried to shake that thought away too. _It doesn't matter._ No matter what they were being taken for, they were her people. "We have to find a way to help them. All of them." Maybe if she said it with enough conviction, an idea would actually spring to mind.

Her niece's turquoise eyes raised slightly, then she shook her head. There was no help for the ones who hadn't been taken. "They told the survivors it wasn't a good example if nobody was left to tell about it. But then they… decided they didn't want all the ones they'd rounded up, I guess…" Even attempting to finish the report was making her feel sick again; her voice became a sort of ragged whisper-squeak. "…and that's what we saw the ship shooting…"

Another whole new weight slammed down in Allura's stomach as what Larmina was trying to tell her sank in. _They…_ she felt tears trying to fight their way forward again, though they hadn't quite stopped to begin with. "Larmina…" The younger girl didn't seem to hear her. Carefully, she put a hand on her shoulder; she jumped, but didn't pull away. "We'll help the survivors," she promised. "We'll find a way to stop this from happening to any more of our people… somehow."

As if Larmina believed that for a second. Part of her wanted to flee the caves, to run back to the forest and track down the banewolves and stay where she didn't have to think about any of this anymore. But the other part of her knew better, and she collapsed against the princess, allowing one of Auntie's trademark hugs without even a little protest. All her energy was going into not crying, anyway. "We should… we should at least go back and… bury the bodies, or burn them, or something… shouldn't we?" Just leaving them out to rot felt wrong. That was what the Drules had done. One final mockery… they could at least fix that.

"We will. We'll take care of them. I promise." Allura wasn't about to let go. It hurt enough to hear about—she could hardly imagine having stumbled across it.

Maybe her niece's thoughts were tracking along the same lines, because after a moment she looked up fiercely. "No. _We_ will. Me and the militia. You… you shouldn't have to see it, there's… we can't risk you going out there anyway. In case they are watching."

Allura hesitated. She didn't like that at all. She didn't want to send Larmina out to take risks in her place. But it was clear from the look in her eyes… she needed to do this, somehow. So she nodded. "Then be careful. I couldn't stand for something to happen to you as well."

"We will be. I promise." Looking up, Larmina attempted a smile. It was really the least convincing smile ever, but it was a smile nonetheless. "…Can I smack a Drule if we see one?"

Allura couldn't help but crack a hint of a smile as well. "Not yet. But we'll add this to the list of things you'll smack them for later." As they looked at each other, she felt tiny claws on her back, then a weight on her shoulder. Looking down she saw one of the mice had joined them, chirping and squeaking. "He's offering to lend an ear when you go back to Elauria," she translated as Larmina gave a questioning look.

A mouse? Why not? They'd helped her before, hadn't they? And it wasn't as if she was going to question the utility of wildlife around here. Luckily Elauria was a _long_ way away from the forest and the banewolves… with a slightly more genuine smile, Larmina reached up and patted the mouse's nose. "I wouldn't say no to the help."

Squeaking happily, the mouse leapt over to her shoulder. Allura smiled and fed it a small ration cracker. "Do your best, Cheesy." It chittered its understanding.

_Okay. We have a mouse on our side! We can do this._ Larmina took a long, deep breath. "I should go talk to Captain Sarial then, I guess. We should… get it over with."

"I wish you the best of stealth and quickness." Allura squeezed her hands. "Stay safe."

Larmina hesitated for a moment. Just a moment. Then she gave her another squeeze back before pulling away. "You stay safe too. We've got this." She sounded far more confident than she was, but it had to start somewhere, didn't it?

Watching her go, Allura made a fairly futile attempt to wipe her tears away. They'd never entirely quit falling. Larmina's focus and determination seemed to have increased since her mother's passing… _Queen Orla must be proud._ A sad irony. Thinking of ghosts seemed to call them to her, and she felt the comforting presence of one of her ancestors as her own focus shifted to the issue at hand.

The Drules were taking slaves from Arus. A whole new escalation. The council, such as it was, needed to know… her father needed to know. Word had to get out to the other shelters, and the settlements. Elauria could have been targeted for aiding the Arusians in hiding… it could have just been targeted as a source of labor the Drules felt would serve them better elsewhere. Either way, something had to be done.

What?

…That was always the question. Closing her eyes, Allura started to go over what to tell the advisors about this new information. _Something_ had to be done… something had to change. But with every new day, hope got just a little bit harder.

How much longer could they really hold on?


	18. Questionable Life Decisions

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 17_  
Questionable Life Decisions

* * *

Thanks to a combination of dumb luck and bacon burgers, only two members of the 686 had ended up with hangovers. Sven was not one of them.

Jace, on the other hand, was.

He'd only even had one drink! But something in it had evidently not agreed with him. So now he was sprawled on his back on one of the medtech beds, alternating between a game on his datapad and glaring at the occupied bed next to him. The other member of Team Hangover hadn't made a peep since he hit the pillow. He'd been moaning like he was dying before that, this was preferable… even as that thought went through Jace's mind, the kid started to twitch, and his eyes narrowed. His peace was about to be disturbed.

Daniel slowly blinked himself awake, mentally preparing for the misery to return, and a big smile graced his face when no such feeling came. "Hey Jace!"

Jace slowly turned his head. "What."

"I feel _so much_ better!" Daniel all but squealed.

"Whoop-dee-fucking-doo for you." The kid's voice felt roughly equivalent to a hammer hitting his head. A loud, obnoxious, inexplicably high-pitched hammer. "If you're not sick, you can get the fuck out of my sick bay."

"You know, I always feel so loved when you're in the room," Daniel snarked.

The medic just looked at him. "I must be doing something wrong, then."

Daniel laughed at the response, and kept laughing longer than he probably needed to. It felt so good to laugh and not wish for death. "Are we the only ones who got sick?"

"Apparently. Viking sure didn't. He thinks this is fucking hilarious." Sven had been there earlier to check on them, and to nab Daniel's wanted poster. And to laugh at him a bit, which in fairness, he completely deserved.

"I thought for sure he'd have the _worst_ hangover."

"Guess the one he got from the rift got it out of the way early." Jace grimaced. "Now shut up and get out of here before I have to say something I'll regret, like 'please'."

"You know you love me," Daniel told him as he stood up to make his way out. He paused at the doorway, a big smile back on his face. "Feel better soon!" he yelled, then took off.

Jace stared after him, then sighed. "Yolo Days. What the fuck was I thinking?" he growled, before getting up and flicking the lights off. At least now he could grumpily stare at the ceiling in peace.

Daniel walked into his quarters still wearing the big smile. "I'm cured!"

Cam blinked. He'd been reading, it had been oddly but pleasantly quiet with his roommate in the sick bay. "Oh. That's good…"

"Very." Daniel looked at him. "Whatcha doin?"

"Just reading." Cam shrugged. "Figured if the commander is out doing work, I should be doing something productive too."

Daniel shook his head. "At least you're consistent." He plopped on his bed and began trying to think of ways _he_ could be productive. Which didn't last long, mainly because he realized that was boring. What he really wanted to be doing was going to the meeting with Mansetti. That would've been cool _and_ productive. Stupid hangover.

His Mansetti thoughts eventually led to thoughts on Boss Dread, and how awesome his name was. Which then led to a metaphorical light bulb lighting up above his head. "Yo! I just had an awesome idea!"

Turning a page, Cam opted not to even look up from his book. "Whatever you're thinking, no."

Daniel kept talking as if he hadn't heard him. "We should go ask that Boss Dread guy if he knows anything about Altea."

Now his roommate did look up, staring at him in disbelief. "Not a good idea man. I mean, yeah, we _might_ get something, but it's the mafia! Trust me, you don't mess with the mafia. I'm Russian, I know."

"You're from the moon. There's mafias on the moon?" Daniel was skeptical, and not just of the Russian mafia living on the moon, but also goodie-two-shoes Cam knowing anything about the supposed Russian moon mafia.

"Yes. Russians on the moon means mafia on the moon," Cam assured him.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Whatever." _Alright, time to go at this a different way._ "We'll be careful, and think about how impressed Keith will be if we find out something useful."

Though Cam felt like glaring, somehow he just ended up staring again. "You know, you said I couldn't talk about him in front of you, and yet _you_ brought him up…"

"No, I said you can't fanboy over him in front of me. There's a difference." Daniel was determined; if it was the last thing he did, Cam would learn the damn difference.

"Man…" His roommate shook his head. _He's got a point, but it's risky._ "If, and I stress that big time, _if_ we do this we have to tell someone. If we get into hot water we could end up dead."

Daniel popped off his candidate of choice immediately. "Lance." Lance would be on board… and if he wasn't right off, he was probably the only one who could be convinced.

"He won't go for this… after his reaction to snake dude? Going to this guy?" Cam was pretty certain even Lance wouldn't go for this insanity, or at least he was hopeful.

"He'll totally go for it…" Daniel smirked. "Hang on." He pulled out his datapad. Cam just picked his book back up, waiting for the 'OH HELL FUCK NO' to happen.

**Yo! Lancey-Pants!**

Lance heard the ding and checked his datapad; they didn't use texting all that often, the ship had perfectly good internal comms. His eyes narrowed at the message.

**BANG YOU'RE DEAD.**

Daniel laughed, then remembered Lance couldn't hear that and inserted a laughing face emoji. **Can you come to me and Cam's room? I've had an amazing idea.**

"Fuck…" Lance rolled off of his bed. Anything the kid thought was an amazing idea was questionable enough as it was, never mind something he wouldn't just say over the comms. **I doubt that.** But he was also pretty sure he'd better come hear this bad idea, because refusing wouldn't stop them.

**Ye of little faith.**

**Okay, I'm on my way… for some fucking reason.**

"He's on his way," Daniel announced. Cam ignored him, continuing to read his book.

Lance came barging in a couple of minutes later. "Alright, children. What is it?"

"You're not going to go for it," Cam told him.

"You're totally gonna go for it," Daniel countered.

That sent an eyebrow shooting up immediately. "Am I?"

"Yes. We wanna go ask the Dread guy about Altea."

Lance blinked. "You wanna do fucking _what?_" Somehow it was even worse than he'd expected.

Cam smiled, relaxing a little. "I told you it was a bad idea." A bad idea that would definitely be squashed now, surely.

Daniel smiled too. "We want to be productive, and Cam wants to impress bossman."

Oh, no he didn't. Cam slowly closed his book, glaring. "This was all _you_. I'm trying to _not_ get killed here."

"And getting yourself murdered is the way you want to do that?" Lance responded at the same time.

"You semi-agreed, Cam."

"I only said 'if'! 'If' is a long way from even semi-agreeing."

"You know you want to. Just give in already!" Daniel rolled his eyes, he was always having to talk this guy into stuff he knew he wanted to do. Lance shook his head, letting them argue, and the kid looked back over at him. "Cam said if we did this we had to tell someone, so I'm telling you."

"If I say no, you're talking that other idiot into it anyway, aren't you?" Lance sighed.

As Cam watched, the conversation was turning from something promising into something that made him feel like banging his head against the wall. "Hey!" I'm trying to talk him out of going!"

"Yes," Daniel assured him, ignoring Cam.

"Yes, you're putting up just the right amount of protest to cover your ass…" Lance retorted, before addressing the bigger issue. "Alright, we'll all go."

"Wait, what?!"

"YES!"

"You're… Seriously?" Cam stared between the pilot and gunner and blinked. _Did he really just say yes?_

"Yep." Lance told him, shrugging. _I just wanna see what the fuck they manage to accomplish._ He hadn't heard anything resembling a _plan_ accompanying this idea.

"Told you so," Daniel gloated.

Cam groaned and flopped onto his bed. "I hate you, man. I hate both of you. This is such a _bad_ idea."

"Cam, there are no good ideas on an Explorer Team." Lance felt like that lesson should have gotten through by now.

"So I'm starting to figure out." Cam sighed. "So you're really okay with going to see the guy that snake guy said to go see?"

"I'll be supervising," Lance said as if that fixed everything.

"Would you stop?" Daniel rolled his eyes and shot Cam a scowl. "We got old person approval. That was your only condition."

"HEY!" Lance yelled. The kid really had to stop with this 'old person' business, especially if he wanted approval for dumb ideas.

"If this goes sideways…" Cam glared. "Flamingos for _days_."

"…That will start a war that I _promise_ you won't win."

"Didn't I just tell you I'm Russian? We know how to wage a war."

"I'm _me_. I annoyed you by walking into a room early. Imagine if I was actually trying."

"Are you two gonna just argue like an old married couple, or are we gonna go on this mafia hunt?" Lance asked. The ill-advised mission was definitely safer than letting their headache-inducing bickering continue.

"Married… oh god, no. I'm not seeing that elvish guy!" Cam was horrified by the thought.

"ELVISH?" Lance was horrified by the words.

"Yeah, that elvish impersonator you were talking about? Some… king of rock and roll?" Cam was 90% sure he had that right.

"Fucking… _Elvis_. _EL-VIS_." Lance was absolutely getting a headache now.

"Yeah, not marrying that."

"He marries… you know what, never mind." It wasn't worth it.

Cam sighed and grabbed his sidearm, and after second thought, a knife. "I can't believe we're really doing this. Such a bad idea. Huge mistake."

Glare. "Shut it, debbie downer!"

"He's probably right. Anyway, Daniel, this is your idea. You lead." Lance pulled out his datapad; it would probably be a good idea to tell someone what they were up to. Flynn was probably the best choice. Unlike Keith, he wouldn't ask questions until it was over.

**Off with Idiot 1 and Idiot 2, to be idiotic… sure it'll be fine. Am supervising. Don't ask for details.**

"Okay…" Daniel grinned and nodded before grabbing his own sidearm. "Let's get out of here!" Checking his own guns—all four of them, he'd brought extras just in case, and clearly _that_ had been a good decision—Lance shook his head and followed him out.

"Ve all going to be kilt," Cam muttered as they walked off the ship, emphasizing his accent. Just in case he hadn't reminded them enough about his being Russian today. He was definitely going to be bringing it up again when things with the freaking mafia went bad.

"I look stunning in a kilt," Lance responded.

"Cam, stop talking like a bad version of Dracula."

"Poyekhali."

Daniel ignored whatever he'd just said and eyed the colorful tourist map he'd downloaded. "This way." He wasn't certain where they were going, but he did have a pretty good idea of where to start.

Lance shook his head again as they forged into the chaos of Dradin. _They're never going to find him._

* * *

The meeting with Mansetti was scheduled for midday; Keith had originally planned to go alone. He wasn't too sure what the protocol was, and this was one meeting they definitely couldn't afford to botch. But he'd been convinced—it hadn't really taken all that much—that walking alone into the hands of the legendary smuggler who owned the planet _may_ not be the best idea.

Hunk was tagging along precisely because he wanted to meet a real live legendary smuggler; it sounded fun. Sven had signed on because duty, adventure… and well, hungover Jace was significantly worse than regular Jace.

"Let's hope this Mansetti is an agreeable character."

"Can't be too disagreeable, dude built a planet into an amusement park."

"True. Alright, remember. Bounty hunters. Looking for a criminal. Did one of you happen to snag Daniel's wanted poster?"

"I have it." Sven had been thinking ahead. He'd nabbed the poster from Daniel when he went to visit Jace in the sick bay.

Hunk grinned. "Viking's on it."

"Good." Keith nodded, looking at his directions, which he'd double and triple checked this time. Though he really needn't have bothered. Once they came in sight of what they were looking for, it was _impossible_ to miss.

The building was a towering round high-rise that shimmered in Dradin's neon lights. If Keith didn't know better—_did_ he know better?—he'd have said it was plated with actual gold. The windows were tinted in various bright colors, and every few floors there was a band of a painted floral pattern that wouldn't have looked out of place on a Hawaiian shirt. The sign on the front was written in a language he couldn't read, but there was writing in several other languages around the edges. It took him a moment to find the Common, which declared the building **CHEZ MANSETTI**.

It was… quite a thing, that was for sure. "Wow…"

"Interesting design."

"I like this dude already," Hunk declared, eyes wide with admiration.

Of course he did. Keith took a slow breath to steady himself; he was a little nervous. Just a little. Especially after the whole giant snake escapade. "Okay. We ready to do this?"

"Yes sir."

"Totally."

The interior, or at least the lobby, was just as garish and wild as the exterior. Nine different clerks were standing behind a huge polished gold counter, and the human one quickly waved them over. "Welcome to Chez Mansetti, the Spur's premier source of high-rise high-fashion office space! How can I help you?"

"I believe we have an appointment with Mr. Mansetti."

"Name?"

Keith fought back the wince. Using his real name… exactly… had once again seemed unwise. "Ko-gain and party." He was not at all unaware of his companions glancing at each other with raised eyebrows.

The clerk wasn't even looking at them, busy typing away. After a few moments he nodded. "Aha! Yes, there you are, Mr. Ko-gain. Mr. Mansetti is expecting you. Take elevator four up to the Observation Suite, he'll be waiting."

"Thank you." Turning in the direction the clerk had pointed, they headed for the elevator bank. Keith took another long breath. He was very glad he'd allowed the other two to come along now… Sven's businesslike demeanor gave him a silent but deadly aura, and Hunk looked exactly like a huge mafia bouncer.

Hunk was also staring at the neon elevator buttons with childlike glee. "Can I poke 'em?"

Sigh. "Button, yes. Mansetti, no."

Bursting into laughter, Hunk sought out the button for the observation suite. "I promise not to poke the smuggler kingpin. Probably." As he pressed the button, the elevator immediately shot up with a jolt; he grinned wider. "Wheeee!"

Sven chuckled, and Keith just crossed his arms and shook his head slightly. _At least he still _looks _scary._

Soon enough the elevator halted, and the doors swished open to reveal a room full of sensory overload. The first thing he noticed was the 360-degree windows, offering an incredible view of Dradin's chaos. The second was the jagged black and white carpet, potted palm trees, and half a dozen squishy armchairs with bright upholstery.

The third was the alien sitting in the largest of those armchairs. Keith had never seen—or in fact heard of—a Karkinosi before, and couldn't quite keep down the startled blink. Mansetti was a very large, portly creature with four arms, four eyes, and a pair of antennae that had perked up as they entered. His skin was a maroon carapace dotted with small spikes. He could have looked very intimidating… but it was hard to be intimidated by someone wearing what looked to be a gaudy brightly-colored bathrobe and a copious amount of bling.

"Ah, welcome!" He stood and gestured expansively with all four arms. He may have been smiling—his beak-like mouth made it hard to tell for sure—but his tone was friendly enough. "Mr. Kogane and associates, I trust?"

Whatever worry the bathrobe had banished came surging back in full force. Keith stared at him. Mansetti had a thick accent, but it couldn't account for _that_. "It's… Ko-gain, actually…" The words physically pained him. The other two snickering behind him didn't help.

"Ah, is it?" Two of the Karkinosi's eyebrows arched behind his sunglasses. "Hmm. Here I thought I was meeting with one of the Alliance's youngest commanders." That cut off the snickering _immediately_. But he just shrugged. "Well, please have a seat! We'll figure out who you are soon enough. You can call me Manset."

_What the…?_ Keith blinked, suddenly off-balance, fighting to recover his composure. "It's a pleasure, Manset." He took a seat in a chair across from the smuggler's, eyeing the coffee table between them until he got his expression under control. Then he gestured to his teammates. "This is Hunk and the Viking. What made you think I might be this young commander?"

Sven blinked himself as he took a seat on Keith's right. _We're telling_ other _people my nickname now?_ Bounty hunting, he supposed…

Manset returned to his own chair and looked them over carefully. "A bit of research. I have many enemies, you understand. Some who'd be bold enough to send people after me in my own office." He shrugged again. "But somehow, I don't think young Commander Kogane would be the type, even if those enemies did hire Earthlings."

"Hmm." That was all Keith could really manage for a moment. He glanced at Hunk and Sven, who to their credit were giving the room a second sweep and _not_ jumping into the middle of this, as much as he might have liked help. "Well, he sounds very honorable and… talented? But we're just bounty hunters." Now the other two shot him _looks_ again, and he glared slightly.

It didn't seem to bother Manset, who chuckled and waved it off. "Don't worry, don't worry! I assure you, if you need someone to understand not being easily traced, you're speaking to the right Karkinosi." He was really quite convinced Commander Kogane had learned everything he knew about undercover work from holos, but he wasn't judging. "So, bounty hunting. What bounty might you be after? So long as it isn't my hide, perhaps I can be of help to you."

Though he was still a bit off balance, Keith decided the subject of his identity was best abandoned. Nothing here seemed threatening, and they _were_ paying the man well for his time. No sense in wasting it. He nodded to Sven, who produced the wanted poster and handed it over. "We're searching for the man on this poster."

Leaning forward and lifting his sunglasses, Manset peered at the poster carefully. "Questionable-looking fellow." He chuckled. "I ought to know."

"He's apparently looking for some legendary weapon on a planet named Altea. We've been trying to track down anything we can about either him or the planet."

The smuggler studied the poster a bit longer, then shook his head. "I don't recognize the fellow, and I've never heard of a planet called Altea. What brought you to me, if you don't mind my asking?"

_That_ question they had anticipated, at least, and the truth had seemed like the best bet. "We were… originally attempting to get an audience with a mafia boss based on this planet. We were supposed to get an introduction from an associate of his, but the associate decided to double cross us, and well…" Keith shrugged, trying to say the next part as non-threateningly as possible. "He met an untimely end."

"He was a snake," Hunk muttered. "Literally."

Nodding, Manset leaned back and adjusted his sunglasses again. "Ahh, I see. You ran into one of Boss Dread's agents."

So he did know _of_ Dread, at least. Keith nodded, knowing they would need to tread carefully here. "We were told he had a network and resources that might be able to help us find our man."

"Of course, of course. But you came to me?"

Hunk grinned. "You sounded nicer."

"Definitely a more enjoyable meeting," Sven agreed.

Keith winced slightly, but calmed as Manset burst into laughter. He waited for it to die down, then shrugged. "We didn't know how to get in touch with Dread after his agent turned on us, and you do own the planet… and yes, you sounded nicer."

"Well, I won't pretend Dread hasn't been a thorn in my side since I acquired the planet." Manset was still chuckling. "Our contact is usually limited to my security teams chasing his people from the vendors. I haven't been able to get anyone embedded into his network." He paused, eyeing then curiously for a moment. "I don't suppose you're for hire for some side business?"

They had done some crazy things for this mission, but trying to run a sting operation on a mafia boss—one who was already a slim thread, for that matter—didn't seem like the most efficient use of their time. Maybe if their other ideas completely dried up. Though Hunk looked very interested in hanging around Planet Vegas awhile longer; Sven less so. "Unfortunately we need to put all of our efforts towards our current job, and time is of the essence. Or we would seriously consider taking you up on it."

"It never hurts to ask." Shrug. "Without any agents in his orbit, my word would hurt your chances with Dread more than help you. But I can't imagine, if he knew anything of some mythical weapon, he'd be interested in letting anyone but himself get his hands on it. Likes his firepower, does Boss Dread."

Frowning, Keith nodded slowly. It was a reasonable point, if unhelpful for their mission. "Would you happen to have any other ideas on where someone looking for a mythical planet might go?"

"I'm not sure." Manset rubbed his chin thoughtfully, shifting in his seat. "I can't think of any of my own contacts who would be more likely than any other to know something. And you'll understand I can't just give you a list. But I can certainly ask around… Commander Kogane, I'm sure, could vouch for my intelligence capabilities."

He probably could, at that. "We would be grateful, if you could." Gratitude may or may not get them anywhere. The credit chip he produced and set on the coffee table between them almost certainly would. "For your… discretion, of course."

The smuggler palmed the chip deftly, then nodded. "Discretion is assured, of course. How will I contact you, if my sources turn anything up? Or will you be back in the neighborhood?"

Sven again looked mildly distressed at the prospect of coming back; Hunk again didn't. "Please say we're comin' back, boss…"

"We will try to be back." The way this mission was going, Keith would be more surprised if they didn't end up out this way again. "If we aren't able to…" Hell. How _would_ he be able to contact them? They couldn't even get a report back to their boss.

"Toss a snail mail to that Kogane dude," Hunk suggested. "It'll find us."

Keith shot him a disbelieving glare, though admittedly he hadn't had any better ideas… at least he hadn't put the Karkinosi in a box. "Yes, that would work. We are employed by the Alliance, I'm sure an officer could ensure it reaches us sooner or later." He knew the charade was long dead, but he wasn't going to be the one to drop it outright. "With a confidential seal, of course? For safety."

"You can never be too safe!" Manset agreed cheerfully. He wasn't going to be the one to drop the pretense either. "So, is there anything else I can do for you?"

_And speaking of…_ "Actually, we do hope so… could we use your secure subspace relay? We haven't been able to contact our employers with an update for some time."

"You're quite welcome to use it, if you'd like to try your luck. The Alliance hasn't taken my calls for years." Manset sat back, steepling his fingers uneasily, his antennae waggling in a way that looked oddly like a shrug. "You import a few hundred kilos of illegal floral arrangements to Vdumak, and everyone gets all bent out of shape…"

It took a fair bit of effort for even Keith not to snicker at that; Hunk failed completely. "Out of shape over flowers? Shameful." Sven's eyebrows had arched for about the hundredth time this meeting, though he was amused. Not least because he knew that in some cultures, flower arrangements having so much as a petal out of place could be highly offensive… an act of war, even. He was kind of tempted to mention that, but thought better of it; it didn't seem directly relevant.

He'd been correct; Manset's problems had rested elsewhere. "I had a contract, how was I supposed to know they were hallucinogenic to the locals? Ah, the perils of the profession."

Keith blinked. Why hadn't he expected that? "Indeed. Well, as you said, it never hurts to ask." He stood, looking around the suite again; the view really was remarkable. But it seemed they'd gotten all they could here. "We thank you for your time, Manset, but I think we—" He was cut off by a chime rippling through the room.

"Ah, lunchtime!" Their host's antennae perked up again. "Would you like to stay? I don't eat fancy, I'm afraid, but the Bacon Decadence burger _is_ a Dradin specialty."

"Well…" Keith looked at the other two as he considered it. Which may have been a mistake; Hunk was giving him a truly devastating pair of puppy eyes. So much for the fearsome mafia bouncer. "…It would be impolite to refuse such a kind offer."

Manset clapped both his sets of hands together. "Excellent! I'd be a poor host if I failed to ensure you enjoy everything Dradin has to offer." He snapped his fingers, and a section of floor on the far side of the room flipped over to reveal a dining table with a rainbow zebra-print tablecloth.

"The decor just seems to get more and more interesting the longer we're here," Sven murmured. It wasn't an objection, exactly; it really _would_ be very impolite to refuse the meal. Besides, he hadn't eaten his burger the night before… or if he had, he didn't remember it.

At about the same moment, Hunk's eyes lit up. "Dude. Whenever we get back here, I _need_ the name of your interior decorator."

_There are two kinds of people_, Keith mused, chuckling slightly as he looked at his crewmates. A chair with squishy rainbow-zebra upholstery came rolling up to him on some kind of automated gadget, and he took a seat. It wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but what could it hurt? Even if he couldn't help them with Altea, a contact like Manset could probably come in handy someday.

* * *

Meanwhile, the other trio to be out and about had walked around for a good while to no avail. Though Daniel was still acting like he knew where he was going… soon enough, he led them to a brightly lit casino. The Lucky Lure, it was called; not Dradin's biggest or fanciest, but it was nice, and the map didn't show any security posts nearby.

It was the best idea he had, really. Where there was gambling, there had to be mafia, right? Right! "Let's go find a mob boss." Without waiting for a response, he walked right in.

Cam gave Lance a wary look. "It can't be as easy as he thinks, right?"

Lance shrugged. "I'm sure mob bosses often hang out in the open." Walking in right behind Daniel, they were greeted with yelling, ringing, and what looked like pure chaos.

"Awesome." Daniel couldn't think of another word to describe it; he reminded himself to come back and try the slot machines. And to look into Dradin for retirement. It was never too early to start making plans.

Lance looked around quickly, scanning everything. He was impressed by the casino's selection; shame he couldn't stop and gamble a little. Too busy supervising.

"So… where exactly are we going to find him?" Cam asked, stopping right next to Daniel.

"Yeah, kid, where to?"

"Hm." Daniel waited for a minute, hoping for some sort of sign. Not a single shady-looking bouncer to be seen in the place. _Rude_. A piercing scream rang out, though; no doubt just someone who'd lost a lot of money, but it was a good a sign as any. "That way."

"…He has no idea, does he?" Cam asked, looking at Lance, who just snickered and followed. So much for sanity. "My umrem…"

The pilot glanced back at him. "Say what?"

"_My umrem,"_ he repeated sullenly. "We will _die_."

Despite being a few feet ahead in the noisy casino, Daniel heard his comments just fine. But he chose to ignore it. He was _totally_ gonna find the dude.

They'd been poking around for awhile when Daniel noticed a line of photo booths with various themes. There was the casino one, of course… also the Hawaiian one, the underwater one, some alien rock band one… and at the end, a spooky-looking one labeled **Photo Booth of Dread.** That was fitting. Another metaphorical light bulb lit above his head.

Cam stopped near the photo booths and glared. His feet hurt. "We're not going to find him."

Daniel ignored him, looking at Lance instead. "So I'm in charge, right?" He wasn't really sure how serious that had been.

_They're right, I am insane._ "Yep."

"Awesome. Okay. We're taking a group photo in the perfectly named photo booth," Daniel ordered, and smirked. He liked giving orders.

"It is aptly named…" Lance shrugged. "And I do take an awesome photo."

Daniel jumped into the booth, and a scare chord played; the lightning went blood red. This thing was cool. Though there was one small logistical problem… as Lance sat next to him, he offered his most ingratiating smile. "You got some spare credits to pay for the pictures?" He _may_ have forgotten to bring money.

Lance rolled his eyes, but handed the kid a chip as Cam scooted in beside him. As Daniel accepted the chip and paid, the booth crackled with scary lightning. None of them paid it much attention, but the ambiance seemed about right.

"Okay guys, give it your best Blue Steel."

"My what?" Daniel asked, confused. Lance was always talking about old stuff he didn't get.

Lance shook his head. "Only Hunk understands me." They all prepared their best photo booth faces—a smile, a wink, some bunny ears—but instead of a flash the photo booth started to shudder and make a weird noise. The shutter clicked several times, but no picture. It seemed to be malfunctioning.

"Oh, come on…"

"These things are always iffy."

Cam wasn't wholly convinced about the photo, but they were _here_ now, so he decided to kick it. Kicking things was usually an excellent tech fixer.

Almost immediately, the booth's floor dropped out from under them. "The _fuck!?"_ Lance yelled as they flew down what seemed to be a metal slide, or a very large vent? It was kind of hard to tell as they tumbled down it.

"WOW! Haha!" Daniel screeched, while Cam simply screamed.

Upon landing Lance checked to make sure his guns were still on him. The boys did the same. They all seemed intact… he looked up from the floor and frowned slightly. The chute had dumped them out into what appeared to be a nicely furnished sitting room.

"This probably looks like Vince's house," he commented, for lack of any better things to say.

"I could see that." Daniel nodded.

"I can't believe that just happened…" Cam just kept staring at the floor.

None of them saw the imposing Drule woman standing in front of them with her arms crossed, at least until she spoke. "There's no 'Vince' here, round-ears."

Lance's head snapped up. _Oh. Uh oh_. He looked her up and down, she wasn't bad looking at all, for a Drule.

Cam had something similar in mind. _She is cute… but I'm too young to die._

"Um…?" Daniel's eyes were wide as he looked up at her. He'd never been called 'round-ears' before. "Hi?"

She glared. "You're in the wrong part of town. I can fix that for you."

"What part of town are we in?" Daniel asked, shrugging. That got him one of the most impressive _is this kid for real?_ looks he'd ever seen, and that was saying something.

"My umrem," Cam whispered again, wincing. They were _so_ gonna die.

The Drule gave an exasperated sigh; their lack of fear seemed to have thrown her. "Okay fine. What's your business here? We don't deal with your kind."

Daniel looked at Lance expectantly; usually by now he was already talking them out of these kinds of situations. Not that they'd been in that many of these situations together, but still. Lance looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. "You're the boss."

_The one day we let Daniel lead, and we're going to die._

"So I'm like… In charge in charge?" Daniel got a giant smile on his face, because Lance had said he was in charge but people never ACTUALLY put him in charge. "I never get to be in charge in charge!" Lance fought off a grin and kept an eye on the woman.

"_He's_ your boss?" the Drule snorted. "How did you monkeys ever make it out of trees?" She drew her pistol and started flipping it around in her hands, eyeing them with a slight smirk. "Now how about you start talking."

_She likes a show,_ Lance thought as he watched her. _That's good, just stay amused_. He moved slightly forward, so if he needed to he could get the kids behind him. Cam sidestepped a little bit, in case the pilot needed more room to save them. They were definitely going to need saving.

"We, uh… we were looking for Boss Dread," Daniel explained, hoping not to be shot. The scary Drule lady beneath the Photo Booth of Dread seemed like the best lead they'd had so far, no sense _not_ trying their luck. "We heard he could maybe answer some questions about a guy we're hunting."

She almost dropped the gun. "You think you can just come in here and ask to see Boss Dread that easy?"

"…Was kinda hoping, yeah."

She eyed them for another moment with total disbelief, then shrugged. Walking over to a speaker, she hit a button and began to speak in Drakure.

Cam had learned Drakure, of course—at least the diplomatic basics. What she was saying included some things that definitely weren't diplomatic, but he got the gist. Something to the effect of _hey boss, some idiot humans want to ask you some questions…_ wait. "You're going to let us see him?" he asked, shocked. Glad they weren't being shot, but still shocked.

Lance was thinking along the same lines. _How the hell did the kid manage this? Keith and Flynn are gonna kill me._

"The boss is a busy man, round-ear. Just because I'm asking doesn't mean he'll bother to—" She was cut off by a voice over the comm system.

"Bring them in."

The Drule fell silent, staring dumbfounded at the speaker. Daniel just smiled. This was _awesome_.

"What the fuck," Lance mumbled under his breath. This was totally not awesome.

"Kak, chert voz'mi." This was so not-awesome Cam was forgetting English.

Scary Drule lady didn't seem to think it was all that awesome either. Finally she waved for them to follow her—with her pistol, attempting to cover up how flustered she was. But the boss usually did have his reasons, she supposed…

She led them through several small airlock-like rooms that rotated, completely torpedoing any sense of direction they may have had. Apparently security was tighter than just a crummy photo booth with a cool punny name. "I can't believe we're doing this," Cam whispered, but Daniel ignored him as they entered the final room.

Boss Dread was sitting at a huge, gleaming desk with his feet propped up. Six heavily armed guards flanked him. He gave them a broad smile as they entered, and waved them further into the room. "Ah! Welcome! Please, have a seat. Can my aide get you anything? Tea cakes? Blood wine?"

"A large glass of vodka?" Cam asked before he could really think about it, sinking into a chair; he needed something for his nerves. Daniel sat next to him, contemplating why anyone would want to drink something called _blood wine._ Lance inwardly groaned at Cam, and decided to stay standing, just in case. He eyed Dread carefully. He wasn't bad looking either; much more attractive than his nasty snake friend. His clothes wouldn't have looked wholly out of place in an old Earth gangster movie; pinstripes were very much _in_ among the Drules these days.

"Of course, of course." Dread waved off their annoyed guide, and gave an unpleasant smirk. "It's not every day a few _Earthlings_ have the nerve to walk right into my stronghold. You should be honored for your… how do you say… 'chutzpah'."

"Thank you." Daniel smiled.

"We thank you for your time, sir," Cam agreed, swallowing hard. "We know you are a busy person." Daniel glanced at him with a raised brow, but didn't comment. _Brown noser._

"Indeed I am. Our wares don't move themselves, you know… but every so often I do have an opening. Now, what business do you have with my Syndicate?"

"We heard you could help us find…" Daniel paused to pull out a wanted poster. Sven had taken the original, but having a few copies had seemed like a good call. "This guy." He held it up so he could see.

The Drule woman from before chose that moment to walk in with a large glass of vodka, handing it to Cam. The glass had been etched with the Syndicate's insignia. There were a lot of skulls. Lance stared. _Really?_ He still wasn't sure if he should laugh at the situation or grab the kids and run.

"Thank you, miss." Lance really almost _did_ laugh at Cam thanking the woman as if she was a waitress; she shook her head in annoyance before retreating back to the doorway. Cam smiled at the glass—it was pretty cool looking—then took a very long drink. Which he nearly gagged on, the stuff was _potent_. He masked it with a cough, then took a much more reasonable sip.

"Are you sure you're not an alcoholic?" Daniel mumbled.

"I'm going to be, going along with you on stuff like this," Cam mumbled back.

Dread had taken the poster from Daniel, and studied it for a minute before giving a chuckle. "We don't deal with Earthlings in our line of work. Too _soft_." He shrugged. "Who told you we might know about this ugly fellow?"

"A very pretty snake," Daniel said quietly. He figured it was best not to give away too much information, Bokar _had_ worked for Dread. No telling how he felt about the guy. And he wanted to avoid the name in front of Lance, anyway; he didn't need another 'I was right' or 'Your taste sucks' thrown in his face.

Cam showed no such restraint. "We're bounty hunters. We met with an associate of yours, a man by the name of Bokar… he said you might have information on either this gentleman or the planet he's looking for."

Daniel tried to fight down the wide eyed stare he shot at Cam, but… _for the love of fuck. _Lance was just trying not to choke on the air he was breathing.

Boss Dread stared at them for a moment, eyes narrowed, before he spoke. "Bokar. Dead?"

"Yeah…" _Shit._ "He uh, got killed by the local Alliance troops before he could give us an introduction, but he gave us your name," Daniel explained.

Once again Cam answered as if Daniel hadn't spoken at all. "Unfortunately, yes, sir. We were helping him retrieve a stash of artifacts, and he promised us an introduction in exchange, but he turn—I mean, he passed before he had the chance to follow through." Daniel watched as Cam took another sip of his vodka, and for the first time during this whole situation he began to feel a little nervous. He'd have felt better if his roommate were in elbowing range.

Dread's eyes narrowed further, looking between the three of them, and then abruptly he began laughing loudly.

Lance once again felt himself raising a brow, and Daniel was just hoping that laughter was a good thing. Cam winced and sipped more of his vodka. He was definitely buzzed already; his grandma would love this stuff. At least it was helping with his nerves.

"Soft, and bad liars," Dread finally declared with a sneer. "But I suppose not _so_ soft." He opened a drawer, took out a small silken pouch, and tossed it at Daniel. "Fair pay for services rendered. The snake fool was playing me against at least three other patrons... do you know how _difficult_ it is to find an assassin willing to take on a Najari? You've saved me a great deal of trouble."

"Um… you're welcome." Daniel palmed the bag. The silky material felt nice, and based on the weight, there was a pretty good pile of credit chips inside. This was going _way_ better than he'd had any business hoping.

Lance shook his head, keeping his own opinions on Bokar to himself. _He wasn't that hard to kill. _Though he supposed they had kind of used a spaceship to do it.

"Um, we can give you the location of his last stash, if you want?" Cam offered, taking yet another sip of his drink. Daniel whipped his head around, glaring. He may be new to this being 'in charge, in charge' thing, but he was pretty certain they shouldn't be telling this guy _that_. Even Lance closed his eyes briefly. _What is in that vodka?_

'"Perhaps you'll have an opportunity to do that…" Boss Dread gave another nasty smirk, and Lance winced. _Shit_. This was about to go bad. "Unless you'd like to hire an assassin yourselves, I'm afraid I can't help you with your bounty here. Or Altea. We're in the business of moving sensitive goods, not exploring the stars," Dread explained. He pressed a button on his desk; the doors behind them slammed shut. "So, why don't you tell me which associates of yours we ought to contact about the fine ransom you'll command? And once they've paid it, you can be on your way."

_Oh shit._ Daniel could feel Cam looking at him, like he was supposed to know what the fuck they were gonna do now. This was why people didn't put him in charge! He jumped out of his chair, more by reflex than anything… all six bodyguards immediately trained their very impressive guns on him. He sat back down.

"Wise choice." Dread still had that nasty smirk, though his tone was as polite as ever. "You'll be worth so much less if you have holes in you. Let's try to avoid that. Don't you agree?"

Oh, he agreed, alright. This was so, so _not_ awesome. Cam leaned close to him and whispered, "Aren't you going to say anything?" Daniel hoped the look he gave him in return truly conveyed the _FUCK NO_ he was feeling. Yelling it, no matter how tempting, didn't seem like the best idea.

Lance looked between them and grimaced. Time to do some of that supervising. _Get on it, McClain, the kids and you are screwed if you don't think fast…_ "Dread? Can I call you Dread?" he asked with a big smile.

The Drule eyed him. "Most do, human. And for a reason."

"Oh, I don't doubt that at all." _Go bold, what besides your life do you have to lose?_ Lance moved closer to the desk, flailing to remember everything he knew about making nice with Drules. Which was a fair bit, all things considered. "We're no one really, just after some no name who stole some plans from the Alliance, who thinks some Atlantis in the sky exists…" He paused for a moment, not totally sure where he was going with this, but winging it _was _his specialty. "But you… _you… _now you're someone!"

Dread eyed him. "The Alliance usually pays quite well to keep their round-ears out of trouble, nobodies or not." Slowly, one of his eyebrows went up. "Are you making a counter offer?

"If I were?"

"I'm listening," Dread informed him, his teeth bared.

Lance grinned. _SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT. _He had to have a counter offer somewhere, he just needed a second to—

"Well, like I said, we know the location of Bokar's stash." Cam's accent was becoming a little more pronounced again. "It vas quite a bit of treasure."

Wincing, Daniel reached over and took Cam's vodka from him. "Shut up!"

It had given Lance the moment's breather he needed. More to the point, it had made him notice the credit chips in Daniel's lap, and a plan was beginning to form. "You've got quite a smile there," he complimented, returning his attention to Dread. He knew wealthy Drules took pride in their teeth.

"Why thank you." Dread grinned even more nastily. "I sharpen my fangs daily. Not many have that luxury, you know. But when you run an interstellar syndicate of sufficient power... there are some perks." He decided to twist the knife a little; he knew perfectly well what was going on here. "Do you know what else is a perk? Your Alliance can't touch me here without causing an interstellar incident."

"They aren't really _our _Alliance. We just do their dirty work, you know? Good at it too, but they don't really appreciate it. I mean we might get you some alcreds, but we're not quite worth the bounty on, say, a Najari?" Lance flashed his most winning smile.

"I see what you're doing. You think you can sweet talk me that easily?" Dread chuckled darkly, looking between Lance and Daniel.

Daniel tried for a charming smile himself. _I sure as hell hope he can_.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of only sweet talking our way out of this. Look at all those guns behind you." Lance cocked his head. "I know my guns, you've got quite the taste in equipment."

Dread was definitely amused now. "Your observations are fair enough, human."

"Your strength is admirable."

"Your audacity is _remarkable_."

Well, that wasn't wrong. But if he really wanted audacity, Lance did know one pretty good line in Drakure. "Qu'urial ke svaldrumos se'var chor."

Daniel blinked, looking at Cam, who shrugged. He'd followed most of that, but there was some kind of slang nuance he'd definitely missed. Boss Dread, though, had definitely gotten the nuance. He stared at Lance for a very long few seconds; the pilot looked back at him evenly, keeping their eyes locked and his grin wide.

Dread roared with laughter.

"We're gonna die…" Cam whispered, claiming his vodka back from Daniel and taking a _very _long drink. Lance kicked his leg. "Hey! That's gonna bruise, man!"

Lance ignored that; his focus was on the mob boss in front of him, who regained his composure and bared his fangs again. "You've got yourself a deal, round-ears. One Najari bounty reward as ransom, and you're free to go." His smirk somehow got even nastier. "You only get to flatter your way out of the Syndicate's clutches _once_, human. Show up around here again…" He paused to slice a finger across his neck. "We'll see how pretty that tongue is mounted on my wall."

Lance grabbed the credits off of Daniel's lap and handed them over, smirking right back. "My tongue _is _mighty pretty."

"Ew." Daniel was horrified. "I didn't need to hear that."

Cam nodded in agreement and finished off his vodka. "I _didn't _hear that."

"Are you sure you want to tempt me?" Dread asked.

"No more than I already have," Lance answered with a wink. _Stay audacious._

Dread waved for his bodyguards to stand down, and pressed the button to open the door. "I'm gonna count to ten, and you'd better be gone." He sneered. "Oh, and keep the glass. A souvenir. With my compliments."

"It is a sweet glass, thank y—"

"Shut up and _run!"_ Lance shoved the kids in front of him. Daniel had already grabbed Cam's hand and took off in an instant, hauling his roommate behind him—he did, after all, have the advantage of not being intoxicated. They sprinted into the first rotating room, which swung around to cut off their view of Dread's office, and for maybe the first time since entering they all stopped to breathe.

Once. Then the room finished swinging around and they were _gone_.

* * *

Fun time on Dradin was over. The rift jump on the way here hadn't caused any serious damage, but it _had_ scorched some wiring that Flynn wanted replaced out of caution. Vince could get behind that. So he was crouched over an access hatch in the floor of the engine bay, carefully winding new wires through the complicated maze of metal framework, ventilation, and cabling.

Pidge was at the main console with a status screen up, watching one wire after another blink red, then black, then green. He didn't necessarily need to be here, but what else was he going to do? Couldn't go out and play more ring toss. So he watched the electrical engineer with some interest… he'd been put on monitoring duty a lot back on the Prime Yard, it kept him further away from the other techs. Wiring replacement was something he'd seen a lot of. Vince was doing it noticeably faster than any of his old groupmates.

He was working on a particularly tricky one now; the path looped around like a Dradin roller coaster. The feeling that he was being watched kept tugging at him, and he kept reminding himself he _was_. He was learning to remain Ninja Aware. Shaking it off, he returned his focus to the wiring, his tongue poking out slightly as he threaded the needle between a few other cables. The _Bolt_'s internal workings were crammed as tightly together as was feasible, to allow for every possible inch of space to go to the main cargo bay.

As Pidge watched, the light for that wire went green, and he frowned. Flynn wasn't here; he was one deck down at the end of an engine shaft, doing full inspections. In his absence, he opted to try his hand at being a good teammate. "Nice job, mechka."

Vince did not startle, since he was Ninja Aware. He did look over at him, confused. "Huh?"

"…Nice job? With the wires."

"Oh." A compliment, and a compliment from the ninja of all people… he felt himself flushing. Deflection was the first thing to come out. "Uh, thanks. Feels like I'm a bit behind, really…"

Behind? Pidge checked the time. "Not at all." Though it didn't seem to reassure the other engineer all that much.

"Oh. Probably just me, then."

"Probably?" Sighing, Pidge went back to the console as Vince returned to his work. He couldn't help but feel his attempt at being nice had gone wrong somehow.

The next wire was going to be a total pain to deal with; it was one of the primary engine sync relays, and it ran halfway across the bay. On the plus side, it was a pretty straight shot. On the minus side, there was a lot of other _stuff_ in the way trying to prevent it from being a straight shot.

Fortunately, there were ways to make it less of a pain. Ways that involved partly dismantled vents, creative maneuvering, and very well-insulated pliers. Most of his Academy instructors would have yelled at him for the kind of finagling he was doing, but Flynn always seemed to approve. Soon enough he had the new wire in place, and allowed himself a bit of a grin.

As he moved on to the next, he thought he heard Pidge mutter under his breath. "Huh? Did you say something?"

"Five minutes, eighteen seconds," Pidge repeated. "The sync relay replacement. That's good, isn't it?"

_Um._ "I wouldn't know, really… you timed it?"

"…Yes? You were worried about being behind. I was confirming you're not."

Vince blinked. That was not exactly why he'd… _what the heck? If it amuses him let him time you._ "Yeah, well it should've taken longer. Nice that Flynn doesn't expect us to stick to regs if there's a better way."

"Oh, that's how you're doing it?" Pidge seemed impressed again, or at least also approving. "They don't teach those kind of shortcuts at the Academy, kir sa tye?"

Now he was really getting uncomfortable… even physically, his cheeks were burning. He tried for a casual shrug. "I guess, I just sorta do it, really. It's not a big deal."

That got him a mildly annoyed look. "I didn't say it was a big deal, I just said you did a good job."

He should just say thanks here. He really should just say thanks and move on to the next wire. "Yeah, uh… thanks, just my job though." _I suck at this_.

Even Pidge had noticed that. "Humans…" This behavior in particular still mystified him. Modesty, they called it—like it was a virtue to waste time with inaccuracies. And it made it that much harder to be _nice_. "Why can't you just take a compliment?" Though he seemed to take them better from Flynn or Hunk… he shook that thought off.

_Oh, crap_. "You're right, I'm not great at them, sorry. Thank you." Vince immediately grimaced, unsure if that had sounded sincere or just panicked.

Pidge seemed to calm a little, at least. "Humans downplaying their abilities is illogical. How do you ever really get anything done?"

…Well, here they went again. Time to attempt to explain _human_ to the ninja. Vince was never sure he was doing a good job of it anyway, let alone subjects he wasn't so great with himself, but he would try… Pidge did keep _asking_ him, so he must be doing it somewhat right.

He stepped away from the access panel first, though. No sense tempting more explosions.

Pidge watched him warily. _Did I insult him now?_ He was trying to _avoid_ that. If only he could get a better feel for _how_.

"It's just that, uh, I'm not great at handling… ugh, I mean sometimes humans just don't know how to…" This was not working out at all. Sighing again and scratching the back of his head, Vince took a few steps forward. "Honestly, I _hate_ compliments." There, that had come easily enough. "I get all sweaty."

For a split second, Pidge was no longer aware of the _Bolt's_ engine bay around him. All he saw was Vince moving in on him, all he heard was the suddenly strong voice. _Honestly, I _hate… he dropped back and pulled his knife, falling into a defensive stance. "Back off!"

He'd hardly finished yelling it when he comprehended the rest of the statement and realized what was actually happening. Not that his adrenaline was ready to back down so easily, but he felt _incredibly_ foolish.

Vince sprang back with wide eyes. "Whoa, Pidge!" _Crap crap crap_. What had he said?

After a few very long, tense seconds, Pidge relaxed. Slightly. "Don't do that, mechka," he finally muttered. Maybe that particular misunderstanding could be avoided. "Don't _ever_ come at me like that." The warning was for both of them; the thought never even crossed his mind that it might sound like a threat. He stepped around the console, flipping the knife in his hand to sheath it as he approached.

It sure as hell _did_ sound like a threat to Vince, and the movement of the knife didn't help anything. He reflexively raised a hand as he stepped back.

Sparks flew.

"Chal sa kye?!" Pidge really _did_ panic now, and his combat reflexes took over. He crouched, ready to spring.

Vince was staring at his hand. His hand that sparks had shot out of, without any wires nearby at all. _What the heck…? No, scary ninja, focus on the ninja._ "I'm sorry, that wasn't… I wasn't trying to do anything, I don't even know how—"

"—Dammit, Pidge!"

The hyperspace thruster shafts were essentially huge metal tubes. Everything in and around them echoed like crazy. Everything, including a pair of wrenchlings yelling near exposed internal structure. Flynn hadn't been able to make out the words, but _get your ass back to the main bay_ had been the clear enough message.

He'd really _had it_ with this.

Both of the kids had spun to look at him; both had gone completely motionless at the look on his face. Pidge struggled to get his bearings—why was it always so much easier to see things clearly after someone intervened? "M… misunderstanding, sir," he finally managed in a very weak voice. Vince nodded in fervent agreement. It had _definitely_ been one of those.

Not that the chief was looking at Vince. "It's always a fucking misunderstanding!" Ninja hadn't even put the knife away. Admittedly, he looked terrified, which might have done it… but Flynn really wasn't looking for excuses for him right now. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you until your next shift. Can you understand _that?"_

…_Now you've done it, varetya. Now you've really done it._ With a supreme effort and a shaky hand, Pidge sheathed the knife and nodded. "Y… yessir." He slipped by Flynn and fled the bay, engaging his camo suit as he went.

Almost immediately, Flynn's adrenaline crashed. He'd been ready for a fight, even knowing he wouldn't get one. And as the hatch closed he felt a cold twinge in his stomach. _What did you just do?_

Vince looking more than a little frightened himself did _nothing_ for the surge of regret. He winced. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… it really was a misunderstanding, kind of both of us this time, I think… um, I sparked, that didn't help either." _You sparked_. What an understatement. _Not holding a wire, not near the electronics…_ he stared at his hand again.

"…Never does, does it?" Flynn looked around the bay, though his eyes kept going to the hatch. _He was getting better, faex… fuck's sake, how about you focus on the wrenchling who _doesn't _threaten people right now?_ "I don't see any fire?"

"Uh. No, I thought it might be coming, so I moved away from the wires…" He'd have been much more proud of that foresight if not for what had come next.

Flynn didn't miss it either, and for a moment he really _did_ forget about Pidge. "You… you 'sparked' without wires?"

"Trying not to freak out about that, sir." Trying so hard, in fact, that he actually veered the conversation back to trying to defend the ninja. "About Pidge, I don't think he meant anything…"

Sigh. "He never _does_." And that was usually enough for Flynn to let it slide, but it just kept happening… and now Vince was _what?_ He felt unmoored. But he was the superior officer here, he had to do _something_. "…Okay, listen. I want you to go to Jace. Get checked out." It was all he could think of. _Probably just a stress hallucination, he had a ninja about to knife him and he's pretty damn paranoid as is…_

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

They both flinched a little—Vince had regretted the reflexive question the second it came out, and Flynn had regretted the shortness of his answer just as quickly. But it was what it was. "Sorry… yes, sir." Vince backed off and left the bay.

_Good job_. Watching him go, Flynn sank back against a console and sighed. _Now you've snapped at _both _the kids. Why don't stay here until Hunk gets back, see if you can get him to punch you while you're at it?_

His skin was crawling. Disciplinary action was nothing new, of course, but he'd never actually lost his temper like that with a subordinate before. Never mind that dealing with this particular subordinate was _already_ like walking a tightrope.

It was the one leap of logic in the whole Explorer Team rationale. Just because you threw a bunch of misfits together didn't actually mean they would click. Most of the time it worked, but what happened when it didn't? What the hell was he supposed to do with a ninja whose skull was thicker than the hull armor? Just keep waiting it out?

_Yes. That's _exactly _what you were supposed to do, because that's what was working, and you lost your temper instead. Way to go._

He was tired. He was angry. But he knew he really couldn't afford to be either. Which left him with what?

Well… there _had_ been that message he'd gotten from Lance. He pulled out his datapad and typed in a quick reply. **How are your idiots doing? I just fucked things up nicely with mine. Beer?**

It wasn't a long term solution, but for the moment it might make him feel better. And maybe Lance would have some insight… he seemed to be doing just _fine_ with the kids on the bridge.

* * *

Once they were well away from Boss Dread and his casino, Lance yelled what he'd been wanting to yell for roughly 80% of that entire fiasco. "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"

"Fuck me running…" Cam stumbled a little and found a railing to lean on. "That was insane!"

"That was… terrifying." Daniel admitted. Though it had also been one hell of an adrenaline rush. He laughed, then sighed. "I'm not ever gonna be put 'in charge, in charge' again, huh?"

Lance's answer was immediate. "NO! I didn't think you'd actually _find him!"_ Daniel pouted a little, but the pilot ignored him. "I need a lot of hard liquor."

"Skip their vodka. Potent as hell," Cam warned. "But that one gal was hot."

"They _were_ both hot… but that is neither here nor there."

"You agreed to this." Daniel was feeling a little put out, this wasn't all his fault.

"YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO FIND HIM!" Lance yelled.

"It's not my fault you underestimated my bounty hunting skills!"

"When Keith guts me with his sword, it's on your head, kid."

"Wow, wow. Hold up—"

"How the fuck did you find him? I mean shit, what if we hadn't gotten out of there?"

Daniel was not paying much attention to Cam's complaints at all. They had gotten out of there, after all… and he was much more concerned about this 'telling Keith' nonsense. "—Why are we telling Keith shit?"

"Uh… cuz he's the boss." That seemed pretty obvious to Cam.

"Wasn't asking you. You're _intoxicated_, you can't even be sure you'll even remember this correctly," Daniel sassed.

"I remember just fine… for the moment," Cam sassed right back, though maybe it wasn't as effective as it could have been.

"But seriously, I can't very well not mention we met with _Boss Dread_." Lance sighed. "Kid, it will all land on me, don't sweat it."

"Well—" Daniel winced at the second part, and the 'well, why not?' died on his lips. He groaned instead. "That's not better." That meant he'd actually feel guilty. "Just let it fall on me. I don't want you in trouble." He handled being in trouble much better than someone else being in trouble for him.

Smirk. "It's fine, it's what I get for being… what do you keep saying? The old person."

"But it was my idea… and _exactly_, you're _old_. Who knows how many more of Keith lectures you can take before you croak?" Daniel snarked.

"…Now you're pushing it."

"That is what I'm good at." Daniel gave him a half smile, then backed off. He was getting pretty good at being able to tell when he was at Lance's limit. Sometimes, but only Lance. Figuring the rest of the team's limits would be way too much work.

"Trust me, I know." Lance smiled.

"So…"

"Potoropis'! Hurry up!"

Their conversation was ended not just by the yell, but the realization that the yell—and their comms officer—was halfway up the street. "Cam! What are you doing? Come back!" Daniel yelled, running off after him.

As they caught up, Lance shook his head for what felt like the millionth time… which was plenty. They'd gotten in more than enough trouble for one day. "Go back to the ship," he ordered.

Daniel sighed; he really wanted to go try out some slot machines, but he knew now wasn't the time to bring that up. "Okay." But Cam had started walking off again. _For the love of…_ "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the casino!" Cam informed them in a slightly slurred voice.

"No, you two are going to the _ship_," the pilot reiterated a bit more emphatically. "I'm gonna go get drunk." Daniel didn't see how that was fair, but nodded anyways. Lance veered off from them, watching to make sure they were heading in the direction of the spaceport. Right about then his datapad beeped, and he checked the message and smiled. _Great minds think alike_.

Walking a little way down the street until they were out of sight, Daniel found himself feeling torn. Listen to Lance, or go to the casino? Listen to Lance? Casino? Listening or the casino? Why the fuck was this even a contest?

"So, you ready to hit the casino?"

"Yes!" Cam had already been turning.

"Shit… am I gonna have to be the responsible one?" Daniel asked. He didn't like that role. "Fuck."

"Nah. I'm responsible. Just buzzed." Cam cuddled his Syndicate glass. "Don't let me lose this."

A glass. He was cuddling a glass. Daniel sighed. "Oh yeah. That's reassuring."

Cam giggled in response, which wasn't reassuring either, and turned his attention to a row of flashy casino signs. "Okay, let's go spend some money!"

As they walked in and headed for the closest slot machine—Double Dradin Diamonds—Daniel suddenly realized the problem with this plan. "Fuck. I don't have any money."

"That's okay. You can watch me win."

That seemed unlikely. Still, they messed around in the casino for a good little while, before Daniel started feeling a twinge from his… conscience? No. Stay Out of Trouble Radar? Maybe. Keep Lance From Being Pissed at Him Sensor? Most _definitely_. It was time to get back to the ship.

They hadn't won anything, anyway. Daniel because he was broke, Cam because apparently his luck just sucked.

"Come on, stop wasting your money and let's go… I wanna get back to the ship before Lance gets back." Daniel may have been whining. Just a little.

Cam shook himself out of whatever fog he was in. The slots he'd been on were still resolutely not winning, and Daniel being more responsible than him was definitely too weird to continue. "Yeah. How about a cup of coffee? Grab it to go?"

"I don't want any, but you definitely need it," Daniel agreed. They found a few alien coffee-equivalent places that they were definitely _not_ going to risk before finally coming across a Starbrews, and got into the mercifully short line.

As they waited, Cam glanced around and caught sight of a girl about their age at one of the tables… a _Drule_ girl. She had cobalt-blue skin and silvery hair tied in several braids, and for a few moments he couldn't take his eyes off her. "Wow… look at that Drule chick." She was sitting all by her lonesome; he wondered if Starbrews was as weird to Drules as blood wine was to humans.

"She's cute." Daniel shrugged. He wasn't that interested in Drules right now.

"She's _hot_. Sad to see her alone, though." Cam moved up to the counter and ordered himself a mocha.

Daniel looked from Cam to the girl, then back to Cam. Goody-two-shoes _was_ already buzzed, the pretty Drule _was_ alone… "Why don't you go talk to her?" Lance would probably be out for a fair bit longer. They had time.

"Me? Nah, come on, she…" Cam shook his head. "She wouldn't go for me. I mean look at her, she's too cute."

Daniel looked hard at Cam, then eyed the girl for a minute too. "You're just as cute. And how do you know unless you try?"

"I just… wait, _what_ did you say?" Cam blinked, looking at Daniel like he'd grown two heads.

"I said you're just as cute as she is." Daniel rolled his eyes, he didn't understand the big deal. Cam just stared at him.

"No I'm not. She's way out of my league."

He'd just finished rolling his eyes and now they were rolling all over again. "Boys are so stupid… I'm only gonna say this one more time. You are both semi-cute. Same level of cuteness. Just go talk to her!"

Cam grabbed his mocha; he was too bewildered and maybe too buzzed to even question that first part. "What would I even say to her?"

"I don't know!" He wasn't the one creeping on the Drule chick. "I mean, you just heard Lance flirt, take some inspiration from that."

"He was flirting with a _mob boss_ holding us _captive_."

"Oh for fuck's sake. Still flirting. Same concept." _I think._

Cam looked over at her again. "Nah, I couldn't…"

"Fine don't. I'm not going to beg you to go flirt with someone. Just keep watching her like a creep, talking about how lonely she looks." Daniel was pretty sure he might roll his eyes out of his head if this kept up.

Glaring, Cam tried to think of a good counter to that, and… well, one wasn't coming to mind. "Fine." He took a sip of his mocha for courage and slowly walked towards her. "Um… hi? Just wanted to say hi, and uh, you're beautiful."

"Thank you." She looked up and smiled, showing off her fangs.

"Wow… gorgeous smile."

She gave a little bit of a giggle. "You're quite the flatterer."

"I'm just being honest." Cam blushed. "Are you here alone?"

"Yes I am. Are you?" She asked.

"Not really." Cam pointed towards Daniel, who waved and then turned partly back towards the shop counter. But he was obviously still watching. "Just here with my friend. We were headed back to our ship, needed a coffee."

"Interesting friend." She found the black-haired human's lack of stealthy surveillance kind of sad.

"Yeah he's… crazy. I'm Cam."

"Nice to meet you, Cam. I'm Uko." She smiled again. He was pretty cute.

"Beautiful name. Makes me think of the stars…"

Uko raised her eyebrow. This guy was dorky, but definitely still cute, especially for an Earthling. "It's the name of an ancient hero," she explained, taking a sip of her own coffee.

This was going amazingly well, really… Cam flailed for something else to say and remembered Lance's line from earlier. That had worked so well on Dread, it should work here too—maybe knowing Drakure would impress her. Of course, he'd been very buzzed back at Dread's office, but he was pretty certain he'd gotten it… "Qu'urial ke svaldrumos se'var chor," he said carefully, grinning wider.

Immediately Uko's whole demeanor changed; her eyes narrowed and she jumped out of her seat. "Ya'kruoth!" Cam flinched, he knew what that meant—well, he knew it was profanity, anyway—she spat a few more indignant Drule curses and pulled a sleek laser pistol, squeezing off a shot. Who did this guy think he was? The _nerve_.

Daniel snapped his head up at the sound of laser fire, looking around for the source. It didn't take that much to find. _Oh. Um. That's bad_. He pulled out his own sidearm, running up and taking aim at the Drule, who called Cam a few more names and ran off.

"Shit… where are you hit?" He could see blood all over Cam's shirt, but not the source. The people screaming around them made it hard to hear his answer.

Not that the answer was actually helpful. "She… _shot_ me! I _told_ you she wouldn't be into me…"

"Where. Are. You. Hit?" Daniel all but yelled at him, then glanced around to see if any guards were incoming. So far so good.

"Tupaya bashka! Arm! What did she hit me with? A damn ship cannon?" Cam winced at his own voice; he was a little panicky, though he felt like he deserved to be. "My whole arm feels like it's on fire!" Calm. He needed to calm down. "Closer to my shoulder, though… think my hand is going numb."

Oh, that was even less good. Daniel wanted to check the wound, but they had to get out of there, fast. Grabbing him by the back of the collar Daniel started pulling him towards the door, earning a moan of protest that he ignored.

"Shit, shit, shit…"

After getting them outside, Daniel looked around in what wasn't exactly panic, but… urgency. Yeah. He could hear guards yelling behind them, and definitely didn't want to have to explain anything. Seeing an alley, he began pulling Cam along, sitting him up against the wall and ripping off the scorched part of his shirt. "That's a lot of blood…" He grimaced, pulling off his hoodie and shoving it into the wound, tying it around his shoulder. "Hold that there, okay?"

"Svyatoy yebat'!" Cam yelled in pain, though he knew it was the right move. "Yeah… okay." Pressing the cloth against the gunshot hurt like hell.

Daniel took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do. The guard had gone in the opposite direction, so they had a little time, but they still needed to get out of there sooner rather than later. Looking up the alley he caught sight of a motorcycle parked on the side of a casino. That could work…

"Okay, I'll be right back. Just keep pressure on that," Daniel ordered, and then took off towards the bike.

"What?" Cam watched him take off, trying to sputter a protest, but it wasn't like he could follow. He just leaned against the wall and fought the exhaustion. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

Hopping onto the bike, Daniel looked around to make sure no one was watching. Or at least no one who'd care. He was just about to rip into the wires, then realized contacting the medic was probably something he should do. He grabbed his datapad and put in a comm call, and _then_ ripped into the wires.

Jace had just finished with Vince—which right now meant taking some blood and scheduling a followup for when he _wasn't _hung over—when he heard his datapad beeping. Upon seeing the caller he went through his entire repertoire of curses… twice… before answering.

"What now?"

"Hey Doc… so uh…" Daniel's voice was a little shaky. Whether that was because the wires in front of him were being a pain in the ass, or because Cam had _gotten shot_, he didn't know. "Cam's been shot."

"…What?" Jace's eyes narrowed a little, and his tone went very serious. "Where are you?"

"A casino. Not sure which one, I'm stealing a bike, we'll be there in a little bit. He said his arm was going numb and there was a lot of blood." He finally got the engine started, the bike firing up with a roar. "YES! Fuck."

"You're… of fucking course you are. Front starboard boarding ramp, I'll be waiting," Jace ordered. It wasn't exactly a threat, but maybe it was _kind_ of a threat.

Nodding, not that the doc could see it, Daniel shoved his datapad back in his pocket and wheeled the bike around down the alley. "We gotta go buddy, still keeping the pressure on?"

"Where you been?" Cam asked weakly.

"Stealing this," Daniel told him matter-of-factly before putting him on the bike. Which was harder than he thought it was going to be… Cam was out of it, and he was heavier than him. But he was motivated. "Shove your shoulder into mine to keep the pressure on it, and hold on okay?" Sitting back down in front of Cam, Daniel eyed the blood smear on the wall where he'd been sitting. "Fuck."

"Yeah… sure. Doc… pissed," Cam asked—or maybe told him, Daniel couldn't tell.

Not that it mattered, his response was the same either way. "Oh yeah."

Turning the bike around, Daniel raced out of the alley and took off onto what was definitely _not_ a road. There were people. _Everywhere_. _Fuck_. He didn't have _time_ to maneuver through all these people. Revving the engine, hoping the loud noise would get them to move faster, he found a seam and shot through it. _You'd think a bike coming at them would cause a better dispersal rate_. Finally getting onto the street, Daniel hit the gas. He remembered the way back to the ship, thank god, but they were fairly far away.

Cam rested his head on Daniel's shoulder. Tired. Daniel sped up some more in response, pushing the bike as fast as it would go. He was definitely going faster than the speed limit, but this was probably the best excuse he was ever going to have. The bike was holding up great, it really was a nice machine.

"So sleepy," Cam informed him absently. Daniel could feel the wetness on his back. _Shit_. He was weaving between robo-cabs and shiny limousines, which he knew was 100% illegal but oh well. It was kind of like his racing game, but this bike wasn't gonna be running any of the much larger vehicles off the road… probably just as well, they were in enough trouble already.

The number of horns blaring behind them was kind of funny, though. He'd have enjoyed it much more if it weren't for the blood.

Finally they hit the spaceport. Thankfully, Dradin's port didn't even have a fence, let alone a checkpoint—that would've been a mess. "You doing okay, Cam? We're almost there." They were, Daniel could see the ship in the distance, and he gunned it. The lack of response was only worrying him more.

Jace had gotten the bay prepped for a gunshot in what had to be record time. Now he was pacing uneasily, staring out past the ramp, and finally he could hear the roar of an engine that wasn't a ship. Daniel drove the bike right up the ramp, rattling it a little, and the medic sidestepped as he hit the airlock.

"Seriously, he's already got a gunshot wound and you brought him here by driving a crotch rocket up the ramp?" He moved up to have a look at things, though he wasn't about to untie that hoodie until they were in the sick bay. "Nice field dressing. I've got him. You bring your ass along." Carefully slinging Cam over his shoulders, he headed for the elevator.

Daniel turned the bike off and followed. "Yes sir."

"Don't call me sir," Jace scolded, though a bit halfheartedly. "I work for a living."

"Sorry…"

"Ow! I'm awake! …Where the hell am I?" Cam was a little panicked again as his eyes flashed open, the neon streets replaced by the Bolt's dim main corridor.

"Good, and don't you fucking think about falling asleep on me. You're about to be bleeding all over my sick bay. Is it just the arm?" Jace questioned, stepping off the elevator and entering the sick bay.

"Y-yeah, think so? Close to my shoulder. Kinda shocked."

Nodding, Jace laid him out on one of the beds and pulled the cloth away from the wound. It wasn't great. Grimacing, he grabbed a couple of needles. "I'd tell you to brace, but you're not going to feel this anyway." Halamorphine was the fastest-acting painkiller he had, but it also worked best injected pretty much right into the wound; a needle wasn't going to do _shit_ compared to the mess he was looking at. "Need you to stay awake until we know what's what, Starr. Brennan, keep him entertained if you have to, you can explain _what the fucking fuck_ later."

"Yes, Doc." Daniel looked at Cam and winced. "My poor hoodie…"

"…You're acting _way_ too obedient, this is your fault isn't it?"

"No it's not. Just worried about him is all." It wasn't his fault. It wasn't.

Jace brushed that off, it wasn't really his business whose fault it was. "Starr, give me more on your pain level."

"I feel fire down my arm. Fingers are tingly." The medic nodded in response, grabbed a scanner, and went completely silent as he watched it work. "He told me to flirt with a girl out of my league," Cam breathed out into the silence. "Didn't go… well."

Daniel cringed_. Shut up, Cam. I could've come up with a cover story that was _way _less embarrassing than you being a sucky flirt, and attracted to psychos apparently…_ explaining this was going to suck anyway, they'd been told to go back to the ship. But they could at least make something up that would leave Cam's dignity mostly intact.

"And Lance wonders why I just pay for it. Don't get shit like this." Jace said that a bit flippantly, but became dead serious as he looked up from his scanner. "Laser shot? Tell me this was a laser shot."

"Yes," Cam and Daniel answered at the same time.

The medic stepped back and exhaled slowly. "You're gonna be fine." If it _hadn't_ been a laser shot they'd have some much bigger problems. "Looks like it mostly just grazed you. Superheated your blood and blew some veins open. It's messy as fuck and your arm'll be burning for awhile, but it'll heal up nice."

"Thanks. You're awesome. Can I sleep yet?" Cam asked. The painkillers were taking the edge off, and it was only making him even more tired.

Jace snorted. "Yeah sure, you'll forget that in a week. I'm gonna stab you with a few more things, but you can sleep."

"Good…" The comms officer was out like Daniel's metaphorical light bulb the moment he finished speaking.

Daniel himself gave a long sigh of relief and half smiled, glad he was going to be okay; he could feel the adrenaline finally winding down. He snorted as he realized Cam was still cuddling the Syndicate glass… well, whatever made him happy.

Staring at Cam, Jace shook his head. "…The _one fucking day_ the medic is sick. That's the day you decided to get shot, you fucking idiot." As he relaxed a little, he could feel the splitting headache trying to return, but shook it off. More work to do… he looked at Daniel, who was looking a little worried again. "But he's gonna be fine."

"Positive?"

"Yeah. Bitchin' scar though."

"Good." Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. That had been way more excitement than even _he_ needed out of his day.

Jace eyed him, then started setting up a couple of IVs. "Okay. I need to finish getting him stabilized and clean this out. Burns attract infection like fuck. And my head hurts way too much to be lied to, and I probably don't wanna know the truth anyway… so how about I promise not to ask what happened or tell the boss anything, and you get the fuck out of here and don't come back until I've got him sorted out. Deal?"

That was… completely acceptable, really. "Deal." Daniel walked out, relieved, but his mind was racing. He needed to come up with a cover story that didn't make it seem like they didn't disobey orders, or he and Cam might end up dead after all.

* * *

Venturing out from the shelters always required a balancing act. Smaller groups were more flexible, and could conceal their movements more easily, but they were also more vulnerable if discovered. More often than not, it was worth the risk. What was left of the Dolce Vita militia had an unofficial policy against sending out groups larger than four for hunting or scouting. If a mission was critical enough, more might be an option.

This mission was _not_ critical enough.

Larmina understood it, intellectually. Captain Sarial had less than twenty soldiers at her command; she had to be brutally realistic about how to deploy them. Giving the bodies near Elauria a proper disposal was a symbolic gesture. Such symbolism had always been important on Arus… but now it was just one more luxury they couldn't afford.

It was the right decision, she knew that. But it was _infuriating_. And if the grim look in the eyes of her companions was any hint, they were just as angry as she was.

Three of them were venturing back to the mountains. For them, it wasn't just a luxury. Maybe they had to purge the images from their own minds with fire.

"It's almost too quiet." Allendar looked up at the sky and frowned. They'd chosen to come out at twilight. Easiest to hide themselves that way—there would be no hiding the flames no matter what. "What if they're setting an ambush?"

"Trash ambush," Hanso snorted. "If the _sinycka_ were going to jump us, they'd have done it when we found the site in the first place, don't you think?"

"Maybe? This was a new tactic."

"'Tactic' is giving them a lot of credit. They're just throwing tantrums because they can't find King Alfor."

Larmina eyed them both skeptically. She could only imagine how the High King would react to the idea that villages were being enslaved and destroyed just because he was still at large… though she doubted that was the only thing at play. "I don't think they really need an excuse."

"True. They're bloodthirsty creatures no matter what."

They were approaching the site. Fortunately, the chill of winter was heavy by now, no sun to hasten the bodies rotting away. A new wave of fury went through Larmina at that thought. Drule warship lasers would easily incinerate flesh, they knew that… too well. The ship hadn't used its lasers. That could only have been an extra layer of insult, leaving the bodies for the scavengers. Fine, then. If they _were_ watching the site, they would see that Arus refused to have insult added to injury.

They were getting very near the clearing now. Larmina hadn't told her companions about the scout accompanying them… like they'd believe her. "Stay here. I'll check things out." She crept forward before they could object, slipping through some underbrush, then opened up the pouch at her side. A furry head popped out. "Okay, Cheesy, do your thing."

Cheesy darted forward; she watched its tail poking up from the grass as it circled the clearing. A few times she lost sight of it, and that worried her—what did she do if she _lost_ Auntie's space mouse? But it always came back into view a few moments later. And soon enough it came scampering back up to her, chittering excitedly.

She couldn't interpret its squeaks, but much like the banewolves, space mice had ways of making themselves understood. In this case, giving her a thumbs-up with one tiny paw. "Thank you," she whispered, opening her pouch for the mouse to climb back into, then she returned to Hanso and Allendar. "It's clear."

"Let's move while it stays that way."

They were still cautious as they broke free of the thick underbrush into the clearing, looking in all directions at once. A thick column of smoke was rising from Mount Kolipat in the distance. It was one of at least twelve active volcanoes along the accurately named Burning Ridge; the largest and most active of them, it was usually giving off at least a bit of smoke and ash. Today it seemed like some sort of omen.

"Let's do this fast." Even Hanso looked ill.

A few pieces of jewelry and other personal effects were scattered over the ground; those they collected, to return to Elauria when they could. As for the bodies, well… there had been a small stockpile of fireblossom cactus pods in the shelter as last-ditch defensive weapons. They were basically organic incendiary grenades. It wasn't the _most_ respectful way of burning the bodies, but it was what they had.

They worked from the center of the clearing outward, tossing the pods down and stepping well back from the resulting embers. A single matchflint tossed into the mess ensured the smoldering pollen caught fully aflame. And once it did, there was only one more step.

"Run for it!"

They sprinted further into the foothills. The flames _shouldn't_ spread—the clearing had been stripped to the soil by the Drule weapons—but even if they didn't, standing around next to a huge bonfire on an enemy-occupied planet, at night, was what could fairly be called _incredibly stupid_. They didn't stop until they reached the top of a large hill, where a cluster of yukol trees could provide some cover as they looked back at the fire.

"Silent one, guide them through the gates," Allendar murmured.

"Radiant Warrior, help us avenge them," Hanso added darkly.

"What they said," Larmina agreed. She still wasn't entirely certain how much faith she had in the Golden Gods right now… but invoking the banewolves directly seemed like it would only get her in trouble.

A deep growl echoed from the mountains.

Larmina froze. Her first thought was the Drules, obviously… but as soon as it crossed her mind it was gone again. It wasn't them, it couldn't be. It reminded her of the strange growls in the Forest of Altair. But where those growls had seemed to flow through and embrace her, this one was nothing but a weak echo. And yet…

"Larmina?" The other two were looking at her strangely, and she relaxed. A little. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just startled me, that's all." They didn't seem the least bit worried; maybe it was something natural, something they were familiar with. "Was that one of the volcanoes?"

Both of them just kept staring at her for a moment longer, then Allendar tilted his head. "Was what a volcano?"

She blinked. "That sound?" It had been distant, but in the silence around them she couldn't see how they might have missed it.

Now they did look worried. "I didn't hear anything. Hanso?"

"Nope." He looked up, eyes darting over the still-darkening sky. "We'd be able to hear engines if it was the Drules… not sure what a volcano sounds like, gotta think we'd know it if we heard though."

As if on cue, the sound came again. Still faint, but still unmistakable. Larmina tensed. "That! That kind of… growling noise."

Now they _really_ looked worried. "You sure you're okay?" Hanso asked finally. "You've been pushing like crazy since you brought that deer back, maybe you should take a break when we—"

"—I'm not imagining it!" She looked at Allendar. Hanso could be a prankster sometimes, but his partner didn't tend to be. "You really don't hear anything?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, looking apologetic. "But I think we should get back to the caves… just in case."

That was an idea Larmina could definitely get behind. She still didn't think the growl was dangerous, at all… but it was as unsettling as ever. And she _really_ didn't need it following her out of the forest. "Let's move."

As they started to pick their way back through the foothills, Mount Kolipat continued to silently smoke in their wake.


	19. Stress Fractures

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 18_  
Stress Fractures

* * *

Every single thread the team's visit to Kaliega had led them to was officially gone. They had learned some things about Altea, true, but they were no closer to actually _finding_ the place. So the _Jupiter's Bolt_ was on its way to Gliskor, and frustration among the crew was high.

It wasn't _just_ the fact that their wild goose chase was a wild goose chase, of course. The trip to Gliskor was a long one. Much of the route required the ship to more or less hug the border of No Man's Land, which could spike some anxiety on any ship. Add to that a chief engineer second-guessing himself, a ninja walking on eggshells, an electrical engineer shooting sparks, a gunner trying to keep certain Dradin escapades secret, and a comms officer who'd literally gotten _shot_… none of that was helping with the tension.

It wasn't exactly that the _Bolt_ was a powder keg, but all the elements of a cascading failure were ready and waiting. All it needed was a trigger.

Of all things, it was peanut butter.

Cam was grouchy, and could he really be blamed for it? Jace had only kept him one day in the sick bay, which was nice, no doubt. But the next two days of having a useless arm in a sling was already two days too many, and it still hurt like _hell_. Oh, the Doc had given him painkillers, but they just caused new problems… they made him feel fuzzy, and he'd already almost fainted once after taking them without food.

On the plus side, the Doc did also routinely leave a stockpile of sandwiches in the galley. At least he could grab an easy lunch.

Nearing the galley, he crossed paths with a crewmate. He wasn't really paying attention to anything but keeping himself upright; he didn't even notice which crewmate for a few moments, nor did he care, until he caught sight of peanut butter in the other person's hand. At which point his mouth engaged before his sluggish brain had the chance to. "You open that one?" It came out more harshly than he'd intended.

Pidge froze. He was, in fact, carrying his very own brand new jar of peanut butter—he was still not about to do anything that risked making Flynn madder at him. He couldn't afford that. What he was wholly uninterested in was anyone else getting on his case about it, and his eyes narrowed. "Yes. I got my own. I used _manners_." It came out _exactly_ as harshly as he intended.

"Good," Cam snapped. "Glad to hear it." Obviously those manners were a real struggle. Whatever. He turned and resumed his trip to the galley.

But Pidge wasn't done; he was a bit resentful about this whole arrangement, and if the human wanted to make an issue of it, he could have his issue. He followed. "So you can tell the Lieutenant Commander I played nicely with your silly semantic games, kir sa tye?"

Really? Cam stopped again, turning back to the ninja, who was glowering at him like _he_ was the problem here. "What is your defect, dude? I don't want problems with—"

"—Komora sa—" Pidge drew his knife, eyes suddenly ablaze. "—what the _fuck_ did you just call me?!"

…_Huh?_ "I called you dude!" Confusion at the question only made him raise his voice louder, what the hell was wrong with dude?

"Take it _back_."

What the _actual hell_ was wrong with dude? "Take what back? I didn't call you anything, I just asked what the fuck your problem is!"

"That's not what you _said_."

_The fuck?_ Admittedly he didn't see much of the ninja, but he'd sure never seen him _this_ pissed… and over what? That was exactly what he'd said. Okay, maybe not exactly exactly, what had he even… "So I worded it differently! It's the same fucking thing!"

Pidge was still operating halfway on autopilot; all he was certain of was that he had to fight back. He grabbed Cam's good arm, ready to teach him a very important lesson about pushing too far. Then the words registered, and he froze.

_The same fucking thing?_ It wasn't at all the same fucking thing. …Was it the same thing? _He's just a clueless human. He doesn't know anything. He didn't mean it._

"What the fuck…?"

He barely heard it. Nearly every instinct in his body was screaming to fight, to protect himself, to refuse to back down. But a single voice in the back of his mind was screaming _no_.

_It's not a fight. It's a misunderstanding. Don't escalate. Walk away._

_Just run away…_

"…Here." Dropping Cam's arm, he threw the peanut butter at him and bolted.

Fumbling the peanut butter for a moment, Cam stared after the ninja with wide eyes. "What the fuck just happened?" He stared at the jar. The brand new, newly-opened jar. And suddenly peanut butter didn't sound good to him at all.

* * *

The _Bolt_ had three rec rooms on its berthing deck, tucked next to each other in the nose section. Up until Dradin, they'd been furnished pretty much identically… not anymore. Room 3 was now full of giant stuffed animals.

Sven had gone ahead and settled down in Room 3, because giant stuffed animals were way more comfy than the ship's threadbare bolted-down couches.

He was deep in both a pile of rainbow plush and a book about King Arthur when Hunk poked his head in. "Yo! Viking!" Looking up, he found himself staring at Hunk's datapad; the big engineer snapped a picture of him sprawled in the stuffed animals, then lowered the device and grinned.

It was impossible not to grin back, just a little. "Hello, Hunk."

"What's up?" He walked in, eyeing the book. "Wouldn't happen to be reading the Art of Old Norse Zen, would you?"

Blink. "No, I'm reading the tales of King Arthur and his Knights…" Were the old Norse really associated with anything resembling _zen?_ He didn't think so.

"Eh, that's good too." Hunk flopped onto the couch across from him, plopped a fuzzy green platypus on his lap, and leaned over it. "I, uh… could use a little advice, if you've got a minute."

Sven closed his book and straightened; it took a couple of tries, the comfy plushies didn't exactly give a lot of support. "Of course."

Hunk flashed that huge grin again, then sobered quickly. "Actually might be more like someone else needin' advice, but anyway, uh… Vince is havin' some trouble with zen." He frowned slightly, realizing that really didn't explain anything. "Like, he'll be working, and he'll get startled or hyped up and somehow he manages to set off sparks and usually light stuff on fire, which… not great, yeah?"

Blinking again, Sven took a moment to try to track what had been a rather long and fast string of words. "Sparks?" he finally repeated, just to make sure he'd followed.

"Yeah, he makes the wires go kaboom or somethin'." Grin. "You know me, I like my kabooms, but there's a place for everything and everything in its place."

Wasn't _that_ the truth, on all counts. Sven nodded. "And you think him being able to remain more calm will hopefully prevent any future sparks?"

"Yeah. Always seems to happen when he's startled or freakin' out."

"Hmm." Freaking out generally _wasn't_ good for people, though this seemed like an extreme case. The question was if he could really help. "I've heard meditation does wonders for helping people remain calm. It never worked for me though, I read instead." He lifted his book; it wasn't an accident that he was here with tensions on the ship so high. "Getting lost in a story gives me a good sense of calm I can focus on instead of… freaking out."

_Reading?_ Hunk wasn't entirely certain how much utility that would have under the circumstances that usually led to sparks. On the other hand, Vince used wiring to relax and distract himself—maybe having other options would help. "That makes sense."

"As for the getting startled, I'm not sure what could help that as much. Perhaps a little combat training? It may help him keep a good sense of his surroundings, then he won't startle so easily."

Hunk thought about that for a minute, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that probably could help, now that ya mention it…" He winced. "Uh, if there's anything I'm less good at than zen, it's combat technique. Who d'you think would be the best person for that? You? Doc?" Halfway through that he thought better of it. "…Not Doc."

That got a laugh. Truthfully, Sven wasn't sure that would be the worst option; spending time with Jace had certainly cured _him_ of a few anxieties. He was pretty sure it was called exposure therapy. But that might not be the best approach here. "Jace would be a good teacher. I could do it if Vince preferred, and Keith would also be a good candidate."

"Yeah, you do _that_, for sure." Hunk had seen a fair bit of sparring by now. "I may go ask the boss about it, pretty sure he does the meditative stuff more too, yeah?"

"I believe so." The old Viking arts Sven favored were not big on meditation, oddly enough. And he really couldn't see Jace even attempting it.

"Think that's what I'll go with to start, then. Thanks, bro." Hunk reached over the platypus and clapped his shoulder, then jumped up with a huge grin. "I'll let ya get back to reading. …Want me to bring you a snack?"

Sven perked up. "I would not say no to a snack."

"Okay, I'll be back in a few!" The big man winked as he turned to head out. "Just don't tell Doc." Leaving the navigator laughing behind him, he headed for the galley. Almost immediately he could hear other voices… it sounded like Cam and Pidge yelling. Probably at each other. Eyes widening, he picked up the pace a little bit.

The yelling didn't wait for him. He got into the galley just in time to see Cam disappearing with a couple of the Doc's sandwiches. He looked frazzled, but not hurt, at least no worse than he already had been.

For a moment, Hunk considered calling after him, then shook it off. Wasn't his problem.

* * *

Flynn was wrapping up a shift in the bay, and trying to decide if he should be concerned or not. Pidge was late. Or a little more accurately, Pidge wasn't his usual fifteen minutes early; he tended to hang out here even when he wasn't technically on duty, and he _always_ showed up well before he was expected. Nothing said he had to, but… it was unusual, and that put Flynn on edge.

Like he wasn't on edge already.

The edge did not improve one bit when Hunk came in a few minutes later. "Yo, pit boss! I brought snacks!"

Oh dear. "Do I even want to know?"

"Bacon cheese soft pretzel bites! Made 'em for the Viking but he didn't think he needed the whole tray, weird." He plunked the tray in question down on an empty workbench. "Have at 'em!"

That sounded much nicer than a lot of Hunk's cooking—mostly because the words _murder pepper_ had not been involved—but Flynn was still fairly certain he didn't want any. "Thanks… I'll save them for Pidge, if he shows up." He was now worryingly close to actually being late.

"No ninja?" The big man frowned slightly. "Heard him'n Cam yelling at each other a bit ago, maybe he lost track."

"What." Flynn's head snapped up. "What happened?"

"Uh…" Hunk blinked. "Not sure? It was over by the time I got there. Cam didn't look stabbed, though."

_Dammit, Starr_. Flynn's eyes narrowed. That was the last thing he'd needed to hear under the current circumstances, and it wasn't going to slide. "Take the bay for a few until Pidge gets here, would you? I need to go have a talk with someone about _following orders_."

…One did not argue with the pit boss when he got that tone. "Uh, sure? I've got it."

Nodding, Flynn stalked out. The corridor to the bridge was deserted, as it often was; he had plenty of time to fight down the initial surge of anger. He was quite well aware of why he was _so_ annoyed, and there was no need to take out his own frustrations with Pidge on anyone else. But the following orders thing did need to be addressed.

Lance and Cam were on shift on the bridge when the hatch opened. "Starr, I'd like a word."

Cam looked up, blinking. He was not used to hearing that voice on the bridge… and he had a suspicion about why. "Yes, sir." He locked his console down and headed for the hatch, ignoring Lance's questioning look.

Flynn ignored it too; he could explain later. He silently led the comms officer into the nearest conference room, shut the door, and waited. He'd figured it was about a fifty-fifty shot that the kid would volunteer anything… it quickly became clear which fifty was winning out. "Is there anything you need to tell me about, Starr? Any incidents?"

Cam sighed. "I suppose there is, sir."

"I'm listening."

"I…" He paused for a moment. How did he explain an incident he didn't understand himself? "I honestly don't know what happened, sir. I was going to get something to eat, for my meds. Stoker was leaving the galley with a jar of peanut butter, I asked him if he'd opened that one, he said yes, I said that was good. My tone was… probably very out of line because I was hurting… but that's no excuse…"

"Your tone?" Flynn repeated. The whole _question_ was out of line, given their last conversation. _Did he _really _start a fucking fight about peanut butter… again?_

There was no missing that the chief wasn't impressed; Cam grimaced. "He smarted off at me then, something about how he used manners and I could tell you…" Flynn's glare intensified and he took a step back. "It's not like I actively went looking for him, sir! I don't want any problems with him!"

"And yet you just told me you started one."

Wince. "I didn't mean to!"

"I'm sure not, but I remember giving a very simple condition that could have avoided this. What were your orders?"

Cam deflated a little. "To leave him alone," he said weakly. He knew he didn't have an excuse there.

"So you just… decided that was optional?"

"No, sir." If only there had been that much thought involved.

Flynn stared at him for another very long few seconds of silence. He was pretty sure his point had gotten across… which was good enough for him, though he did also need to know the rest of the story, if there was such a thing. "Alright. What happened after that?"

"I asked him what his problem was." For at least the dozenth time since, Cam strained to remember what the hell had set the ninja off, and he couldn't find anything. "He… asked what I called him, but I didn't call him anything, then pulled his knife and told me to take it back? Confused the hell out of me. Then he grabbed my wrist… but he didn't _do_ anything. He just held it a little, then threw the peanut butter at me and bolted."

About halfway through that, Flynn had been ready to go yell at Pidge again, which couldn't possibly help anything. By the end, he'd shifted to the same confusion as Cam. "He… bolted?"

"Yeah, I don't know what exactly happened, but he fucking ran for it. Dude is fucking fast, too."

_But that's _never _how it goes_. For a moment Flynn completely forgot about what had caused this mess. If Pidge had disengaged…

"If I have to apologize to him I will, sir. I didn't mean to cause an incident, just, the ship facilities aren't exactly huge? Occasionally we'll bump into each other, it's a given, sir."

…Immediately he was annoyed again; the kid should really learn when to stop digging. "Don't even _begin_ with that, Starr. The size of the ship doesn't necessitate you going at him over the exact topic that led to me telling you to leave him alone."

"Yes, sir." The kid did _not_ know when to stop digging. Flynn was quite literally in the middle of taking a breath to order him back to the bridge when he added, "I hope you're going to have this discussion with him as well?"

Oh, they were _not_ going to play this game. "You can't even follow your own orders," he said coolly. "I don't need your input on how I deal with my subordinates."

"Well maybe you need _somebody's_ input, because they don't seem to behave very well."

_Cevete…!_ That had escalated excessively quickly. Though he might have been inclined to let it by, if it hadn't hit quite so close to home… "Starr, I specifically told you to leave him alone," he hissed. "What the _fuck_ do you think gives you the right to interfere with my job, then tell me I'm not doing it well enough?"

Cam straightened a little, glaring up at him. "Did you tell him to stay away from me, too?"

"No." Actually he hadn't told Cam to _stay away_ from Pidge, either. In a better situation he might have pointed out the difference. "Did he start something with you that I wasn't informed about? Or was it just _you_ feeling entitled to pass judgment on whoever you damn well please?"

If there was one thing Cam couldn't stand, it was being called entitled; if he hadn't had an arm in a sling, he might have done something he'd _really_ regret. Not that he wouldn't regret what he went with instead. "No? So I'm getting yelled at for something that you only half assed? Great. Thanks a _lot_, sir. Am I dismissed yet?"

The engineer's tone went deadly venomous. "I'm going to let you take that back, Starr."

Like hell he would. "I won't apologize for being a scapegoat, sir."

_Fucking…_ "Scapegoat? You admitted to being the instigator!"

"And I _will_ apologize for that. But the fact remains that you didn't give him the same instructions, so you only yelling at me makes me a scapegoat."

It took a truly desperate level of restraint not to answer that with _no, it just makes you an idiot._ That wouldn't improve anything. But Flynn was thinking it. Oh, was he thinking it. "Alright, fine. Go to your quarters, Starr. Now. You're on restriction until further notice."

Cam blinked. He almost had something to say about that too, but he knew better than to defy a disciplinary order… unjust as he felt it was. "Yes, sir." He started to move past him, but rather pointedly wasn't in any hurry about it.

Flynn gave him a slight shove on his good shoulder. Just enough to make it clear he'd noticed, and didn't care for it. _"Go,_ Starr. …And look up what a scapegoat is, while you're there."

He went, muttering under his breath in Russian. It was definitely not something he should have been saying, but he was in enough trouble as it was; Flynn didn't bother demanding a translation. He went back to the bridge instead.

"Starr is off for disciplinary reasons. Should I send someone else up, or are you alright?"

Lance looked back at him, frowning. The only person here who didn't look alright was Flynn himself. He looked pissed. "I'm good. Unless you need a beer?"

Beer sounded wonderful. It also sounded like it might not be the best of ideas. He really needed to report to Kogane about this, and he really needed to be completely sober when he did it. "Maybe later." _Might need it after the report._ Sighing, he turned and headed back for the bay.

* * *

Jace was… unhappy. To be fair, that was hardly an unusual occurrence. Specifically, at the moment, he was unhappy with the CIDM—Comprehensive Intragalactic Diagnostic Manual. And that was unusual. The CIDM was a medic's best friend, Viking navigators notwithstanding. After discharging Cam from the sick bay, Jace had spent quite a lot of time with that best friend.

It had _failed him_.

He'd checked the overview sections. He'd flipped through the glossary of rare biomechanical phenomena. He'd run every search term he could think of—"electrogenesis", "electricity", "static", "sparks", "lightning", "flashes", "discharge", "charge", "bzzt", "people shooting off thunderbolts", "just tell me why Vince is getting all zappy, motherfucker"…

Motherfucker had not, in fact, told him why Vince was getting all zappy. And it was infuriating. This was way above his pay grade—he was a _field medic_, for fuck's sake, and he was a damn good one. He could patch holes and handle general diagnostics with the best of them. But nobody had really given him a directive for when the people under his care started displaying previously unknown electrophysiology.

He heard the hatch open, sighed, and headed out to the sick bay entrance. Time to wing this shit; they were a fucking Explorer Team. And he may not have answers, but he had opinions.

"So you don't get colds, you don't vomit, and you shoot random-ass sparks out sometimes. Obviously your deal is you're a robot who thinks he's a real boy, but I ran the tests anyway."

Vince just looked at him for a moment, then sat on the nearest bed and grimaced. "You act like I do it on purpose."

"The fuck you do, you'd be way more smug about it." Jace handed over a datapad with the blood test results. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Frowning, Vince accepted the tablet and glanced over the results for a solid… second or two… before protesting. "I shot out sparks!" He'd only been freaking out about it for days on end.

"Are you sure?" The medic sat across from him, frowning slightly himself. "You weren't just seeing things? People can have some weird as fuck stress reactions. Or if you were leaning over working and straightened up too fast, being lightheaded can make you see stars sometimes."

_I wish_. "I'd rather it be in my head, but it happened. Ask Pidge."

"Definitely don't need to do that." Jace hadn't really expected it to be that simple, but at this point every lead was worth checking. "So… you said this hasn't happened before? Without you being near wires and shit."

"Never. Not once. I've always been working on something electronic." He paused a moment. "Though to be fair, I hadn't met Pidge and his knife yet."

"You're in the military, I know you're a computer jockey but he can't be the first thing that's ever scared you."

Vince snorted. "Everything scares me. He's _extra_."

That got him an irritated look that very quickly softened. "…Yeah, all that checks out." Jace exhaled. "Okay. So let's do some science."

"Science is good."

The medic leaned back a little. "We can rule out static electricity, first thing. Starships don't need stray voltage building up, so the life support systems fire some static-neutralizing microcurrent through the air every so often, or something. You probably understand that better than I do, I just read the ops manual."

"I do understand that," Vince confirmed, nodding. Ambient charge equalization was one of the more interesting features of the average life support system.

"Good. So we move on. You're normally full of electricity, we're all full of electricity, we're actually all meat robots with currents zapping through our nerves and shit. Right?"

Blink. "Sure? Though the visual of meat robots is not pleasing."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Kid, I am _not_ in the business of people-pleasing, if you hadn't noticed."

Oh, he'd noticed; he couldn't help laughing. Right now any little bit of laughter was a help. "Point."

The got him a grin before Jace went back to business. "Turns out there's all kinds of fun theories about human electrical imbalance diseases, and best the CIDM can tell me they're all science fiction."

"Oh thank _god_." Electrical imbalance disease did not sound like a thing he wanted at _all_. But a second later the flip side of that hit, and he looked at his hands with a grimace. "But… argh, then what's wrong with me? Science fiction?" If he _was_ going to have the scary-sounding disease he'd much rather it be something well known.

"…Maybe. Seems like we can rule a lot of those out too, though." Jace had gone through the theories, to the extent the _Bolt's_ database could tell him about them. Nothing had seemed quite right. "I mean, if you had some crazy-ass microbursting in your lungs that turned them into a Van de Graaff generator—whatever the fuck _that_ is—you'd have been firing off sparks on your own before now."

Vince knew exactly what a Van de Graaff generator was, and his eyes widened slightly… though the visual was at least better than meat robots. "Huh, yeah, that is true, Doc. And sounds painful."

"I mean, I'd think so." Jace was trained to fish _bullets_ out of lungs without flinching, but even he had felt his skin crawling a little when he'd been reading about that one. "Which it's not, right?"

"For me? Never. Machinery, though…"

"Yeah, I bet."

All of this discussion of what it _wasn't_ still hadn't answered the question Vince most needed answered. "So… what you're saying here is what, exactly?"

Jace stared at him for what felt like entirely too long, dark eyes narrowed… then he shook his head in frustration and slumped back. "I have no fucking clue what's wrong with you, kid." Pause. "…I mean I have lots of suggestions in general, but none for how the Chief is gonna need to rename the ship again if you keep throwing lightning around."

Vince snorted. "I think he's kind of attached to the name we have." That certainly hadn't been the point of any of this, but it beat thinking about the actual point. "So I just… have to hope it never happens again?"

"Can't hurt, but probably won't fix anything." The medic sighed. "I promise I'm not one fucking bit happier about this than you are. But I'm running a sick bay here, not an experimental diagnostic ward. Right now I've got nothing." He stood. "I want to keep a biometric monitor on you. If it happens again we might get some more info."

Great. Just great. "Do you have to?"

"No." Shrug. "I could write you a referral to Biotech if you really want one—though that's gonna be against medical advice, I don't exactly believe in shipping my patients off to be lab rats. Or you can just say no and keep sparking and not know anything about it. It's your business."

Oh. Vince stared at him for a few moments, trying to pretend his answer was anything but what it had to be. "…No, I'd rather have the actual data." _It sucks being scientific sometimes._ "Any advice on how to stop freaking out about it while I'm waiting for the next spark?"

He'd fully expected to be told to suck it up, and was surprised when Jace seemed to take the question seriously. "Ever done anything worse than set some wires on fire?"

"Uh, no." He definitely didn't want to think about that.

"Then for what it's worth, it's probably more inconvenient than dangerous. If you were shooting off enough electricity to hurt a person, I'd think you'd have noticed—even with static electricity you _feel_ it."

That was a fair point, except that this whole conversation had him second-guessing whether he could feel it when he sparked or not. He'd never noticed it, but he was always distracted right after. "I suppose… I mean I don't _think_ I feel it, it always happens so fast."

Jace eyed him. "Okay." Turning, he retrieved a tool of some sort from his kit, then returned and touched it to Vince's hand.

A sharp jolt ran through him. "Ahhh! What the heck?!"

"Faster than that?"

"About that…" Vince rubbed his hand and grumbled as the last twinges of the shock faded away.

Jace gave him a grin that wasn't entirely a smirk. Mostly, but not entirely. "Gonna go ahead and rest my case."

Vince was entirely too polite to say what he was thinking, but he did shoot the medic his best glare. It was, he felt, a pretty solid glare. Then it turned into a groan as he produced one of the bio monitors. "Ugh…"

"Porra, you people act like a little monitor's the end of the world or something." Jace rolled his eyes. "It's a light-duty one, you won't even notice it. We get more zaps and no readings we may have to switch to the heavy-duty, and that'll suck, so let's hope not."

Hoping not was _not_ going to be a problem. "If you say so. It's not gonna itch like the rift monitors, is it?"

"No. Those are the heavy-duty, because rift sickness is a bitch." The monitor was a tiny patch that he slapped onto Vince's neck. Immediately the engineer reached up to fiddle with it. "Nope! No touching."

"I'm supposed to just ignore it?"

"Basically."

Vince grumbled some more; Jace answered with his best _this is for your own good_ glare. Which he supposed it was, so he sighed and backed down. "Can I go now?"

"Sure can. Buzz off." Almost the moment he said it, a small frown crossed his face. "…Bad word choice."

Despite himself, Vince laughed again, though it was kind of a half-laugh and half-groan. "May as well have fun with it," he muttered as he stood, rolling his eyes.

"Atta boy." Jace laughed too, giving him a slap on the shoulder that was definitely meant to be encouraging. How encouraging it really _was_, Vince wasn't wholly certain, though at least it didn't knock him to the floor like Hunk usually came close to. "Get out of here."

He was both smiling and grumbling as he left the sick bay. It probably could've been worse.

* * *

As it turned out, Flynn didn't get the chance to write a proper report. He'd still been trying to figure out how the hell an argument about opening peanut butter jars had turned into a comms officer on restriction… never mind how the hell he was supposed to explain it to their commander. But word had gotten back to the commander pretty quickly anyway, and he'd been summoned to one of the conference rooms on the main deck.

_Well, this ought to suck pretty sufficiently._

He entered the conference room and saluted; Keith returned the salute crisply. "Have a seat."

Flynn dropped into a chair and exhaled. "Okay, let me have it." The boss looked displeased. Understandably so.

Sitting across from him, Keith folded his hands on the table and studied him briefly. "I understand there is an… issue we need to correct."

"Kogane, you really don't need to sugarcoat it, I told you to let me have it… but yes. Yes, there is."

"I don't want to ruin our working relationship, Flynn." He wasn't sure how likely that really was, but _letting people have it_ had never come easily to him regardless. "I try to stay out of the bay, let you run it and deal with your people as you need to. If you had a problem with one of the bridge crew, you should have sought me out. Finding out after the fact…" Keith shook his head, frustrated. "And there's nothing I can do about it without talking to you, because I am _not_ going to undermine my second's decision… unless I've determined he made it incorrectly."

As much as things had gone off the rails, Flynn really didn't at all think putting Cam on restriction had been the wrong decision. But he should have taken it to Kogane first… it was supposed to be a small, silly little arrangement between the two of them, not _this_. "I was going to make a report," he offered finally. Not sufficient, but it was a start.

"Well, make it now. Start talking."

Fair enough. "A few weeks ago, Starr and Pidge had an altercation over…" He paused, making a face. "…over opening jars of peanut butter, and yes, he and I are both aware of how ridiculous that sounds. He wanted me to discuss with Pidge about showing a little more courtesy in the galley. I agreed, on the condition that he was to leave Pidge alone—it's not his place or his job to decide how the ninja should behave."

Keith nodded; so far so good. "Good, at least he sought out some help. So what happened?"

"He decided he needed to pick another fight about it today."

"Can you elaborate?" Keith arched an eyebrow.

Yes, he certainly could elaborate. "He saw him with peanut butter and took it upon himself to make sure it had been acquired in an acceptable manner, which I'm positive is exactly what I told him not to do. He further decided, when I came to discuss it with him, that he ought to mouth off at me about half-assing my work with Pidge. You know, right after explicitly defying my orders regarding the situation."

"…Oh god." That really had escalated quickly, but somehow Keith could see it. He rubbed his forehead. "That's…"

"Stupid?" his second volunteered. "This whole damn thing is stupid, except that the ninja has a problem with knives—that I'm _trying_ to work on, for fuck's sake. It's just slow and complicated and I'd rather not have some ensign from the bridge crew coming in and complicating it further." Snort. "And then he accused me of 'scapegoating' him, because I didn't tell Pidge to avoid him when not even he claims Pidge has ever started anything with him. Which is when I put him on restriction."

Frown. "You didn't tell Pidge to avoid him too?"

"…Why would I? Pidge wasn't doing anything to him." Flynn lowered his voice, muttering more irritably, "I've given him enough fucking lectures on knives and manners, those are _his_ problems."

Keith was still frowning. "Yes, but if you'd informed Pidge as well, he may have been able to prevent the confrontation. He could have seen Starr coming and gone a different way."

That got him a look of sullen annoyance. "I never said he couldn't be _near_ him, that's impractical. Literally all Starr had to do was keep his mouth shut; if he can't handle 'leave him alone' without Pidge needing to run when he sees him coming, that's also a problem."

"Very true, though I can see how Starr thinks it's unfair." Keith studied his second carefully. "You're right, it isn't scapegoating. Favoritism, though…"

Flynn blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Are you really going to deny _that?_ You just put Cam on restriction for conduct you wouldn't have batted an eye at if it were Pidge."

"I suppose you could call that favoritism." He wasn't certain Kogane's assessment of what he would put up with from Pidge was correct, but he wasn't sure it was incorrect either, so he let it go. "You could also call it holding the actual _human_ to higher standards of human behavior, especially since he wants to tell everyone else what is or isn't appropriate. But sure, if favoritism is what you want to go with I'll not protest."

"You just did protest." Keith crossed his arms on the table. "I understand that Pidge has different ways of looking at things, but he has to adapt eventually. Preferably sooner rather than later."

"I'm aware of that. Even he's aware of that. It's a little more complicated than saying so, and you know it." He shifted, wrinkling his nose in frustration. "And people picking fights with him doesn't help."

"And how much of the blame for that falls on him? He may not be the instigator, but he is the common element."

"Kogane, I just said…"

"I heard you. I understand the circumstances."

Flynn narrowed his eyes. "All respect, sir, but I don't think you do or you wouldn't be lecturing me about them."

That was not a good answer. "Watch it, Kleid. I need you to be able to handle this."

That hadn't been a good answer either. Flynn had already been on the edge. Now, with just one last push, all of his own doubts and frustrations on the matter seemed to come crashing down at once.

He snapped.

"Handle this? _Handle this?!_" he erupted, jumping up and glaring. "I didn't ask for this either, alright? My job is to keep the ship running. My job is, and has always been, to fix _machines!_ At _no _fucking point did I sign on to play combination therapist and babysitter for some half-feral alien with more issues than the Garrison quarterly, but that's what I've got now. And since it isn't as if _you've_ been trying to help with Grumpy Ninja at all, either you can stop second-guessing me and keep a leash on your bridge brats, or I'll do what I have to do to keep my half of this ship working, goddamn it!"

Keith just stared at him, slowly realizing he was out of his seat, vaguely aware of the wall at his back. He didn't exactly remember backing up, but it seemed like a damn good idea in retrospect. _Holy shit…_

Flynn calmed, blinked, and dropped back himself. "…With all due respect, sir…"

For what may have been the first time, Keith understood _exactly_ how his second had ended up on an Explorer Team. For what felt like an eternity they just stared at each other in shock. He'd known Flynn was frustrated, but… "Why didn't you ask for help?" he asked finally. "I'm not exactly a mind reader, you said you had it under control."

"I certainly did _not_ say I had it under control." He'd never even _thought_ he had it under control, never mind saying so. "I said I was working on it, which I was. And am." He dropped back into his seat with a frustrated sigh. "I thought I was getting somewhere… turns out I was, incidentally."

"I do believe you are making progress." The fact that he hadn't heard of Flynn needing to actually draw his gun on Pidge since his initial reporting made that clear enough. He returned to his own seat. "How can I help? Other than… keeping my bridge brats on a leash?"

Flynn winced at that phrasing being thrown back at him, and winced again as he realized the answer. "Hell if I know. I don't _know_ what works and what doesn't. I just know Starr said Pidge bolted on him instead of escalating; I tried to convince him it was okay to do that all the way back on Terina." He laughed, entirely without humor. "He finally got there right as I hit my limit."

Keith watched him quietly. "There's more than just that bothering you, isn't there?"

Snort. "I've never lost my temper like that at a subordinate. Twice in a week bothers me, yes." He _had_ lost his temper at his commanding officer before… the first guy had deserved it, though.

"Twice in a week." Keith raised an eyebrow. "You mean the incident where you went easier on Pidge for literally pulling a knife on a crewmate?"

"Ye…" He trailed off and grimaced. "…yeah, kind of does sound like favoritism when you put it like that, doesn't it."

"It does."

"It's a defensive reaction. I've at least been able to figure that out. His sense of what's a threat is just… overtuned." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's almost routine now. He misunderstands something, knife comes out, I yell at him, knife goes away. It's not optimal."

"No, it's not." Keith rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I'm not saying that Starr didn't deserve disciplinary action. He shouldn't have ignored your orders, and he shouldn't have mouthed off to you. Much as I'd like to excuse his behavior because of his injury, I can't. He deserves restriction, and Stoker probably does too."

"Pidge didn't do anything," Flynn protested. Maybe that was favoritism too, but he certainly didn't need the ninja being punished right after he'd _finally_ reacted more or less correctly. "He just ran."

The commander considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. So, that just leaves me with… what do I do with you?"

Flynn tried a weak smile. "Double shifts?"

Keith couldn't help the laugh; he managed to fight it down into a sort of part laugh, part snort. "That's just rewarding you."

"It was worth a try."

"I should put you on bridge duty… but between you and McClain, I don't need that headache."

The engineer made a face. Bridge duty would sure as hell be a _punishment_. Although… "That's kind of punishing the rest of the team, anyway." He honestly couldn't do much on the bridge other than be in the way.

"Yeah. So… I'm giving you and Starr both 45 days restriction and incidental duty. When you're not working, you'll be in your quarters. Is that understood?"

_Ugh_. "Yessir." He deserved it, and he knew he deserved it, and frankly it could've been worse. Didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

"If you need help in the future, ask. Dismissed."

Watching as his second flipped a salute and departed, Keith sank back in his chair and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he had a lot to think about.

* * *

Daniel had never been happier to be out of his quarters. Lying on the couch, playing on his datapad in a completely empty rec room was almost therapeutic. He was avoiding his roommate. Cam had been a grouch since getting out of sick bay, and he apparently believed that him getting shot was all Daniel's fault. So he was extra grouchy towards him. Which was crap, because Daniel wasn't the sucky flirt. Well… he was a sucky flirt, but he'd never been shot because of it.

He was brought out of his musings by someone knocking on the door.

"Come in." Who was knocking? _Who knocks at a rec room? Especially one I'm in._ He was surprised when Lance walked in and leaned against the wall opposite him. He didn't even say anything, he just stood there with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow. What was that supposed to mean? "Uh… hey?" _Oh no… is he gonna do that thing where he's weird?_

"Hey… so, Cam got shot," Lance said slowly, trying to figure out just how to broach the subject.

"Yeah, I know. I was there," Daniel snarked.

"See, funny thing… I told you two to go back to the ship." Lance's raised brow lowered, but his arms were still crossed.

Daniel put his datapad down and sat up, because _oh shit_ this wasn't good. "We did go back to the ship." _Eventually_. "Like I told Commander Sword-Up-His-Ass, Cam needed a coffee. He was… well you saw him, that stuff the Drules gave him was _potent_." He gave his best confident smile. Everything he'd reported to Keith was true; he may have left some things out, but he didn't _lie_, technically. So it was all good.

Lance wasn't having it. "It's my fault really, here I thought nearly _dying_ might actually make you two behave for a few hours. That was just nuts of me, wasn't it? So, what really happened, Daniel?"

Daniel was thrown for a second; this usually didn't happen to him. He'd pretty much perfected lying to superiors in the Academy. "I'm confused. I told you what happened."

"No. You told a whittled down version of the truth. I want the full truth," Lance countered, shaking his head. _Kid thinks he invented lying._

"I did tell you the truth…" _WHAT THE FUCK!_ Inwardly Daniel was freaking out. _Breathe, dumbass. You didn't technically lie._

"Kid, do I look like I have a sword up my ass?" Lance asked with a sigh. The kid was getting on his nerves.

"…No?" Daniel had a wary look on his face.

"Good! So, let's break this down. I said: go back to the ship. You and Cam then proceeded to do… what exactly?" Lance asked, getting a little more comfy against the wall.

Daniel sighed too. _Well fuck, now I have to actually lie._ "We went to get coffee." _Eventually_.

"Straight away? Really? Off to Dradin Dunkin' or whatever it was called?" Lance asked, not believing him for a moment.

"Starbrews. It was called Starbrews," Daniel corrected, mostly so that he didn't have to answer the question.

Not that Lance was buying that, either. "Straight there. No meanderings? With Dradin all bright and shiny around you?"

"…No?" This time Daniel's _no_ was a little hesitant, and he was freaking out again. _What the fuck was that?! NO! No is the answer. Why do you sound so unsure?! You know how to lie!_

"You tell me, kid." _Don't laugh at the panic on this kid's face right now. Don't _do _it, McClain._

"The fuck—I don't know! Lying is not supposed to be this hard, LANCE!" Daniel stood up, then blinked. He had definitely just admitted what he was doing. Out loud. Damn his sudden inability to lie correctly to this guy…

Not laughing was officially a lost cause. Lance _absolutely_ lost it. He laughed for nearly a solid minute before managing to calm down, and was still grinning when he spoke again. "Sorry, sorry… just you're too used to getting away with it, kid. Where did you really go?"

"Why the fuck are you so weird?" Daniel whined.

Lance shrugged. "I was cursed by the Weird Fairy." He was still waiting for an answer, and a slightly arched eyebrow got it.

"…We went to the casino."

"That was my first guess." Lance would _actually_ have been shocked if it had been anywhere else. "But there's still something else that doesn't add up right."

"Why does it matter?"

"Cam got _shot_, kid!" Casinos didn't generally lead directly to lasers. At least, not the painful kind. "What details did you leave out of that story?"

"But he's fine," Daniel reasoned, then lowered his voice, muttering the next part more to himself. "He's fine enough to be a grouchy ass."

"Nope, need all the details. What's the full story?" Lance demanded, and Daniel sat back on the couch. He could finally accept he wasn't getting out of this.

"Okay, so… Cam wanted to go to the casino." _You did too_. "So we went and messed around there for awhile, then I wanted to get back to the ship. Before you got done drinking." _Why? Why tell him that?_ "While we were getting coffee, Cam saw this Drule chick he thought was hot. He—after a _tiny_ bit of persuasion on my part—he went up to her. It was fine, and then suddenly it wasn't and she was shooting at him. I went to back him up, she ran away. And then I stole an _awesome_ bike that Keith won't let me keep." Daniel was still very pouty about that. He'd worked hard for that bike, in dangerous conditions. Very dangerous conditions.

"Huh. So, Cam just managed to piss off a random Drule girl?" Lance asked, skeptical. There had to be more to the story. Most Drules were _not_ in fact laser-crazy psychopaths.

Daniel snerked. "Uh, yeah…" He hesitated a moment, he really didn't want to embarrass Cam. Lance just raised that damn eyebrow again and waited; it didn't take long for Daniel to cave. "Promise you won't tell anyone? I don't want to embarrass him more. He already didn't think he was cool enough to pick her up, I don't need you people making it worse for him."

"This is between us, kid," Lance promised. _He's kind of sweet under all that snark, huh?_

"I was too far away to hear what they were saying then, but I asked after he got out of sick bay. He uh…" Daniel laughed. "Used the line you used on Dread."

"He what?" Lance blinked.

"He used your line on her." Daniel got defensive. "He says that's what I told him to say, but I _didn't,_ I just said to take some inspiration from you!"

"No, no, no… doesn't he know Drakure? He's our _communications officer…_ oh, _fuck_. He's lucky he just got shot in the arm." Lance was trying really hard not to laugh, but it wasn't working.

"He speaks it in uh, diplomatic context, I think he said. Why, what's it mean?"

"I told Dread he had big balls! …With more flourish than that, of course." It may also have involved a mild implication about his big guns, which may or may not have also been a euphemism. But mostly the balls. "Tell Cam to learn some slang, and no more flirting without my supervision!"

Lance was fighting off the urge to keep laughing. Daniel didn't bother. "That's hilarious…" Suddenly he paused, actually thinking the whole scenario through. "…That's nasty." He glared. "Don't _ever_ tell a guy he has big balls in my presence again." He couldn't stop thinking about it, and that was an image of Boss Dread he really didn't need. "Oh god."

"Kid, that line saved our asses." Lance was still laughing a bit. "But Cam should never use it again, ever."

"Yeah but now I'm traumatized. I was better off not knowing, I mean how would you feel if I was flirting with snake guy and said he had big balls right in front of you?" Daniel winced, regretting that as soon as he said it. Here it went…

"Okay kid, you know what… A, you have _awful_ fucking taste in men. B, I doubt snake guy had any balls. And C… I fucking hate you for making me visualize that." Lance glared. It was a horrible image. Hell, just snake guy was bad enough, but that was worse.

"Yeah… I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I said it," Daniel admitted.

Damn right it had been. "Tell Cam he got fucking lucky given what he said. …And I'm sorry about you not getting to keep the bike."

"I will." Daniel laughed weakly. "You gonna snitch on me?" If that was the plan, he wanted some time to prepare for another boring lecture.

"To who?" Lance asked.

"To Keith? For the leaving stuff out thing. Cause I mean, I didn't technically lie."

"We'll keep Keith in his nice little land of plausible deniability. I just wanted the truth, _someone_ should know about it. You're not as good at lying as you think."

Daniel was offended. "I'm _great_ at lying. You're just weird."

"You're just lucky, kid…" Lance shook his head. "Alright, as you were, or whatever."

"Yes, Lieutenant." Daniel smirked.

"Ow… hitting me with my rank, fucking _rude_."

"You were being all old-person-weird again! Now get out, and let me enjoy some peace before I have to go back to 'You got me shot!' Grumpy Gus again." Daniel pointed towards the door and went back to his datapad.

"Like I said, as you were…" Lance let out a low whistle, still chuckling a bit to himself as he left. Cam was lucky he hadn't been shot in the balls.

* * *

Pidge had tracked down the commander before making his move; no sense causing any more trouble. He'd been taking the elevator to the top deck. No problem. Now the ninja slipped down the hallway in the crew area, making his way to the room at the end and hacking the lock in a matter of seconds. The door slid open.

The room was a little smaller than the one he and Vince shared, but the furniture was nicer. It wasn't that much different otherwise. The desk on the commander's side was painstakingly neat; the table opposite was covered in books and papers. There were probably things to be learned there, but he wasn't here for sightseeing…

Flynn hadn't even looked up when he entered. He was sprawled out on his bed looking over something on his datapad. "Flynn?"

The other man jumped, yelped, and whirled to face him… which didn't seem to make him much less surprised. "…Pidge?" His eyes narrowed. "What the hell?"

"The locks on this ship aren't very secure, sir."

That got him a brief glare, then Flynn sighed and looked away. "You make a convincing case. Look, Pidge, I can't _deal with you_ right now." He sounded more than a little irked. "If nothing's blowing up I'll be back on shift at six."

The dismissal stung… which was ridiculous. He had no right to be hurt by it. He'd brought it on himself, as he always did—it never changed. Maybe he'd come here hoping to salvage things, but he was already well aware he'd crossed the line.

_Keromya ja nye_.

"I only came to apologize," he said softly, turning away. "I'll… be there at six, sir."

Halfway back out the door, he heard the rustling of the mattress behind him. "Wait, you _what?"_

"I'll still be on at six," he repeated, a little confused. Flynn set the duty rosters, he should know that…

"…You don't have anything to apologize for."

Oh. He didn't? _That's new…_ he turned slowly, letting the door slide shut again. Flynn was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying him carefully. "But you're angry."

"Very." Frown. "But not at you. So just… go and don't worry about it, okay?"

That didn't quite make sense. Pidge didn't know what exactly had happened between Flynn and Starr—he just knew Flynn was confined to quarters, and it had something to do with his misunderstanding with the comms officer. "Isn't this my fault?"

"No."

"But…"

"Pidge." There was suddenly a bitter edge in Flynn's voice like he'd never heard before. "Right now I'm angry at myself. I can't promise I won't _get_ mad at you if you keep pushing me, though, and I'd much prefer not to. Now please don't make me order you out of here."

"I… no sir. I mean, yessir." He retreated quickly, but found himself in the hallway staring at the door rather than trying to go elsewhere. Where he was didn't matter much; he was trying to get a handle on the conversation he'd just had.

No human had ever seemed hesitant to get angry at him before. He invited it, no doubt. It was why he was _here_. But Flynn was the first superior he'd had who seemed willing to tolerate him, to try to work with him, not just yell for him to shape up or ship out. He'd thought he had finally exhausted his patience… and yet he was certain he'd just been told otherwise. The glimmer of hope that sparked made him uneasy.

But something more than that was getting to him. Not Flynn's words, but his actions. That edge, that struggle for discipline, that look in his eyes…

Pidge _knew_ it.

For once, if only for a moment, a human had actually made sense to him.

* * *

He knew he'd done the right thing. So why did it feel so _wrong_?

Keith punched the control panel on the elevator and went to the top deck of the ship. The shield deck, it was called; most of what was up there was the equipment for the _Bolt's_ very large shielding system. He knew there was a recreation room up there as well, and figured it didn't get used very much. Why would it? There were perfectly good rec rooms down on the berthing deck.

He walked down the silent corridor and stepped into the dark room, flicking on one switch. The lights that came on illuminated the corners of the room, and he left the others off. Compared to the rec rooms down below, this one was huge; a screen on one wall suggested it may have originally been used as a movie theater. And it _really_ wasn't used that much, if the dust on the nearest table and its perfectly aligned chairs was any indication. Good, he wouldn't be disturbed from his thoughts.

He looked around the room, then flopped onto a couch, kicking his feet up and laying down. The curved ceiling was set with several windows, the only ones on the ship, really. They weren't huge, but they did offer a nice view of the stars streaking past. Lying there watching the stars, Keith silently contemplated the issues that were plaguing him, wishing for some form of inspiration.

This mission was a mess. Ten soldiers, ranging so far from home, on a vague and possibly insane quest to find some mythical weapon that may or may not exist. Having to operate on the fringes, with their records sealed, little to no backup from the Alliance… hell, sometimes having to work against it or around it. Dealing with some _extremely_ shady characters, snakes and mafia and who even knew what else…

Was following military protocol really even viable, given those circumstances?

Obviously, there needed to be some form of discipline onboard, or things would get completely out of hand. Especially with _some_ of this crew. Some had earned their posting fairly, others not so much, but they were all damn good at their jobs. Brass wouldn't have tossed them all to an Explorer Team if they hadn't been. It had been a volatile mix even on their first mission… the new kids seemed to have fit themselves in, mostly, but every new person was another new element that could react differently to the stresses the team was under.

He could understand all that, and he knew he needed to cut everyone some slack sometimes. But just how much slack could he get away with cutting them without them hanging themselves?

He rubbed his hands over his face, dragging his fingers through his raven hair, sighing as he gently tugged on the strands running between his fingers. This really was the one part of command he absolutely detested, having to be the bad guy, laying down the law… even if that law was the one thing that kept them on the side of order, not diving headlong into absolute sheer chaos.

But then, they _were_ an Explorer Team, weren't they? Chaos was a mainstay in their mission. Hell, it was damn near a requirement with this group.

At the heart of the issue, Flynn and Cam were both guilty of disrespecting the chain of command. They'd need to be on restriction and extra duty in a normal unit, but… here? Keith sighed. He hated second guessing himself, he liked order, he liked things to be black and white. Gray was a dull color and always left him feeling… unfulfilled, off balance, adrift. And nothing at the Academy had prepared him for this.

"We're all we have out here," he murmured to the empty room. "No backup, nothing. Everything we do… we only have each other." Talking it out was helping a little, maybe, so he kept going. "We've got to trust and rely on each other to get this mission accomplished. I can't just let this slide, but I can't be unreasonable about it, either…"

Gazing back out at the stars, he found himself wishing his mind would go blank for just a moment. A respite. He usually found solace in gazing at the stars, but solace wasn't coming and the longer he laid there, the more frustrated he felt. And yet, if he wasn't gaining solace, maybe he was finding answers.

"We don't have to be by the book out here," he whispered. "We've already jumped the book, several times." What use had the book ever been for them, really? They needed freedom. Flexibility. The right to speak freely. Maybe even the right to mouth off at superiors in a moment of tension, without suffering for it for the next month and a half…

Slowly, Keith nodded. He knew what had to be done. Heading out of the rec room and back to the berthing deck, he paused for a moment outside the stateroom that he shared with Kleid. The larger man had frightened him a little during that talk, but somehow he didn't even think that had been the intent. And this needed to be done. He had to be fair to both of them… after another moment he knocked. Not that he'd needed to, but considering this was about to be a fairly official action it seemed like he should.

The room was dark, and he remained in the doorway, squinting slightly. It would be anticlimactic if Flynn were asleep now, wouldn't it? But then the mildly exasperated question came from his side of the room. "Since when do you knock on your own door?"

Keith stared at the darkness where the voice had come from a moment before speaking. He did seem much calmer now than he had earlier. "Since I'm here on official business. I'm reducing the restriction and extra duty I assigned earlier. Starr gets one week, you get two."

He was met with a long, confused pause. "…Thanks?"

"Don't mention it." He turned away again before Flynn could ask any questions, heading down the hall and bracing himself for the next conversation. If Brennan was there, he might have this new policy tested very quickly indeed.

But he could deal with that. Because it felt _right_.

* * *

It wasn't only the castle shelter having trouble keeping its food stores up. Nearly every one of the shelters on Arus was living week to week if not day to day, with hunting largely replacing even scavenging. Most of the ruins and abandoned areas had long since been picked clean.

The hunting party from Falastol was heading for Lake Almeria, to retrieve fish and water for the caves. When they arrived, though, they came upon an odd sight. They'd never seen anything like it…

Dying and dead gorcas were strewn over a stretch of the shore, and more were beaching themselves. Gorcas were a well known but rarely seen water creature, easily identifiable by the large spiral shell that they used to hide their long tentacles. They tended to roam the bottom of lakes and oceans; on occasion they could be seen swimming a few feet from the surface of the water. Surfacing was almost unheard of.

The creatures were edible, but there were caveats. If the shell was brightly colored the meat within would taste heavenly, but it would almost certainly kill the one who consumed it. They were highly poisonous if not prepared correctly. The gorcas with dull shells weren't poisonous like their sibling species, but they didn't taste nearly as heavenly; in fact they tasted as plain as the color on their shells. Thankfully it was the plain breed that had decided to fling themselves onto the shore. Bland they may be, but the meat was nutritious, and the refugees were hardly in any shape to be picky about taste.

The hunting party took off towards the shoreline as quickly as they could. Water could wait; this bizarre bounty couldn't. They needed to get the gorcas back to the caves to be prepared and preserved before they began to decay.

As they began collecting the gorcas, a few half-alive ones began wrapping their tentacles around them. Some clung to their arms and legs, others wrapped themselves around their weaponry, and they couldn't decide if the gorcas were trying to help or hinder the process of collection. Either way it was odd, though the entire situation was pretty odd.

Gorcas just didn't behave like this. Occasionally a shell of an already long deceased gorca would wash up, but they certainly didn't heave themselves out of the water to die. But the party chose not to question it too much further. There was no reason to look this gift horse… or gift cephalopod… in the mouth. Whatever had happened here, it would keep their people fed a bit longer, and the appropriate response was gratitude rather than questions.

Grabbing as many gorcas as they could carry, plus the ones that had suctioned themselves to them, the party began trekking back to the caves.


	20. A Little Help

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 19_  
A Little Help

* * *

Cam shook his head as he crept down the main corridor on the berthing deck. He couldn't believe he'd let Daniel convince him to leave their quarters, _while_ he was on restriction, for toast. For _toast_. One minute they'd been talking about their shift schedules, and then the next Daniel had him convinced that they couldn't wait until breakfast to eat.

Toast! Cam didn't even really _like_ toast all that much. It was just burnt bread. He wasn't going to mention that at the moment though, no reason to rile Daniel up. He'd already given him more than his share of grumpiness after having been _shot_.

Even so, they shouldn't be doing this. It was disrespectful. Keith had put him on restriction for a reason; he should have stayed away from Pidge, and he definitely should have kept his mouth shut. If the Commander thought he deserved to be on restriction for his actions then he obviously did. Daniel didn't think so, of course. He'd actually gotten pretty annoyed by it. Apparently he felt if _his_ actions so far hadn't earned him restriction, nothing that Cam had done should have. Thankfully he had convinced the gunner not to say anything to Keith about it… or he hoped he had, anyway. Daniel's mouth did seem to have a mind of its own sometimes.

Cam sighed in relief as they made it to the galley without being spotted, and then rolled his eyes when he saw Daniel smirking. Probably in response to the same thing.

"Danny we should really—" His whisper was cut off by a miffed Daniel.

"Do not call me _Danny_. It's _Da-ni-el_." He kept his voice to an angry whisper, but made sure to enunciate his name unnecessarily at the end.

"Why not? What's wrong with Danny?" Cam asked, confused. Danny was a perfectly normal nickname for someone named Daniel.

_"Danny_ makes me sound like I'm three. Or like, a guy who puts goat cheese and tomato on toast."

"I'm not entirely sure what that even means."

"If you did, you wouldn't be calling me Danny." Daniel was still whispering, but Cam could tell he wanted to be yelling. He was grateful for the restraint; if he started yelling they'd definitely get caught. Such was their luck as of late.

"Okay wait… Lance is always literally calling you _kid_ and you don't get all upset about it, but I can't call you Danny because it makes you sound like a little kid?" Cam eyed him. _Why doesn't Lance get bitched out like this?_

"That's… different." Daniel sighed, that particular situation was a losing battle, and to be honest he didn't really mind when Lance called him that. No way in hell he was telling Cam that, though. Besides, it wasn't _Danny_.

"Fine, whatever… can you just hurry up and make your burnt bread so we can go back to our room please?!" Cam whisper-yelled. They needed to hurry up if they were going to get away with this.

"Burnt—you know what, fine. Go get the damn toaster, I'm going to grab the peanut butter and bread." Daniel kept muttering under his breath about tasteless roommates as he made his way to the fridge.

If there was anything Cam was less interested in right now than toast, it was peanut butter; he might be bearing just a bit of a grudge against the stuff. So he rummaged around the cabinets quietly before finding and pulling down the toaster. It took him a minute to find, he didn't use it every day like Daniel. It was a pretty impressive toaster though; Hunk must have picked it out. It was able to hold up to six slices of bread and had at least ten different toasting options.

Plugging it in, Cam turned to face what was quickly becoming a real life nightmare. Daniel had grabbed a stack of Jace's sandwiches and was pulling them apart. The bread was piled on a plate off to one side, while all the in-between parts were being shoved back in their bags.

His eyes went wide as the plate the bread was stacked on, if that was really possible. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!" Panic had definitely flowed into his whisper, but Daniel didn't seem to notice. Or just didn't care.

"Jace has been hiding the bread from me, apparently I eat too much toast. Something about carbohydrates, plus I'm not leaving him enough to make us his stupid sandwiches." Daniel shook his head. Completely ridiculous.

"So not only am I breaking restriction, I'm aiding and abetting in the murder of perfectly good sandwiches? This is not good for my karma, man."

"Oh don't even _start_ with that karma crap. Chill."

"Chill?" Cam repeated. "You want me to _chill?_ While you mutilate the Doc's sandwiches?" _He will so murder us if he finds out… what am I saying? How can he _not _find out?_

"Yes," Daniel deadpanned.

"How am I supposed to chill when bad karma is going to crap all over—" Daniel groaned in an attempt to get Cam to stop, which only got him a glare. "Will you respect what I believe, please?"

"This isn't about respecting your beliefs. This is about you suddenly lecturing me about how everything I do is going to make the universe pissed at me." He wasn't wholly convinced Cam even believed in karma—he seemed to have discovered it while he was stuck in the sick bay with a hole in his shoulder—but who was he to question the sincerity of fanboy's beliefs? Maybe getting shot had just reminded him of it.

Besides, it was better than him just worshipping Keith.

"This has nothing to do with _your_ karma. I've given up on your karma. Your karma is probably _irredeemable_ at this point." Cam's whispering wasn't really whispering anymore.

"Irredeemable?" Daniel echoed skeptically.

"You are butchering those sandwiches, which Jace kindly—"

"—Kindly? Are you serious?—"

"—Yes, _kindly_ made for us all, and throwing the carnage—" Cam froze as Daniel resealed the the sandwich baggies as best he could, before tossing them back into the drawer he'd pulled them from. "—back into the fridge." He blanched, barely keeping himself from groaning as Daniel put the slightly used bread in the toaster.

"Well, if you think about it Jace is a pretty big asshole to pretty much everyone. Even Sven sometimes." Daniel veered off topic for a moment. "I don't really understand what Sven gets out of that friendship."

"I'm not sure what I'm getting out of _this_ friendship," Cam grumbled; Daniel ignored him. He did that a lot.

"Anyways, so really the universe is just using us to dish _Jace_ some bad karma. And plus what Jace doesn't know—"

Cam cut that off with an annoyed tone, having heard this particular adage from his mouth before. "Won't hurt him?"

"No. Won't hurt us."

"How is he not going to know?!" Cam demanded as Daniel's toast popped and he started to spread the peanut butter on.

"Well, he is, but he won't be able to prove that it was us."

"You are literally the _only_ person on this ship that would do this."

"Well good. Then you won't get in trouble, I'll take the blame," Daniel reasoned as if it were no big deal. Cam shook his head. Maybe Daniel was a troublemaking asshole, but he _was_ constantly trying to take the fall for people. Well… some people. He didn't seem to care one bit about being reprimanded himself, but took other people being reprimanded personally. Maybe too personally. Hell, he'd been ready to start a fight over Cam's restriction, because _he_ didn't think his roommate had done anything wrong.

Cam sighed and shook his head, looking at the toast. Daniel was such an idiot. But an idiot he was pretty well thrown in with, so…

"Letting you take the blame would just add to my already tainted karma. Just hurry and clean up so we can get back to our room before the next shift change, would you?"

Smirking, Daniel saluted with his toast and did as he asked.

* * *

Things had been mercifully quiet in the days since the great peanut butter debacle. Well… maybe 'quiet' was a relative term, but there hadn't been any new crises at least. Keith would take that. He'd been off shift for an hour or so when he made his way back to his and Flynn's stateroom, ready to get some sleep before the next emergency hit.

He was halfway out of his pants when he felt a vague… unease… running down his spine. Turning he found Flynn's violet eyes locked on him. "Kleid, what are you doing?"

"Watching you undress," he answered matter-of-factly.

…_Points for honesty, I suppose_. "And exactly why are you doing that?"

"Because _someone_ put me on restriction, so my options for amusing myself are limited."

"Whose fault is that?"

"You're the one who decided confinement to quarters was a better option than double shifts, actually."

"Yes, I decided an actual _punishment_ was a more appropriate punishment. How silly of me." Keith crossed his arms. "Besides, I thought you said I wasn't your type?"

"You're not." Flynn shrugged. "I can admire nice artwork without wanting to pack it up and take it home with me."

Whatever Keith had been about to say turned into an incoherent sputter. "Are you—"

"—You know, you could've had your clothes on in the time you've been standing there arguing with me." Smirk. "But feel free to carry on arguing. _I'm_ enjoying it."

In response, Keith retrieved the work jacket his second had slung over a chair and dropped it on his head. "Nope. Sorry." Beneath the fabric, Flynn burst into laughter.

A second later, alarm klaxons started to howl.

Both of them were moving immediately, and Keith was halfway through opening the door when Flynn yelled behind him. "Kogane! _Pants!"_ He was yanking his jacket on over his sleep clothes. "There's _always_ time for pants!"

…Probably so. Keith grabbed the ones he'd just discarded and pulled them back on, then ran down the corridor, fumbling with a shirt in the elevator. "What is it _this_ time?" So much for sleep before the next emergency. Though now that he thought about it, they'd been lucky on the _Bolt_ so far… maybe they'd been overdue a deep space issue. Sighing, he got himself more or less respectable-looking, and as the elevator hissed to a stop he headed for the bridge.

* * *

Waypoint B/RW, or Break/Rimward, was precisely what it sounded like: the nav waypoint at the rimward 'corner' just before the Atlantis Sector and No Man's Land met at the Break. The Break itself was heavily militarized, usually hosting a full Vanguard unit. They didn't especially like visitors, even authorized ones; any ship appearing in their zone of control was a bit of extra effort spent on identification and inspection.

Needless to say, civilian and merchant vessels didn't really enjoy that either. Which was why Waypoint B/RW and its opposite, Waypoint B/CW—Break/Coreward—were two of the few standardized routing points on Alliance maps. Most ships needing to cross the Break were happiest to bypass it entirely. It had become a thing.

The _Bolt_ had stopped a little longer than was typical at a waypoint, running the routine system checks between breaches as well as checking the military charts. They actually _did_ want to stop in the Break, after all—there was still that issue of getting a report back to Hawkins. It was just a matter of where they were likely to get the warmest reception… they'd narrowed it down to a couple of options before Keith had gone off shift. Sven had been told to set them on the quickest route he could find, he'd just about gotten it set.

That was when the alarms had started going off. Because really, why wouldn't it be?

"Status report?" Keith stepped onto the bridge with as much composure as he'd been able to muster; Cam and Sven were already there.

"We're at our scheduled waypoint. Detecting signals from… a nearby asteroid?" Sven was frowning.

"Multiple contacts, sir." Cam hit a few more switches. "Working on it."

"Talk to me, Starr." It could easily be nothing. The Alliance occasionally patrolled the Break waypoints. Maybe they'd all have a good laugh about this later.

He wasn't going to bet on that.

"Small fighters inbound from the asteroid. No communications yet. Not responding to standard hails."

Definitely something. "Pirates?"

"It is possible." Cam hesitated, remembering the sim runs that seemed like forever ago. "I don't see any sign of a carrier."

"_Normal_ pirates?" Hunk's voice crackled over the comms. "Weird."

"Did someone say pirates?" Lance came racing onto the bridge with Daniel on his heels, vaulting into his seat.

Keith's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do not fire unless fired upon, Brennan. McClain, evasive maneuvers."

"You got it, bossman." Daniel was grinning. This was going to be _awesome_.

"Will do, but we're not exactly maneuver friendly." Lance pulled into a slow bank, waiting to see what the approaching fighters would do. The _Firecrown_ hadn't been built for combat, but it had at least been small and nimble. The _Bolt_ might require a few more miracles.

Nodding his understanding, Keith turned his attention to the comms. "All hands, battle stations. Gregory, find a place to strap in."

"…Yayyyyy," Jace grumbled. "I'll be in the sick bay, try not to need me."

Flynn sprinted into the engine bay, going straight to the command console. "Vince, set the backup generator to standb…" He trailed off, blinking as his own words set in. The backup generator most certainly had _not_ been on standby when Vince had used the disruptor cannon to fry Bokar. Which… shouldn't be possible…?

_Pirates!_ Moving to the aux console and engaging the generator, Vince looked up and blinked himself. Flynn was giving him a very odd look. "Anything else?"

"…No, that's good." The chief shook it off. Not like they really had time to worry about it right now. "Hunk, point defense. Pidge, monitor shields."

Vince shrugged and stayed where he was. Time to just hope not to get killed by pirates.

The pirates were getting close enough to get a good look at now. Pidge frowned slightly, glancing over at Flynn's console. "Sir, those are Drule vessels. Kal'oqla class fighters."

Flynn had been able to tell they were Drules; the prominent ventral cannon was a bit of a giveaway. He hadn't made it to worrying about the actual model yet, and took a moment to stare at Pidge too. _Kal'oqla_? He knew the name, at least. They were supposedly unique to the Fourth Kingdom.

Of all the Drule fighters that should not be here right now, Fourth Kingdom fighters should be here the _least_. But that, like it always seemed to be with pirates, was an issue for later. At the moment they were getting a bit surrounded.

"They're maneuvering to encircle us, sir," Cam reported quietly, eyes narrowed. They were doing a pretty good job of it.

A moment later, the comms crackled. "_Vagrant_ vessel, you have two options. Surrender your ship or dump your cargo."

Lance snorted. "Who are you calling vagrant, asshole?"

"It's the ship class, flyboy…"

"I still take offense."

"I respect it."

Keith rolled his eyes and tuned out the chatter. "Starr, open comms." There was one small problem—well, maybe a large problem—with the pirates' demands. Cam flipped a switch and nodded to him. "Unidentified vessels, we have no cargo to dump."

Back in the bay, even Hunk couldn't quite resist some snark. "Details, details."

The pirate leader was unimpressed. "Then prepare to be boarded. Shut down your engines."

"Don't you tell me what to do with my engines," Flynn muttered indignantly. Hunk snickered, and even Pidge cracked what _might_ have been the ghost of a smile.

Vince would've laughed too, but he was still busy trying to get a handle on the situation. _Drules! Pirate Drules!_ He watched the power readings with wide eyes as the _Bolt's_ engines did exactly the opposite of powering down.

"McClain, time to do some of that…" Keith was briefly drowned out by the roar of the engines as the _Bolt_ shot below the fighter line. "…pilot stuff," he finished unnecessarily.

"Pilot stuff?" Daniel echoed. "You mean piloting?"

"Kid, what I fucking do is not just piloting," Lance objected. The fighters were moving faster than the _Bolt_, trying to cut them off in a four-pronged pincer maneuver; they shot the gap with so little room to spare that their shields scorched one fighter's wingtip. He gritted his teeth; the _Vagrant_ was _so_ not made for these kind of moves. But he was pulling it off, naturally. With panache.

Even Daniel looked a little impressed, not that he would admit it. "I'm so sorry to insult you, your royal highness of the skies." One of the Kal'oqla fired a shot across their bow; their shields easily absorbed the laser fire, but that was all he'd needed. Dropping the crosshairs over the offending fighter, he got a missile lock and launched. Two Interceptor missiles spiraled from their starboard launch tubes and punched through the fighter's hull.

The explosion was close enough to also hit their shields, which threw their equilibrium off; Lance wrestled the _Bolt_ back into steady flight. "Fucking right I'm the King."

"I thought that was the Elvish guy," Cam muttered. Luckily for him, Lance was too preoccupied to pay it much mind—he might have ended up with a hole in his _other_ arm.

The Kal'oqla were still faster than they were, and the loss of their companion was enough to get the others shooting. Flynn routed what extra power he could to the engines, but it wasn't much; if they'd had surplus power, the disruptor cannon wouldn't have been on backup power in the first place. It was enough to give them a bit of a surge, at least.

In response the pirates circled around on their tail, opening fire on the engines. That gave Lance the opportunity to pull a few moves he hadn't had available with them flanking the ship. "Pfft, stupid pirates. Telegraph your moves less." With a sharp roll they gained some separation, though it wouldn't last. The fighters were already gaining again.

A couple of lasers struck at the same time, causing the shield console to flash an alert. Pidge frowned. "Node 18 cycling. Aft harmonics chamber active. Shields are holding. Damage minimal."

"Of course they're holding, they're…" Flynn paused. "Kogane, we've got capital-class shields on this pail of bolts." Centuries ago, when the Drules had first invaded and deep space outposts had been the first things to go, _Vagrants_ had been pressed into service to fill the massive gaps in the supply lines. The extra shields had been an obvious modification at the time, and they'd kind of just stuck around since.

Lance frowned, pushing them up into another roll as a flurry of lasers cut just beneath them. "We're not quite a tank, are we?"

"No, but we're not outrunning them, might be better off outlasting them."

The first part of that was clear enough; the second had to at least be worth a try. Keith nodded. "Suggestions?"

There was a silence that felt very long, though it was probably only a second or two. "Boss, I think 'shoot back' is what he was goin' for."

"…Thank you, Hunk. Yes, _that_."

Sighing, Keith shot the comms a brief scowl before turning to Daniel. "Do it."

Like he hadn't been _trying_ to do it this whole time. The _Bolt_ didn't have a whole lot of rear arc weapons coverage, and what 'not a lot' really meant was 'nothing but point defense', which wasn't even his job. He was about to say so, but right then Lance pulled them up into a tight u-turn and started pushing the ship straight at the flock of suddenly upside-down Kal'oqla. Daniel grinned. "Thank you! I take back all I said about you flying like an old man."

Snort. "Just fire when I get you there, kid."

"Yes, sir!" Two locks came active at once; he loosed a missile at one fighter, tearing its main cannon off. The other lock was for the disruptor cannon, which flashed with lightning and instantly silenced another fighter's engines. It went drifting away wherever inertia wanted to take it.

Cam watched the damaged fighter retreat, then eyed their gunner. "What has he said about calling him sir?"

"Don't fuckin' start with me, bird boy." Despite the initial flurry, this whole _shoot back_ thing wasn't going nearly as well as he'd have hoped. The Drule fighters could get out of his firing arcs almost as fast as the _Bolt_ could get them in. "I can't hold any solid locks."

"I'm trying, but she's just not got the combat grace." Lance wanted to add he was _already_ making a mockery of the _Vagrant's_ design parameters, but then he had to grit his teeth and wrestle them out of another pincer attempt instead.

"Nor the acceleration," Flynn added. "And the shields will hold out a long time against these things, but not forever."

"Then we need another option." Keith's eyes narrowed. "Holgersson, can we go to hyperspace?"

"Yes sir. But we may or may not be able to shake them that way either. Drule fighters are capable of breachjacking." Nearly the entire bridge—except Lance, who was busy—gave him a weird look at that, and he sighed. "It's called the Otieno Effect. If a small enough ship is near a large enough ship, it can be caught up when the larger ship breaches and essentially travel in hyperspace as though it were attached to the larger ship. Our fighters aren't generally built for the stresses of hyperspace, but Drule fighters have been known to survive it."

Oh. Well that was just wonderful… _wait_. A small grin tugged at Keith's lips. "Then let's take them for a ride. Holgersson, which of those bases we were thinking about visiting is likely to be the most bored?"

Sven glanced back through the possible destinations and frowned. "Not quite sure on their level of boredom, but I think Gemini is where we're most likely to get willing backup." Stellar Fortress Gemini was the closest of the Break's military outposts. He didn't really want the Drules breachjacking them for longer than necessary; the long-term effects weren't well researched. Because, well, the Drules tended not to cooperate.

"Alliance backup?" Lance snorted. "Oxymoron."

"Better than nothing." Keith's eyes narrowed. "Get McClain the route, Holgersson. How long will it take us to get there?"

"About half an hour."

That wasn't so bad. "Starr, send a message ahead, let them know we're coming."

"Yes sir!" As he typed in the warning, Lance pulled another tight turn and caused two of the fighters' shots to hit each other. "Message away, ready to go."

"Yeehaw!" Lance yelled, pushing the ship forward in a surge. It shook nearly all of the fighters, and before they had time to recover, the _Bolt_ vanished into a hyperspace breach.

Daniel glanced over at the pilot and shook his head. "And just like that… back to being an old man."

"You have no appreciation of the classics," Lance scolded.

"I appreciate cool things."

"Then you fucking _love_ me."

Hunk chimed in from the bay. "Ain't there a saying about old age and treachery versus youth and… uh… not-treachery?"

"Inexperience," Flynn offered, and the other engineer snickered.

"Don't think that's it, but it works!"

"Whatever you say," Daniel laughed.

Keith rolled his eyes. "If you are all done, can we get a status report?"

"Breach incursion confirmed," Pidge reported immediately. "We have three or four fighters alongside." Standard sensors were not as reliable in hyperspace as they might have liked, but there were definitely some fighters there.

"Hope they're enjoying the ride." Lance smirked. "With way better piloting than they're used to."

Again, Keith rolled his eyes. "Can we just get this done?"

"Helps to reach the location first, boss."

"And I'm the impatient one?"

Rolling his eyes a third time might have given him eye strain, so Keith just sighed and retreated to his command chair. Thirty minutes in hyperspace with Drule fighters on their wingtips ought to be… fun. But what choice did they have? Not that they could do anything to each other anyway—weapons didn't function in hyperspace.

Shields _did _function in hyperspace, but with certain caveats, which the bay crew was belatedly realizing. Namely, the fact that the absorptive energy barrier had to shed all the spatial flux junk it had picked up while traveling through a plane with _totally different laws of physics_. "Kogane, one complication. Our shields will reset after we breach out. Thirty seconds at best." It was a drawback of their very large shield system… a very long deployment time.

_Kuso_. Thirty seconds would be more than enough for the Drule pilots to put some lasers through their hull. Though they would also be appearing in the middle of an Alliance military outpost. "That's a chance we'll have to take. They'll have bigger problems, maybe they'll be busy with those. Unless you have a better idea?"

"We could just drop 'em off and run like hell," Hunk suggested with a shrug.

"We can't…" Keith paused and cocked his head thoughtfully. The suggestion actually made a lot of sense… they knew where and when they were coming out of hyperspace, and their unwanted company didn't. They should have a few seconds of disorientation to get separation and breach again. Only a few seconds, though. "…Can we do that?"

"I can handle it," Lance confirmed immediately.

"Breach drive has the charge for it," Flynn agreed.

"Okay. Do it." He saw their pilot starting to open his mouth and glared slightly. "When we get there!"

"Just making sure."

It was easily the most tense half hour they'd ever spent in hyperspace. Which, given the 686's history, was an impressive achievement. But finally they were coming up on the end of the route, and Lance hunched his shoulders. _Time to ditch the posse._

"Twenty seconds," Sven reported in a near whisper. It seemed wrong to break the silence of the bridge too much. Lance just nodded, preparing for the exit breach and what would follow.

The _Bolt_ slipped from hyperspace.

Alarms screamed _everywhere_. Multiple contacts, multiple aggressive scans, fighters right next to them, weapons locks… Cam started to call them out, then reconsidered. Not much point, given the plan. And there was a good chance nobody would be able to hear him anyway.

"And now…" Lance punched the throttles and went into a steep dive, breaking loose from the Drules who'd accompanied them. "YEEEHAWWWW!" Before the Kal'oqla had even started moving, they disappeared into hyperspace again.

Sven grinned slightly. He would never in a million years actually speak the word _yeehaw_ out loud, but hearing Lance yell it was fun.

"Did it work?"

"No breach incursion. Seems so."

"Awesome." Hunk brought up the heavy metal Ride of the Valkyries on his datapad; this moment seemed to warrant it. Then he hesitated. "Uh, so, when we warned them we were comin', did we tell them we were just gonna dump the Drules on them and run for it?"

No. No they certainly had not, considering they hadn't known it themselves at the time. Flynn looked over at him, then grimaced. "And have we considered we might have started a minor interstellar incident?" If those really _had_ been Fourth Kingdom fighters, some yelling was definitely going to ensue.

Lance snorted dismissively. "Details for the brass to handle."

"That seems to be our thing," Sven agreed.

"We were in our territory, and they attacked us. This is on them." It was certainly not the first time the Fourth had pushed the boundaries, and undoubtedly wouldn't be the last. Shaking his head, Keith went back to Hunk's question. They may not be to blame for whatever the Drule piracy would spark… but they _had_, technically, just violated regulations about submitting to inspection in the Break. Whichever Vanguard unit was stationed there would not be overly pleased with them. "Holgersson, get us to the coreward waypoint. I don't think we really want to show ourselves in the Break for a bit."

"Yes sir."

Flynn laughed grimly; his thoughts had been tracking along similar lines. _We're never going to make this report._ Or if they ever did, it might be rather long. "By the time we find this Voltron thing, is the Alliance even going to want us back?"

"Did they want us in the first place?"

"If they didn't, we wouldn't be here."

"Kinda wouldn't be here if they _did_, either, yeah?"

"Barely wanted me…"

Flynn glanced over at Pidge as he locked down his console; the ninja had been looking at him, but immediately turned away when their eyes met. He considered the implications of that for a moment, then smiled faintly and turned to Vince, who was just looking bemused. Finally he turned back to the comms. "Oh come on, someone say it, you know at least some of you are dying to."

Several voices answered at once. "We're a fucking Explorer Team!"

Even Keith had to bite back a hint of a laugh as he rolled his eyes yet again. _That_ they sure as hell were.

The _Bolt_ moved on.

* * *

The message had been delivered by a servant Romelle had never seen before. That was unusual. Nearly everything came to her through Kalindra, when it wasn't Lotor himself summoning her… it had been immediately clear this was something _different_. And it had been formal, but not the same kind of formality she was becoming accustomed to from the Drules. Flowery, really.

"The Queen Consort Xalinan requests the honor of the Princess Romelle's company at luncheon this day. She hopes for a most enjoyable and enlightening exchange. If the Princess will do her this honor, the Terrace of the Dawn stands ready."

Well, she was certainly not going to refuse the Queen Consort Xalinan anything. It just didn't seem prudent. So at precisely midday, she stepped onto the Terrace of the Dawn, hoping against hope she was ready for this.

The Queen Consort was standing beside an intricately carved tea table. She smiled broadly in greeting, showing downright pearlescent fangs; her eyes glowed a soft silvery-white rather than the typical gold. And there was something off about her features that Romelle couldn't quite put a finger on. She was beautiful, she just looked… _different_ than the other Drules, somehow.

Xalinan noted the scrutiny and chuckled softly. "Please, Princess Romelle, have a seat. I believe I see the question on your mind, and am happy to answer it."

Blushing, she took a seat at the tea table. "I apologize, Your… Majesty?"

"You may call me Xalinan, if you like. But if titles please you more, then yes, Majesty is the styling." She took her own seat. "You are used to the people of the Ninth Kingdom. The kingdoms of the Supremacy have some variance, and I am native to the Fifth."

"Ah! I understand." Romelle had known, intellectually, there were differences between the Drule kingdoms. It had all just seemed very academic until now. She glanced at the glasses arrayed on the table—water, something she didn't recognize, and blood wine—and opted for the water. "So… Your Majesty," she definitely felt more comfortable with titles right now, "how can I be of service to you?"

"I hoped to be of service to you, truthfully. As King Zarkon's Prime Consort, it is my duty to welcome new a'kuri and help them to settle in. Since you are Lotor's first, I thought it appropriate to speak with you." She smiled. "Any questions you have, please feel free to ask me. It can be a difficult adjustment for those of different cultures, I know… and I only crossed kingdoms."

Romelle's eyes widened slightly. "I… do have many questions," she admitted. Many she couldn't ask, but some she certainly could. Starting with perhaps the most obvious. "What _are_ the duties of a royal consort, once the… retinue?… starts to increase?" She couldn't recall ever seeing Xalinan at King Zarkon's side.

The Queen Consort nodded. "A broad question, but understandable. It depends upon the ruler, but also the consort." She took a sip of her wine. "Zarkon prefers his consorts to be both companions and advisors. For example, I always had an interest in economics, thus he often comes to me to discuss matters of trade."

Though Romelle wasn't certain what she'd expected, it hadn't been _that_. "So in essence you… pursue your own interests, to be used for the good of the King and the kingdom?" That didn't sound so bad at all. Maybe she should start hoping for another a'kuri to come along and take some of Lotor's less wanted attention.

"Yes! Precisely." Xalinan raised her wine glass in a salute.

Almost before she could stop it, another question slipped out. "Is that… is that beverage actually blood?"

That got her a startled look, and then a laugh. "Not exactly. It is derived from the blood of certain livestock, but quite distantly."

"Oh…" Romelle lifted her own glass and hesitated a moment. If she were going to try to fit in properly here, she should probably try it _sometime…_ holding her breath, she took a cautious sip. The blood wine was surprisingly sweet and sharp, balanced by a faint metallic tang. It really wasn't bad, but she couldn't see herself getting too used to it.

A servant came with the food then; salegre, a stuffed fruit Romelle had grown rather fond of. Between bites she learned a great deal of useful information. Everything from the finer points of dining etiquette—one must never set a goblet more than a hand's length from the plate—to the diplomatic context of the kingdoms—the Fifth and the Ninth had barely been on speaking terms until then-Prince Zarkon had asked to court Xalinan as his first. Though there was one thing she wanted more and more desperately to know, and finally she gathered the courage.

"So are you Prince Lotor's mother?" she asked hesitantly, finishing up her last bit of salegre. She felt like the question was rude somehow, but it also seemed like she should know the answer.

Xalinan abruptly snapping her head up didn't reassure her any, though she didn't look offended. It was some mix of surprise and concern in the Queen Consort's eyes. "You mean… oh… I didn't realize…"

Romelle shrank back. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to offend…"

"Oh, no, child. It isn't an offense at all. I'm just a bit surprised you hadn't been told." The Drule woman sipped her wine slowly, deep in thought for a few moments. "Ah, but if you haven't been, then it does fall to me."

_Told what?_ It would _certainly_ be rude to ask that so bluntly. "I've learned a great many things here, but never a word about his mother."

"It is a bit of an open secret in the court. I suppose if the subject never came up, there would be no reason to mention it." Xalinan straightened. "No. Our marriage agreement forbade me from bearing Zarkon any children, firstly; it would have complicated the Fifth Kingdom's line of succession, you understand."

"Oh… yes, I understand." She hadn't thought of that at all, and felt briefly out of her depth again_._ The Supremacy was an even more complicated beast than the Ninth alone.

"Lotor's mother was a Fourth Kingdom noble named Onir'va. He was the firstborn, and by the Ninth's tradition he was raised as a warrior and commander. His sister, Princess Cythir, was heir to the throne." Xalinan lowered her eyes. "There was… a freak accident, as they say. Cythir and Onir'va were practicing together on one of the target ranges, and Cythir's weapon overloaded. Usually a small inconvenience, but…" She shook her head slightly. "It triggered the security systems. They did not survive."

Romelle gasped softly. "Both of them? Lotor must have been devastated. He's never even mentioned a sister."

"That doesn't surprise me… though not likely out of grief. He and Cythir hated each other quite fiercely. And he only hates her memory more, now that in his mind, she took his mother from him and left him as heir." She sighed. "Lotor is used to getting his way without question, and being able to take whatever he wants when it is not given freely. The way of a conqueror. Politics have not agreed with him. Until you arrived, I think he still truly believed he would escape the throne somehow."

_Until I arrived…_ Romelle hid her wince in her wine glass. Suddenly she didn't think she wanted to hear any more of this story. "I… thank you, Xalinan." She lowered her own eyes for a moment. "I wish the circumstances were better," _for both of us,_ "but I do want to want to better understand my place and my… sincline."

The Queen Consort smiled softly. "From all I've heard and seen, you seem to be doing quite well. I think you may even be a good influence on the prince. In time, it is my great hope that you will come to be as happy as I have been here."

…A good influence? Was she really? Romelle considered that, and the rest of what she'd learned. Perhaps, now that she knew the whole story, she could be more helpful. What she _did_ know was diplomacy and politics. Making a mental note to ask Kalindra for some books on the finer points of Ninth Kingdom protocol, she finished her wine and smiled back. "I hope so too, Your Majesty."

* * *

Alfor was sitting in the royal chambers of the shelter, exhausted but far from ready to rest. Translating some of the oldest known Arusian tongues had never been easy to do; he had just finished the last bit from the most recent sources that he'd found. It was slow and sometimes painful work… to see so much of his planet's history hidden away, to know how slim his chances of recovering it were, ached. What hurt the most was how much of what he had was fragmented. Parts of the page being cut off midway, or missing vital words that would clarify the whole sentence.

Stretching, he found his muscles protesting strenuously. How long had he been here, almost motionless? More hours than daylight, his burning eyes told him that. He knew he had to sleep after his work, but his mind couldn't let go of bits of information that danced about. So many things seemed so alien to his homeworld. Deities with unknown names, ancient places long forgotten to time… yet the terrain and landmarks spoken of in the tales still existed on Arus. The sources he had just finished off spoke of a place called Zohar. He knew of Zohar, a valley in the mountains to the north, a tiny settlement barely even qualifying as a village. Yet the ancient writings had spoken of a Zohar that was a city, a vast complex built around a great temple.

His eyes were demanding to be closed; his body was pleading for rest. Yet his mind couldn't wind down. And could he afford for it to pause? Exhaling slowly, he tried to separate flesh and thought. The body fell into welcome sleep, and his thoughts were let loose to roam. To search…

A path appeared before him. And somehow, instinctively, he knew he had to follow.

As he followed the path, words from the various texts sprang to his mind. He didn't fight it. "By his feet… his seat to which he hears…" As he mumbled the words and tried to make sense of them, he ignored the plants sprouting around the path. It was becoming more defined as his meditation grew deeper. "By the clouds, he travels, his eyes for… make the unjust tremble…" He sighed in frustration. "How I wish there was more to work with."

Only when the leaf of a large plant brushed his leg did he stop to focus more on his surroundings. _Hmmm… I'm not wandering in the caves, so… at least my body must be asleep._ That was interesting in itself; he must have known that already, but as he followed the path he felt the outside world seeming to slip by. This dream was powerful. Noting the rapid growth of the plant life around him, Alfor wondered about the precise nature of the vision.

It was then, as if in response, he saw something else rising from the ground. Bricks. The walls of buildings were slowly reassembling themselves into the shape of what they had once been. Finding a set of stairs he could climb up and looking about, Alfor finally recognized the Valley of Zohar. But life seemed to be growing on land that was known to be almost barren.

"Could it be? This… this is what Zohar used to be?" he murmured as he moved towards the heart of the Valley. And it did feel like that. Buildings that seemed very different than was standard for Arus, but with features and functions he could recognize. As he reached its heart, the risen city seemed bright and alive… alive, yet nobody seemed to be in it.

The center of Zohar, like many major Arusian cities, was a large fountain surrounded by small shops. On one side was a fairly wide pathway flanked by tall trees, leading to the city's temple—the reason for it to be here at all. Two smooth, thick black marble lines surrounded by white marble led from the fountain to the steps of the temple. The closer he got, the thicker the black lines became, until finally he stepped through the open doorway into the temple itself.

There, the floor was completely black. Between the white marble walls and black floor was a band of gold. Everything inside seemed to be decorated in the same manner: black on the ceiling and floor, gold separating the white from the black. Lighting the place were thick black columns topped with pits full of strange, silvery fire.

Whatever this place was, Alfor certainly knew what it _wasn't_. The Golden Gods would see this temple as sheer sacrilege.

He felt drawn to the deeper parts of the temple. At the temple's heart, the very seat of its dedication, was a massive statue of a seated warrior carved from a mix of black and white marble. Its black marble face was very much that of a lion. Though seated, the form looked as if it was ready to spring forth into battle, or perhaps leaning closer to hear the words of its visitors. Alfor felt it might be both.

Golden letters were embossed into the floor at the feet of the statue. The ancient sigils were usually a struggle to translate, requiring intense concentration and the occasional reference, but here he could read them easily.

**Li-ten**

**Lord of the Storm**

**Defender of the Weak**

Li-ten? He'd seen that name before…

As Alfor read the title of the statue, he could hear a rumble of thunder behind him, as if a storm was rising outside the temple. As his eyes met the eyes of Li-ten, he felt a jolt. A thunderclap rocked his dream, and in an instant he was awake; he sat bolt upright, disoriented. Finding himself once more deep in the caves not far from his sleeping daughter, he took a moment to gather himself. His heart felt like it was racing, but the adrenaline wasn't from how he'd been awakened. It was something else… a distant voice he'd heard in the thunderclap still echoing in his mind.

The statue had _spoken_. A deep, warm rumble, a single word in the ancient tongue.

It had said… "Ask."


	21. Call and Response

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 20_  
Call and Response

* * *

Somewhere along the border of No Man's Land, waypoints got exciting again. Lance wasn't even completely sure where they were. He was just following Sven's route, bringing the _Bolt_ to the correct coordinates and trusting it would eventually get them where they belonged. And as they slipped from hyperspace into the middle of nowhere, an alert tone started to sound.

It was on Cam's panel. He flipped a few switches, frowning and double checking the results. A message was coming in on a hyperbroadcast frequency that was only ever used for one thing… "Um, Lance, we're picking up a distress signal."

"Huh?" The pilot turned to him, then switched over to reverse thrust and brought the _Bolt_ to a stop. "Let Keith know." As Cam nodded and sent the commander a heads up, he looked back to Sven, who wasn't exactly on shift; he just liked being at his station at waypoints, to double check whatever the computer spit out before they breached again. "We anywhere good, Viking?"

"If by good you mean exciting, not really."

"Yeah, somehow I doubted it."

Keith came striding onto the bridge a few moments later, walking straight over to Cam. The comms officer was still working on assembling a full signal. "Put it through as soon as you've got it, Starr."

"Roger that, sir." It came through a few seconds later, broken and cloaked in static, but audible.

"Attention any Alliance-friendly vessel. This is the CMS _Farantin_ requesting assistance. We have sustained major damage. Situation is Code 4."

Cam glanced around the bridge, but nobody else seemed to be wincing as badly as he was. Which probably meant they didn't know what they'd just heard… it was the second-worst distress status available, and the worst usually ended with finding nothing but bodies. "Code 4 is impending certain LOCV without aid. Power and/or life support failing."

_Loss of crew and vessel_ got the reactions he'd been looking for. Sven's eyebrows shot up, Lance cursed softly, and Keith leaned closer over his shoulder—making sure not to actually touch it, the injury still wasn't fully healed. "That's… definitely bad."

The commander was a master of understatement. "What do we do, sir?"

Keith was quiet for a moment. His immediate reflex was to go. Alliance policy was to answer distress calls, no matter what… if you were a stellar cruiser, which they weren't. Spaceplanes were more situational. They may or may not be able to do anything. But… "We have to try. Trace their position and get the location to McClain immediately."

"Yes sir."

"Ooooh, are we about to have some fun?" Daniel came trotting onto the bridge, a little late for his shift, but he hadn't been expecting anything _interesting_ to happen today.

"We're about to be rescuing someone, hopefully." Lance stretched his shoulders, awaiting the coordinates. He had an idea of what was about to happen here, and he was going to be sore by the end of it. "Someone might wanna warn Flynn."

They might, at that. Keith opened up the internal comms. "Kleid, get to the bay. We've got a distress call, major damage and possible life support compromised."

Flynn had already been on his way to the bay; he broke into a run. "Possible? We don't know any more than possible? Are they not answering?"

"It just came in, we're still tracing the signal. We'll find out."

Another thirty seconds or so was enough for Cam to lock the signal down. "Got it." He sent the heading to the piloting console. "Should I respond?"

Keith nodded. "Tell them we're on our way and will do what we can. See if we can get any more details."

Nodding back, Cam locked the comms equipment on the trace as well. "CMS _Farantin_, this is ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_ responding to your distress call. Can you tell us any more about your situation?" He looked up as he flipped the transmitter off. "It'll be awhile before we get an answer."

"It'll be a longer while before we get there." Lance shook his head slightly, he'd known this would happen. "Gonna have to do a short-jump path."

Short-jump pathing was, essentially, breaching in and out of hyperspace in short bursts. It was good for several niche purposes: in this case, trying to stay in contact with another ship while still reaching it quickly. They knew how fast the ship's comms moved, they knew how fast the ship itself moved, and they knew the distance they were trying to cover. They could bounce back into real space just long enough to receive a response and send back their own answer, then go back into hyperspace until the next.

It involved a lot of extra math. Sven was happy to have extra math to do; it would get his mind off the fact that they didn't have a proper route mapped. He didn't like that. He didn't like it at _all._ But there was nothing to be done for it… as they breached into hyperspace, he lost himself in numbers and tried not to worry.

Twenty tense minutes later, the _Bolt_ returned to real space. Immediately a staticy communication came through. "_Jupiter's Bolt,_ copy. We have a hull breach in the engine section. Most of our engineering crew is incapacitated, half of our engines are dangerously compromised, and we only have a few hours of reserve power left."

"…Fuck."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No, no it does not."

Flynn frowned. Something about that report was bothering him, but he couldn't quite place it… no, wait. Dangerously compromised? What the hell did that mean, exactly? "Kogane, get their ship class and engine type, would you?"

Keith nodded to Cam, who relayed the message. Another twenty minutes, another breach, another response.

"We're a _Glendenning_ class. Engines are UniStar Stellar LWR 80. Six installed, three functioning."

Their chief engineer cursed quite profusely. That was not the definition of _dangerously compromised_ he'd wanted to hear. "Heads up, wrenchlings, this day just got unpleasant."

The other engineers winced. Cam, who was not at all an engineer, eyed the speaker and blinked. "That's bad?"

"It's… old," Keith started hesitantly; he'd heard of the _Glendenning_, but it wasn't his area of expertise.

Flynn had stronger opinions. "Only if you think a two-centuries-obsolete scrap heap carrying _light water fission engines_ is _bad…_" He would've used stronger words, himself, most of them possessing four letters.

Even Hunk's eyes widened a little. "…Naaah, that's not a problem at all. Right, pit boss?"

"Exactly, it's not a problem, it's several problems." The _Bolt_ didn't even carry radiation suits. Who used fission anymore? He glanced over his wrenchlings and frowned, considering their specialties. "Vince, Pidge, vacuum suits. Hunk, suit up, but you're on standby." Vacuum suits were suboptimal, but it was what they had. He wasn't going to expose any more people than necessary to whatever was going on with these reactors.

The big man mock pouted. "Awww, you mean I might _not_ get to go visit the ship with nuclear bombs on its butt?"

"…They're reactors, not _bombs!" _He knew Hunk knew that, but honestly…

Vince looked between the two senior engineers and shook his head. _They're both nuts._ He crossed over to the locker with the vacuum suits, where Pidge was already pulling his out and rolling his eyes dramatically.

The chatter in the bay had pretty much answered Keith's next question. Maybe his next several questions. "Starr, let them know our engineers are able to assist, and we're prepping our sick bay if needed." As Cam nodded and relayed that, he decided he'd better make sure on that second part. "Got that, Gregory? I'm not sure just how bad this ship is going to be, but we need to be ready for anything."

"On it, boss." Jace had been heading for the sick bay already, but he picked up the pace a little. _Might get to have those eight quarantined patients after all! Fanfuckingtastic._

As they returned to hyperspace, Keith started pacing behind the helm. It didn't take long for Lance to shoot a scowl over his shoulder. "Boss, I can't fly faster than I already am, breathing down my neck won't help."

"I wasn't," Keith scoffed. "I'm just pacing."

"Yeah, but I can _feel_ it."

Daniel had now been sitting at his station for the better part of an hour. This rescue thing wasn't nearly as exciting as he'd been hoping for. "Do I have to be here?"

He really didn't, but him asking—especially like _that_—just made Keith want to keep him in place on principle. Then again, that also meant dealing with him. "You can always help Doc prep the sick bay, Brennan."

"Yeah, that'll keep you busy, kid."

The speakers crackled with feedback as their medic yelled a bit too loudly. "Absofuckinglutely not!" Lance snorted, and Daniel sighed. Even that might actually have been better than sitting here watching Keith pace for another couple of hours.

When the next message came through, the other comms officer was audibly relieved. "Understood, _Jupiter's Bolt_. Appreciate it. Our medic thinks we have enough reserve power to keep our wounded going for another few hours."

Keith paused, leaning over Lance's shoulder. "It shouldn't take us another _few hours_, should it?"

"Only a couple…" The pilot reached up and pushed him away slightly. _I knew he'd do this._

Backing off, Keith frowned. As a stellar cruiser, the _Farantin_ should have its own shuttles, and the _Bolt_ was technically a rescue ship. "Starr, let them know a standard evac is also an option. We can dock a shuttle if need be."

Cam nodded. "_Farantin_, be advised we are a _Vagrant_ class. If you have a shuttle we have plenty of room for you to evac."

Back in the bay, Flynn was searching through the _Bolt's_ database and getting more and more irritated. They carried a basic spec file on the _Glendenning_ class, but no proper schematics. They certainly didn't have anything resembling a schematic for the UniStar Stellar LWR 80—he knew how a fission engine _worked_, but knowing the layout of this particular model would've been nice. Finally he sighed and shook his head. "We'll do what we can with the damn things."

"We're ready, sir." As Pidge said it, Vince eyed him warily; he didn't feel all that ready.

One more message came in from the _Farantin_, and this one sounded a little nervous. Though given the circumstances they were in, nobody was going to question some nervousness. "Understood, _Jupiter's Bolt_. We'll prep for evacuation, but hopefully we can avoid it, there may be complications."

Complications. Great. Keith looked at Cam and signaled for a simple acknowledgment; they'd gotten all the information they were getting. Time to punch it and do what they could…

It took just under three hours total for the _Bolt_ to reach… well… wherever it was they were going. Sven was still not at all happy to have no proper route information. But as they breached out and started for the distant pinpoint on their sensors, his irritation gave way to stunned silence. Okay, he hadn't been talking anyway, but now he was hardly even breathing.

He wasn't the only one. The sensors were picking up the telltale readings of atmospheric leakage around the other ship. Power spikes, large ones, emanated at irregular intervals. And as the ship's silhouette became clearer, they could see something drifting at some distance beside it. Two things, really. Two broad, silvery sheets that had at one point been attached.

"Holy shit," Lance whispered. "The fuck happened to them?"

"I'd say we're about to find out," Keith answered grimly.

Passing by the severed radiators, the possible absurdity of this endeavor became more and more striking. The _Vagrant_ was one of the largest spaceplanes ever built; the _Glendenning's_ radiator structures alone were nearly as big as their whole ship. "We're seriously gonna rescue this thing?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We're going to try." Keith's eyes narrowed. "McClain, that's close enough. Starr… let them know we're here."

* * *

The _Farantin_ had two shuttles; the _Bolt_ could 'dock' one. In theory, they could've brought one over, docked it, waited for the airlocks, loaded the engineers, undocked it, sent it back…

That all seemed like a lot of unnecessary trouble. So Flynn, Vince, and Pidge were standing in the _Bolt's_ rear port side airlock, looking at the looming hull of the _Farantin_ ahead of them. Both ships had their shields down. That was going to be critical here in a few moments.

Vince had never actually seen a _Glendenning_-class before. It was pretty typical of human-designed cargo starships: a brick lined with loading bays on one end, an engine bank with a dozen huge radiator fins on the other. That was how many fins a _Glendenning_ was _supposed_ to have, anyway. The two the _Farantin_ had lost had left ragged stubs behind, bleeding sparkling trails of hydraulic fluid into space. Between them was a huge gash in the hull.

"Guess that's where we're going," Flynn said grimly. "You two set?"

"Yessir."

"Um." Vince looked at the other ship again and gulped. Big as the _Farantin_ was, as close as they'd gotten, the gap seemed awfully long when the issue at hand was _jumping across it_. "Not that I'm expecting it or anything, but what happens if one of us doesn't make it across?"

That seemed to call for some reassurance about the process, and Flynn took a moment to try to find something that would help. Pidge beat him to it, lightly elbowing his roommate with a mild scowl. "We'll come _get_ you, mechka."

Flynn blinked. Then a faint smile flickered over his lips for just a moment. "What he said." He gave the younger engineer's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You're going to be fine, Vince, whatever we have to do to make sure of it. Promise. Alright?"

He took another deep breath, then nodded. "Alright."

Nodding back, Flynn crouched and kicked off the airlock. The other two followed. Rather than aiming for the hole in the armor itself—if the _Farantin's_ gravity system was working, that would end in some pain—they were headed for part of the broken fin nearest the gash. Plenty of handholds there, it wouldn't be difficult to climb down to the gash and inside. And once they were there, well… they'd do something.

Hopefully.

* * *

While the other engineers were having 'fun' in zero gravity, Hunk was having fun with the docking controls. The primary cargo bay of a _Vagrant_ was equipped with two robotic arms to help stabilize and maneuver payload, whether that payload was a pile of cargo crates or an entire small spacecraft. In this case, it _was_ an entire small spacecraft. Once the _Farantin's_ shuttle was secured, he headed for the internal airlock to meet with the others. All he could really do right now was hurry up and wait; may as well keep himself amused in the meantime.

Most of the rest of the team was waiting at the airlock. Only Cam was still on the bridge, monitoring comms. Not all of the _Farantin's_ crew had come over; they'd indicated it would be the bridge crew transferring. Just in case.

"Hey, it's a party!" Hunk got a few strange looks when he turned up in his vacuum suit—sans helmet, obviously—but then, he got strange looks most of the time anyway. "Probably gonna _need_ a party, yeah?"

"New people, stranded in space?" Lance grinned back at him. "Gotta have a party."

"Party sounds fun," Daniel agreed.

Rolling his eyes, Jace muttered the most unenthusiastic "yay" in history under his breath. Sven elbowed him.

Keith frowned slightly. He couldn't help but feel like the _Farantin's_ crew must be traumatized enough without being subjected to an Explorer Team party. "We at least should welcome them warmly, and assure them we'll do everything we can for them."

"Totally."

"And tell them we have beer."

Sigh. "…I just hope their people will be alright. And ours, too."

"We've got this, boss." Lance smirked. "Full not-really-bounty-hunters rescue is in progress." The airlock hissed open, and the group headed into the cargo bay.

The shuttle's hatch slid open as they filed in, and Keith stopped, a little startled. The woman standing there was unmistakably a _Hydran_.

Hydrans were one of the Alliance's Founding Powers. More than that, they were distant relatives of the Drules, descendants of an ancient colonization mission gone awry. Their cousins generally saw them as abominations that should be ashamed to exist; they returned that disgust with quiet contempt. They did still look quite a bit like Drules—the same golden eyes, pointed ears, and fangs—though their skin tended towards a bit more turquoise than the normal Drule blue. Otherwise they would _really_ have been unsettling.

This particular Hydran had pale aqua-blue skin and short silver hair, and an aura of calm command that was difficult to miss. She bowed her head in greeting. "Ara'klur, friends. We appreciate your aid more than I can say, we've been—"

A second Hydran popped up over her shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "We've brought our rec room!"

The other captain pressed a hand to her forehead for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "…Yes, and we've brought our rec room."

"A rec room?" Lance repeated, looking the shuttle up and down.

The second Hydran nodded, still grinning. "It's got the works."

Hunk brightened. "I wanna know all about the _works_," he declared. This sounded like it could be all kinds of fun.

"Come and take a look!"

Giving Lance's arm a tug that was enough to make him stumble a bit, Hunk headed for the shuttle's hatch with the pilot right on his heels. Daniel followed, it sounded way more fun than whatever boring command stuff was about to happen in the bay.

The _Farantin's_ captain let the group pass, then shook her head slightly and approached the remaining three. Keith had stayed because it was his duty; Sven had stayed with Keith because someone surely ought to, and Jace had stayed because it seemed safer. "Forgive my crew's exuberance. We've been adrift for hours. Between the badly compromised engines and injured crewmates… my people have been desperate for a distraction."

That was more than understandable, given the circumstances. "I can't blame them for being excited for company. In any case, welcome aboard. I'm Keith, the commander of the _Bolt…_ these are Sven and Jace, our navigator and medic."

The Hydran bowed slightly in acknowledgment. "I am Tekyal, captain of the _Farantin_. You have our thanks for the aid."

"You're quite welcome. How is the situation with your wounded?"

"Our medic is working on getting them stabilized enough for transfer to the other shuttle. She doesn't want to move them unless absolutely necessary, but we will be ready."

"How many were injured?" Sven asked, about half a second before Jace could ask the same.

"Five. Most of our engineers… we run a bit of a skeleton crew. You saw the hull breach, I'm sure." She shifted; the worry in her tone was clear. "Our remaining engineer was waiting to brief your people when we left. She thinks the situation may be salvageable, but she claims she can't say for certain."

Keith nodded. "If you'd prefer to just cut your losses, we're happy to evacuate you. We have plenty of room onboard, and we're on our way to Gliskor. You could get anywhere you need to go from there easily."

Tekyal hesitated a moment; Keith was briefly reminded of the nervousness when they'd made the suggestion over the comms. _Possible complications_. "It is a kind and appreciated offer, Commander. But we cannot abandon our ship, unless all other options are exhausted."

_Complications_. "You'd be able to return for it, wouldn't you?"

"Perhaps, but we are carrying… highly sensitive cargo. We must not risk it falling into the hands of scavengers." She lowered her eyes. "And we may not be all _that_ far into No Man's Land, but you know what would happen if it were discovered before we returned…"

"…We're _where?"_ Sven asked with an unusually undignified cough. _This is what happens when I don't get to map the route!_ Even Jace looked stunned.

His question seemed to startle the Hydran as much as her words had startled him. "You didn't know?"

A shiver of fear was creeping down Keith's spine. They may have just committed the same violation as the pirates they'd fought not so long ago. The Fourth Kingdom would have a field day if they found a ship full of _sensitive equipment_ in the buffer zone. "We knew we were moving along the edge in our own route, but…" With nothing but a signal to lock onto while searching for the _Farantin_, they'd had no idea where they might be headed. "…I should alert my comms officer, tell him to be on sharper lookout."

As he typed quickly on his datapad, Tekyal looked around the cargo bay as if gathering her thoughts. "We do have… an impressive enough sensor suite, and we haven't detected anything yet. But caution can't hurt. Most would flee at that news, especially so unexpected."

Jace snorted; Keith smiled. "Most probably would, yes. But not everyone can be, well…" He chuckled. "Us."

"So it seems." Tekyal nodded her understanding. "What brought you out this way, if I may ask?"

"We're bounty hunters. We were heading to Gliskor from Dradin in hopes of finding some information on our quarry…" He studied her carefully. "What exactly brought _you_ into No Man's Land, anyway?"

Had she just flinched? She'd definitely just flinched. But her tone was calm. "We were… taking an admittedly ill-advised shortcut."

"A shortcut?" Sven tilted his head. He couldn't for the life of him think of any shortcuts that might take them through the part of the buffer zone they'd been near, unless… the Hydran homeworld was actually _within_ that zone, but it still seemed well out of their way. "Were you heading to Hydros?"

A loud _bang-bang_ from within the shuttle interrupted the discussion, and Keith blinked. "Um… is everything alright in there?"

Tekyal looked up and cracked a small smile. "Sounds like they're inflicting ping-pong on your crew. Shall we go observe?"

"…Ping-pong? With that much noise?"

"You'll see." The Hydran looked genuinely amused now. "We have modified some human games."

Oh. Oh dear. "Well then," he agreed with a nod, "we probably should go keep an eye on things." Motioning to Sven and Jace, they followed Tekyal onto the shuttle.

* * *

After a few minutes of careful maneuvering, Flynn finally dropped from the _Farantin's_ hull to the floor of the engine bay. Actually _dropped_. The ship's gravity was still engaged after all. That was one thing they had going for them… as the wrenchlings dropped in behind him, he took a quick look around the bay. It wasn't particularly large, in comparison to the whole engine block, but it was plenty big enough.

The first thing he saw was the light—or perhaps more accurately, the lack thereof. On the far side of the bay, three beams of brilliant blue light cut through the darkness. They were the 'status lights' standard to stellar fission engines: they worked by directly relaying the glow of the reactor. The problem with seeing three of them lit was that the _Farantin_ had six engines.

The second thing he saw was a single figure in a proper radiation suit, moving quickly towards them. Faintly glowing golden eyes, just barely visible through the faceplate, suggested a Hydran in the suit; her first words confirmed it.

"Ara'klur, friends… and that's the last nicety we can afford. My name is Lauda, and am I _ever_ glad to see you." As she spoke, a blue flash lit the bay from one of the dimmed engine lights, and she muttered what the new arrivals could only assume to be Hydran profanity.

No need to ask why she was happy to have backup. And definitely no time for niceties. "I'm Flynn, this is Vince and Pidge. What can you tell us?"

"Less than I'd like. Engines four, five, and six are damaged and doing _that_." She indicated the light that had flashed. "Jettison systems are damaged past functioning. Most of the status equipment didn't survive the first few minutes, but some containment must be holding, my suit's radiation detection isn't picking anything up." She shook her head in frustration. "I'm the bridge sensor tech, the catastrophic failure modes of the engines aren't really my thing."

Engines were absolutely Flynn's thing, and he took another, more careful look around the bay. It looked like Lauda had already pulled up the floor access panels and had been patching what she could; that would help. Following the wires, his attention was drawn to the main control panel. It was dark. "Everything's disabled?"

"Not everything. I engaged all the emergency systems then shut down the main console—I couldn't do anything more with it, no sense wasting the power when we're at half capacity."

Solid logic. The blue light flashed again; he frowned. "Transients?"

"I believe so."

Lovely. The engines hadn't just _had_ catastrophic failures, they were _still having_ them. Flynn was immediately certain trying to fix these things was out of the question. Radiation buildup in the shafts would be too high, even if the cores could be salvaged… which was unlikely. "I think we can get you moving again, but it's going to be essential systems only. The damaged engines are going to have to go. How bad are the jettison systems?"

In response, she pulled a datapad from a pouch on her suit and offered it to him. Apparently she'd done full damage scans before they arrived, too. "I hope you weren't expecting good news?"

For a moment all he could do was stare. Engine jettison systems were relentlessly hyperengineered, precisely for situations like this. But there were some things redundancy just couldn't do much for, and outright _vaporization_ of parts of the launch mechanism was one of them.

That, of course, was precisely what he was looking at.

"…Well, best we get on with this, looks like. Pidge, get things up and running. Call up the ship schematics while you're at it. General, electrical, and full engine system."

"Yessir."

"What actually happened here?" Vince asked hesitantly. He wasn't completely sure he wanted to know, but it seemed like it could be important. Maybe.

The Hydran shook her head. "We had all hands at their stations, prepping to hitch a ride on a warp channel. Hypermetric anomaly cracked right on top of us. Ripped the bay all open. Good news is it got the breach drive's power too, so we were out before it could do too much damage."

Flynn eyed her for a moment as the main console started to come up. _This crew might be crazier than _we _are_. Warp channels were something like rivers in hyperspace; just one of the many helpful features that could get you where you wanted to go faster. But warp channels had a nasty habit of attracting hypermetric anomalies, which in turn had a nasty habit of reducing large stretches of hull to their component atoms. "Think it did enough," he observed quietly, though he knew she was right that they'd gotten off lightly. "Your engineers?"

"Messy, but alive. Vacuum exposure for about a minute. The bay's atmo-seal system is still functional—or it was then, anyway—I just turned it off with everything else, nobody was using it anymore."

Also solid logic. He nodded, then looked over at Pidge, who was still easing the systems back online. The fact that it was taking so long wasn't a good sign; the fact that it was working at all was a _great_ sign.

The sudden howl of an emergency siren? Bad sign. Extremely bad sign. "Faex."

"Lai'm'ur."

"Mijtairra sa kye."

"Oh, _crap_." Vince had a feeling the other three had been stronger, but he'd meant his wholeheartedly nonetheless.

Another blue flash, and a second siren started to howl. "Yes," Flynn muttered as he moved to the nearest engine shaft, "we already _know_—Pidge, can you shut those damn things up?"

"I think so."

"Wonderful." The status panels on the engine shafts were coming online. Engine six's panel looked like someone had been doing abstract art on the readout. "…You weren't kidding about the status equipment."

Lauda snorted. "Did you think I was?"

"Not at all? I'd just hoped for maybe a salvageable number or two." He checked the other two, though he didn't expect any better. Which was just as well, because he didn't get it. The sirens stopped, though, so at least that was nice. "Pidge, find the last information from the monitors. Vince, we need to fix the jettison system. There's really no point worrying about anything else until we've gotten the _runaway nuclear reactions_ clear." He looked at Lauda for a moment and hesitated; he certainly couldn't give her orders.

She looked back at him. "I'm no bay specialist, but I can follow instructions. Just tell me what to do."

Nodding, Flynn looked down at the open access panels. "You're with us on the jettison systems then. Let's move."

* * *

"BEHOLD!"

The shuttle's official name was _Cavalcade. _The crew had decided that was close enough to _arcade_, apparently, and gone about converting it into one. The Hydran they were following was waving her arms dramatically as she pointed out all their rec room's amenities: a pool table, ping-pong tables, air hockey, a couple of retro video games… a fully stocked _bar…_

Lance gave a low whistle. These people knew how to party.

Most of the _Farantin's_ crew turned out to be Hydran. There was one that clearly wasn't: a young woman with pale green skin, broken at her forehead and collarbones by bright green crystal. The crystal, though, was actually exposed bone. She was a Kolaliri, another of the Founding Powers, and she was not at all impressed by the tour her crewmate was giving. "Are the theatrics really necessary?"

Their guide turned and shot her a disapproving look. "Yes, they are _very_ necessary."

"Totes necessary," Hunk agreed, looking around the shuttle again. "This is _awesome_." The Kolaliri snorted and rolled her eyes; Daniel eyed her warily. He really didn't like Kolaliri.

"We figured the least we could do, given the rescue, was bring our entertainment over." The Hydran who'd led them in smiled. "I'm Katrelle."

"It's very appreciated." Lance winked. "I'm Lance."

Introductions cycled around the shuttle, ending on the Kolaliri, who looked mildly disgruntled at the whole affair. But, proper behavior and all that nonsense. "I'm Tarai." She rolled her eyes, but offered a slight bow of acknowledgment. The space monkeys _had_ turned up to 'rescue' them, after all… though the three here certainly weren't doing much rescuing.

Katrelle turned her attention back to the humans also, still grinning. "So, any of you know pin'guri?" None of them looked the least bit familiar with the word, so she clarified. "Hydran ping-pong."

Hunk's eyes went wide immediately. "I've heard _stories_. Never had the chance to try it."

"Oh really?" Katrelle's grin was suddenly showing her fangs very prominently. "Then now is your chance, what was it? Hunk?"

"I'm _so_ in." He looked over at Lance. "Doubles, you're in, yeah?"

"Fuck yeah!" Pause. "What the hell is it?"

"It's mostly like basic human ping-pong, but you use two balls at a time." There were a few other little tweaks too, but they would find those out soon enough. She headed over to one of the tables and pulled a paddle from the holder underneath. "Who wants to get some balls flying?"

"I'll play," one of the others—Shachra, Lance thought her name was—offered. He was certain of one thing; the voice was familiar even without static, she had to be the _Farantin's_ comms officer.

Katrelle eyed Shachra too. She was actually not very good at pin'guri, but… they exchanged looks and she nodded in understanding. Easing the humans into things was only fair. "Me and you, then."

Lance approached the table and found a paddle, hefting it experimentally. It was heavier than he was used to, but the balance was perfect. Hunk joined him, flipping a paddle in his hand, then blinked as he caught sight of something beyond the table. "…Wait, is that a _grill?"_

Two of the other Hydrans were standing by the grill-looking device; one of them, Carfua?, was cooking something on one of the grates. She grinned. "Yes, yes it is."

"Do you grill?" the other asked. Quia, he thought.

"Oh, _do_ I, sister." Hunk turned to Daniel. "Little dude, change of plans, you take the first round. We need _snacks_."

"Sure!" Daniel accepted the paddle from him and looked across the table. The two Hydrans there looked very businesslike.

So did Lance, come to that. "Okay kid, we're gonna rule this."

Katrelle snorted skeptically. The other Hydrans were gathering around the table now—except Quia, who was much more interested in watching the cooking. Their pilot, Karlina, laughed. "I doubt that, Lance. Kat is deadly with her paddle."

Lance looked back at her and winked. "I'm pretty deadly myself, when I went to be… and I rise to challenges."

"Your funeral…"

Two balls arcing across the table interrupted them; Katrelle had tossed them over. "Guests get to serve first."

Each of the humans managed to snag one of the balls. Lance's was a metallic silver, while Daniel's was glossy black. He supposed, with this setup, they'd have to be different colors to have any hope of keeping track. He studied his for a moment, then took up a serving stance. "So uh, both at the same time?"

"Yep." She smirked. "Come on, waiting to see you rise to my challenge."

"Or scream like a stuck kaelun on the first serve," Shachra agreed with a laugh.

Lance eyed them. As much as he loved trash talk, he'd have liked to feel a little more confident in his ability to back it up… instead of reacting he just winked at Daniel, whose silence probably meant something similar. "You better be ready, kid." He tossed the silver ball in the air and slammed it with the paddle.

A sharp _crack_ rang out, accompanied by a puff of blue-white sparks, and he gave a startled squawk. Daniel had been halfway through his serve and managed not to mess it up, but he gave his own little screech as the black ball gave off the same _crack_ and the same sparks.

Shachra burst into laughter, then returned Lance's serve, with Katrelle returning Daniel's. And in a flurry of loud cracks and bright flashes, it was _on_.

"This is fucking bonkers already, I love it."

"This is awesome!"

Hunk had started grilling up some pizzadillas, which had seemed like a good priority until the mini-explosions started. Now, for once in his life, he actually regretted choosing cooking. "Dude." He barely even noticed Carfua reaching over, flipping the tortilla he'd briefly forgotten before it could burn. "That's _epic_."

Slamming a ball back across the table, Lance found himself getting into the boom. The rhythm was almost visceral. "You'll love this, dude!"

Their volleying had gotten the balls into some kind of sync; they were both coming at Katrelle now, and she smirked. Whirling around dramatically, she backhanded them both hard across the table and right past Daniel's paddle. "And score!"

Daniel blinked. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been outsped like that. "We uh, we may not have this."

"Pfft. We might lose a round, but we'll get one in."

As they picked it up again, the four they'd left back in the cargo bay arrived. Keith looked around in… well, awe probably wasn't the right word, but he was impressed. In a sense. "Someone had… some time on their hands," he observed diplomatically.

Tekyal just seemed amused. "That's certain. We rarely have need to use more than one shuttle, and the _Farantin's_ interior is not the most spacious. Some of the crew decided to make do with what we had."

Understandable enough, he supposed. The rest of his team was definitely appreciating it.

Right about then, Hunk yelled through the chaos. "Ding ding! Pizzadillas are ready!"

Shachra was distracted by the call, and the scent of tortillas and pepperoni. "Those smell _amazing—_" A ball chose that exact moment to bounce by her uncontested, and the humans finally got their first point. "…Sorry, Kat."

Katrelle snickered. "We'll give them one."

"Pizzadillas?" Quia was studying the tray Hunk was loading up with interest.

He nodded, offering her the tray first. "They're quesadillas, but pizza! One of humanity's finest achievements." He frowned slightly. "I mean, spaceflight and stuff was cool too."

"I'll try anything once." She took one of the pizzadilla slices and bit into it. "Oh, wow, this is yummy—Shachra, stop abusing those poor Earthlings and come try one of these!"

Shachra didn't need to be told twice; she surrendered her position to Karlina and ran over. That wasn't going to be any _better_ for the humans, but hey, they'd asked for it…

Keith found a seat—an actual old-fashioned barstool—and settled in to watch the organized chaos. At least most of his team was having fun. He hoped the engineers were, if not enjoying themselves, at least having some decent luck.

* * *

They were not.

Work on the damaged jettison systems was going well enough, so far. They had managed to patch up the coolant line to engine six, even… whether that would do any good, Flynn somewhat doubted, but it was better than _not_ having coolant flowing. He was working on engine four's launch mechanism, while Vince and Lauda did what they could with engine five. As for the ninja…

"I have the recordings, sir." Pidge didn't sound happy, even for Pidge. "Internal containment on all three damaged engines was compromised prior to loss of instruments. Engine five was in full meltdown. Four and six were experiencing transient excursions."

"Four and six are _still_ experiencing transient excursions." Flynn made a face. At least five couldn't really get much worse… "Lauda, can gravity be disabled on specific engines?"

She shook her head. "Centrifugal wave relay. All or nothing."

Well, it hadn't hurt to ask. He went back to the cables. Though the closer he got to the engines themselves, the more he was starting to see the problem with this plan.

About twenty minutes of work later, his lack of optimism proved correct. Every part of the jettison systems that could be accessed from the bay had been fixed. And yet…

"All three are still red, sir."

Expecting it didn't make it any better. "The pyro circuits must be damaged." There was only one part of the jettison system physically attached to the engines: the line of pyrotechnic fastening bolts that ringed each one. Once they blew, carefully amplified shockwaves would disintegrate the rest of the engine fasteners, and the catapult mechanisms beneath the bay floor would send the ruined reactors out into space.

If the explosive bolts didn't blow, the engines weren't going anywhere.

"Can we fix them?"

"Somehow." The easiest way would be to just go in the engine shafts. But the engine shafts were full of radiation right now, so that wasn't the best of ideas. They'd have to do it the hard way… which would depend entirely on how the ship was designed. "Vince, have a look at the schematics. Find the best way for us to get a power hookup where we need it."

"On it." He jumped up and joined Pidge at the main console. Even the schematics of this thing were old; it took some effort to figure out what he was looking at, but soon enough he had it.

He'd been studying the engine casings for maybe two minutes when a new alarm sounded. A long, shrill siren that sent a slight chill down even Flynn's spine.

At the same time, a soft crackle came from where Lauda was standing. She froze for a split second, then looked down at her wrist. "Radiation present. Negligible levels, but increasing."

_Cevete_. "External reactor containment is starting to fail." There was no way of knowing whether it would go down gradually or just collapse. Either way, their time had all but run out.

Pidge turned from the console as crimson warning lights started strobing through the bay. Even he looked worried. "Orders, sir?"

Flynn took a shallow breath. He knew what had to be done… and he knew if it had been Kogane trying to do the equivalent, he'd have been throwing a fit. But they were out of options. "Lauda, does this ship have an emergency jettison panel?" Being able to launch the engines from outside of the bay was a standard safety feature, but he had no idea if it had been standard when this relic had been built.

Based on the look she gave him, probably so. "Of course it does."

"Alright. You three, get out of here. I'm going to open up the engine shafts and finish the repairs."

Pidge gave him a look that was _very_ much like the one he'd have given Kogane for something similar. Lauda blinked, then shook her head. "I'll do it, I'm the one with the actual radiation suit. Just tell me what to do."

True, but not even actual radiation suits could block everything. "The extra time it'll take to walk you through it will offset that, or worse." If even _one_ piece of the system wasn't where he expected it to be, trying to talk her through it would turn into a disaster very quickly. Better if he could see it himself.

She seemed to accept the reasoning, nodding. "Fair enough."

Vince was less accepting, shaking his head frantically. "Are you kidding? Are you _crazy?_ You'll—"

"—Vince. I know exactly what I need to do, I'll be in and out before you know it." He pulled the younger engineer around and met his eyes. "Listen to me. The second the jettison systems come online, run a diagnostic and then eject engines four, six, and five in that order. I'm going to have to go straight for the containment chamber; I'll trigger the bay decontamination systems from there. Once it's clean, core systems and life support need to be rerouted fully to the remaining engines. I'm leaving you in charge of that. Understand?"

…He was _what?_ Vince gulped. "Um…" Oh, he understood. Whether he felt any fraction of Flynn's confidence in him, whether he thought he deserved that responsibility, whether he could _handle_ it, all of that was another story entirely…

Pidge elbowed him. Or maybe just nudged him. Either way, he glanced over at the ninja for a moment, and was greeted with a silent nod.

"…I understand," he half-squeaked, and then tried to figure out what had possessed him to say it.

"Good." No more time for arguing. The crackling from Lauda's suit detectors was getting louder. "Go." As the other three evacuated the bay, he headed for the engine shafts.

* * *

Hydran ping-pong had rapidly gone downhill for Lance and Daniel once Karlina joined the party… and it hadn't been going all that well to begin with. At least they'd gotten one point. All hail the power of pizzadillas, apparently.

Shaking his head, Lance watched the last point sail by. "Shit. We're definitely calling for a rematch… time for a drink first?"

Daniel brightened. "Yes!"

"Not you."

Immediately the kid switched to pouting; Hunk looked up from distributing pizzadillas and grinned. "After that you both deserve _all_ the drinks, bro."

Lance considered that a moment; it wasn't a lie. "Suppose it's his fault if he ends up Jace's guest again."

"Exactly!" Daniel agreed with his most innocent look. "I won't go overboard. I'll be perfectly responsible."

Snort. "Sure, kid."

Jace himself was plenty close enough to hear the discussion, and glowered. "Brennan, we might actually need that sick bay. No beer."

Now he was definitely pouting. "None of you have any faith in me."

"Sure don't," Jace agreed.

"I have faith in you being you," Lance retorted at the same time.

Standing over by the wall, having not been tempted by either pizzadillas or ping-pong, Tarai eyed the young human skeptically. "That's not surprising…"

Daniel blinked, suddenly having flashbacks to Roommate #3—he'd gone through so many of them at the Academy that it had been easier to remember numbers than names. "A Kolaliri being bitchy," he half-mumbled, "that's not surprising either."

Tarai narrowed her eyes, but didn't say anything. She was certain the Captain wouldn't appreciate her picking a fight with the annoying space monkey… she was almost certain she'd win, though. Obviously Katrelle didn't have faith in her, either—not unusual—because she shot a withering look over. Tarai was used to those looks, and knew it was usually best to heed them; she shrugged and leaned back against her wall.

"Easy, kid! Kolaliri are all sunshine and smiles once you get to know 'em. Kinda like Baltans." Hunk clapped Daniel on the shoulder, ignoring the identical looks of disbelief from both the kid and the Kolaliri and handing him a pizzadilla slice. "Eat up."

"That's complete bullshit… but okay." He wasn't going to argue with food right now, he needed his strength for the rematch.

Karlina stepped behind the bar; that was her usual posting. "So," she inquired of the human sitting there, "would you like a drink?" She shot him a grin; he was cute.

Blinking, Keith turned to her and hesitated. "Um, just water, please?" He'd heard the tale of Drule vodka in three different debriefings, he wasn't sure he wanted to risk Hydran rum.

"Water? In this place?" The Hydran looked disappointed, but pulled out a glass and filled it. "Okay, if you insist."

Having fortified herself with pizzadillas, Quia headed for the ping-pong table and motioned Katrelle back over. Lance and Daniel rejoined too. "This one's ours," Daniel announced with a smirk.

Quia tossed the balls over with a smile. "Come and take it, then." A moment later, the shuttle was once again filled with the sound of ping-pong mini fireworks.

Standing with Sven near the grill—snagging one of the grilled-melon-something-or-others Carfua was making, and absolutely not eating any pizzadillas—Jace watched the volleying with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't completely certain he trusted the equipment, but they seemed fine so far… looking around the room, he noted a pool table and raised the other eyebrow. "That one explode too?" he asked Carfua, who laughed and shook her head.

Tarai had overheard that, and glowered in his direction. Around here, pool was _her_ game. "No, it doesn't."

"Bummer," Hunk commented from his spot at the grill.

"Kind of a bummer, yeah," Jace agreed with a snort. He wasn't good at pool; some fireworks could've spiced it up. Though he knew someone who probably _was_ good at pool. "Viking, this oughta be right up your game."

"Probably," Sven agreed, eyeing the table. Pool was his father's favorite negotiating medium; he'd definitely played growing up, but he hadn't been allowed to be too good at it. Apparently, a potential ally getting beaten by the senator's kid was bad for diplomacy. At the Academy, with a little bit more freedom, on the other hand…

The resident Kolaliri was not over the idea of _exploding_ pool, and raised her voice slightly to express her displeasure. "If it were to explode it would ruin the game. The players would be far too worried about the explosions to focus on angles, velocity, trajectory… not to mention it would make those things nearly impossible to predict…" She stopped her rant before Kat could give her another disapproving look.

Jace turned to look at her, just staring blankly for a moment, then looked back at Sven. "_Totally_ your game," he muttered under his breath.

Sven eyed Tarai warily. He'd encountered his share of Kolaliri before; she had about the typical attitude, if a somewhat atypical interest in math. "She isn't wrong, though," he acknowledged diplomatically.

She looked him up and down, frowning slightly. She wasn't impressed by the space monkeys, but someone who appreciated angles and trajectory might make a worthy opponent. "Would you like to play?" _See, Kat? I can be friendly!_

Even if he hadn't, Sven was sure he'd never have heard the end of it if he refused the challenge. But it sounded fun. "I'd love to." He followed her to the table and picked up a cue, testing the weight and balance of a couple of them before settling on one. "Are you any good?" It was an honest question; if she wasn't, he didn't want to _totally_ obliterate her.

Jace had followed them over, and gave him a disbelieving look. "Viking, nobody goes off on rants about pool ball trajectories if they aren't _good…_"

"Better than most space monkeys," Tarai confirmed. She could already hear Kat's lecture in her head—_you really need to stop referring to human travelers as space monkeys_—but didn't worry too much about it.

Blinking, Sven looked at the medic next to him. "Was I just referred to as a monkey?"

"…I mean we kind of are, didn't you ever take a biology class?"

Ah, right. "I'm remembering that now." Shrugging, he leaned on his cue a bit and watched as the Kolaliri prepped the table.

"Nice rack," Jace commented as they watched. He had been _referring_ to the collapsing laser-precision pool rack she was using to set the balls up, but Sven 'accidentally' smacked him with his cue anyway. Keith, who had turned his focus to the pool game as well, nearly choked on his water.

Tarai raised an eyebrow at the human, then smirked. Some cultures might have a silly concept of inappropriate compliments, but Kolaliri preferred to accept any and all acknowledgment of their greatness. "Thank you."

Even Jace was a little surprised by that one.

Deciding not to even acknowledge the exchange any further, Sven turned back to the table. "Ladies first, you break."

Smirk. "Gladly. We'll play slop, for the space monkey's benefit…" She aimed carefully and took her shot, scattering the balls. One solid rolled into a pocket, and her smirk broadened. "You're stripes." She proceeded to pocket five more solids with hardly so much as a pause, though she just barely missed the last one.

_She is good_. Sven was impressed by the shots, but didn't like her smirk. And he really didn't see any problem with slop to begin with, but if she wanted to make his job easier… he no longer felt the least bit guilty for what he was about to do. "Not bad," he acknowledged, and calmly pocketed every one of his striped balls. In a row.

"Porra…" Jace grinned.

Tarai blinked, clearly taken aback, but the smirk returned quickly. He still had to pocket the eight ball, and it was now tucked snugly against the wall of the table, slightly behind her solid. It was an all but impossible shot. "You're not making that."

For a moment, Sven was actually tempted to snark back at her, but he pushed down the reflex… no matter how much he was certain Jace would enjoy it. He needed to focus. It _was_ a rough shot… he silently walked around the table, studying the setup from every angle, then nodded. Rough, but he had it.

Climbing up to kneel halfway on the side of the table, he took careful aim, his cue sticking straight up as he narrowed his eyes. Then he slammed it down, clipping the cue ball with just the right spin. It rolled lazily towards the center of the table, then went into a slow arc… circling around the remaining solid, tapping the eight ball, and knocking it into the corner pocket.

Tarai just stared. "You…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…How about a _real_ game then?" she demanded, grabbing the rack.

"Whichever rules you want," Sven agreed with a diplomatic smile. He was certain they'd just been playing a real game, but there was no need at all to rub it in.

"Oh, _dude_." Hunk had been coming over with the second round of pizzadillas, just in time to see the shot. As the Kolaliri started setting up the pool table, he turned his attention back over to ping-pong. Lance and Daniel were getting smoked by the Hydrans… again. "Okay you know what, we can't let the Viking be the only one upholdin' the honor of monkey business." He walked over and grabbed a paddle, tagging in for Daniel with a grin. "Let's do some swattin'!"

Tekyal had joined Keith at the bar, accepting a glass of something from Karlina and watching the madness with a small smile. It was good to see her people keeping themselves amused… the scene couldn't be more different than the mood on the ship before the _Jupiter's Bolt_ had arrived. "Never a dull moment, Commander?" She raised her glass.

Chuckling slightly, Keith clinked glasses with her. He was still worried, but he couldn't do much but wait for a report. Until then… maybe it was best to just be glad his people could give hers a distraction. "That's for sure."

* * *

The pyro circuits were _exciting_. It was easy enough to hook up a new power cord from inside the engine shafts. But he had to check the wiring on the actual bolts while he was there—it would really suck to get power reestablished but have one or two bolts off the circuit. Engine four had been fine, but engine five had a few wire pathings sheared.

Engine six was outright missing some fasteners. Flynn had opted to replace them, to be safe—the shockwaves they provided were part of the system. The work wasn't difficult. But he could've done it a lot faster if it weren't for the flashing red warning lights; being able to tell what _color_ the damn wires were would've been nice.

The blue flashes from deep within the engine weren't helping anything either. Not one _thing_.

Finally the last explosive bolt was placed, and the circuit tester for engine six lit up. No time to admire his work. _All you now, Vince._ He slammed the hatch shut and ran for the containment chamber, hitting his comms as soon as he was sure they would function.

"Kogane, we're launching three engines. Tell Brennan to soak them with the disruptor cannon until they stop giving off gamma signatures. I need Jace over here, he's going to need full protective gear and a decontamination kit."

To his credit, Kogane didn't ask any irrelevant questions… yet. No doubt he'd have plenty later. "Roger that, Kleid. Is the ship secure?"

"No. Danger is removed. Power situation is untenable for a bit longer. Standby."

"Understood."

Flynn stumbled as he flipped the comms off, but recovered quickly. The bay was wavering a little. That wasn't so bad. He knew when he really needed to worry, and he wasn't close to worrying yet—

"—You look like a drunken monkey." Before he could even register being startled by Lauda's voice, he was _extremely_ startled by being tossed over her shoulders. Suddenly the bay was blurring a great deal, but it was because the Hydran carrying him was straight up _sprinting_. "We're both engineers, we appreciate efficiency, right? This is faster."

There were quite a few responses Flynn would've liked to make to that, and not one of them had any hope of coming out until he was sitting in one cell of the decontamination chamber, dazed and blinking. Lauda stepped into the next cell over and started up the bay sterilization procedures; he finally managed a word, though it wasn't a very useful word. "Um…" Coherence started to return. "Weren't you… outside?"

The Hydran looked at him and grinned. "The other two might have to do what you tell them, but I don't."

As if that were at _all_ what he'd been trying to get at. "…I was just going to say thanks?"

She grinned wider. "Don't mention it."

Outside of the engine bay, separated from the leaking radiation by a massive wall of ferrocrete and lead, Pidge and Vince had no way of knowing what was really going on on the other side. But they had their orders. Three green lights had come up on the emergency panel; a final diagnostic check turned each in turn blue.

"Time to launch. Four, six, five."

Taking a deep breath, Vince hit the first ejection switch for engine four. A shrill alarm demanded confirmation. Pidge hit the second switch, and one light flashed white.

A series of rapid _pops_ rang through the ship. A deep hum came from somewhere beneath their feet; the system's isolated power cells springing to life. A rusty shriek was next, and a jolt, and the jettison light turned a steady gold.

"Engine four away," Pidge reported quietly.

Engine six. Engine five. Vince wasn't thinking anymore. He was working on autopilot, trusting the system had truly functioned as it should, trusting that Flynn had gotten safely into the containment unit—whether or not he'd needed Lauda to drag him there.

As the final jettison sequence finished, and engine five's light went gold, he could hear that the sirens from the engine bay had stopped.

"…I think it actually worked," he whispered, turning and slumping down against the wall. Had he breathed once during that whole sequence? He didn't remember it.

"Of course it worked, mechka." Pidge crossed his arms. "You didn't expect it to?"

Vince eyed him, for a moment too spent to fight down his immediate reflex. "You didn't look nearly that confident five minutes ago."

To his surprise, the ninja didn't even glare. Maybe he was tired too. "…Five minutes ago was before the last jettison system came online," he finally muttered sullenly. "No reason to doubt it would work _after_ that."

Despite himself, Vince laughed.

* * *

Ancient and obsolete the _Glendenning_ class may have been, but someone had upgraded it with a very modern decontamination chamber. Jace hadn't been so grateful to whoever was in charge of ship procurement since he'd first seen the _Bolt's_ sick bay. He'd brought over all the radiation treatment he had, but it wasn't a whole lot.

Flynn didn't look too bad. He'd already ditched his vacuum suit—unquestionably hopeless now—and gotten the chamber's neutralization waves working: the tiny particles pumped into the air supply would bond to whatever free radioactive ones were about. The medic was almost starting to think this hadn't been so urgent after all, until he stepped into the same cell.

The detector in his biohazard suit went _nuts_.

With a new level of urgency, he dug the meds out of his own kit and the chamber's supply kit. "How the _fuck_ are you not a puddle of goo right now, caralho?" The gauge was still screeching. He checked the number, swore a lot, and turned the alarm off.

The chief engineer rolled his eyes. "Do you not _read_ things?" he muttered, sounding a bit tired but otherwise okay. "It's in my file. Same reason I'm on that six month booster schedule we both love so much."

…Unconventionally adapted population, that was right. Jace rolled his eyes right back. "Sure, be snarky with the guy who's here to save your ass, I'm gonna have to stab you with needles one way or another." He found a DRPA syringe and proceeded to follow up on that threat. "Also, for the record, your medical file says 'may exhibit increased tolerance for radiation', not 'is an unkillable freak of nature who could probably eat uranium for breakfast'."

"Don't tell Hunk that, he'd try to feed me some."

Jace snorted. "You're not wrong. So you're feeling okay?"

"Fine," Flynn muttered impatiently. And before he could say anything else, he turned and vomited blood into the waste containment.

"…No. No you're not."

* * *

A small group had detached from the party on the _Cavalcade_, leaving the rest of the two crews to enjoy themselves. No need to worry any more people than necessary until they knew the full situation.

Keith had flown the _Bolt_ to chase down the _Farantin's_ jettisoned engines; Daniel had opened up on them with the disruptor cannon until Cam confirmed the radiation sensors were clear. Tekyal and Karlina, who turned out to be her second, were observing.

Messages had come in from Jace and Lauda in the meantime. Jace reported that Flynn had done "something stupid involving radioactive engines" and ended up very sick. He was going to be fine, but he'd need to be quarantined for awhile to recover. He had not defined _awhile_, which was a bit worrying, but it could wait.

Lauda's news had been even better: the _Farantin_ was saved. They would be able to limp to the nearest Alliance station with three engines and a pressurized hull seal, they just needed to finish rerouting some conduits first. Karlina and Daniel had high-fived at that one, when both their bosses had ignored the efforts; Cam's shoulder still hurt too much.

As they maneuvered back to the other ship, Lance came trotting onto the bridge looking a little perturbed. "Flying without me, bossman?"

"You'd just _finally_ scored another point in ping-pong." Keith smirked. "I didn't want to spoil the moment, we weren't doing anything that exciting."

The pilot considered that, then shrugged. "Yeah okay, I guess that's fair. _This_ time." Smirking, he started pacing right behind Keith's chair, making as much of a nuisance of himself as possible while the _Bolt_ pulled back into position on the _Farantin's_ flank.

Keith glared, but didn't say anything. He probably deserved it.

Once they were settled, he looked around at the others and smiled faintly. "I guess the party can go on until we get word that your power systems are stabilized."

"Hell yeah!" Daniel jumped up and was gone before anyone else could respond. Lance snickered.

"You and your people have gone above and beyond, Commander, and we are in your debt." Tekyal bowed. "We are in poor condition now, admittedly, but if there's anything we can do in repayment…"

Keith shook his head. "We don't need repayment, Captain. We're just glad we could help."

Someone elbowed him, and he winced. What had he said wrong now? Looking at Tekyal, he noted she did seem a little disappointed by his answer. But then Lance stepped up next to him and coughed lightly in his ear. It sounded a little bit like "Hawkins".

_Oh._

"…But if returning the favor would make you happy… you wouldn't happen to have a subspace relay we could use, would you?"

* * *

The _Farantin's_ engine bay had become markedly less spooky since they fired the damaged engines off. With the decontamination complete, the normal lights on, and the positive-pressure seal system active, it seemed almost normal.

Lauda was sitting by engine three's wiring access. Now that the bay was clean, they all had their gloves and helmets off; delicate wiring work was _much_ easier that way. She had ocean-turquoise skin and black hair, and features that reminded Vince a little bit of his friend Veronica… if Veronica had pointed ears and fangs, anyway.

She was currently following his instructions on the wiring, which was weird. He still had no idea how he'd ended up in charge of this proceeding.

Finishing up one of the more complicated connections, she exhaled and paused a moment. "Today became much more interesting than I was expecting, how about you two?"

Over at the main console, Pidge muttered something noncommittal. Vince nodded. "More interesting than I like, really."

Grin. "Not one for excitement?"

"I'm really not… but I might have to get used to it sooner or later." He motioned her to a couple of the main cables from the jettisoned engine four, and busied himself with some especially tricky connections while she brought them over.

"Not a lot in space travel that won't turn exciting on you sooner or later, I've found." She plugged the new cables into an auxiliary port. "Though, being stranded in No Man's Land is a whole different level."

Pidge turned from the console and gave her a _look_; Vince dropped the wire he'd been working with. "What?" _Did I hear that right?_

"Oh, did you not… I mean, forget I said that." An electric-blue blush came over Lauda's cheeks. But it was too late for forgetting she'd said it. There was a sharp electrical crackle, a spark in the wires—she reached for Vince's hand and pulled it away. "Careful! You alright?"

"Wh…" Every bit of that had thrown Vince off balance. He _had_ heard her correctly, he'd _sparked_, but… he blinked at his hand sitting safely on the bay floor, then looked up at her with slight panic. "Are _you?"_

She checked over her hand and shrugged; nothing but a brief jolt. "I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Didn't mean to—not that it was difficult—but the spark—she'd—he'd… trying to get his fragmented thoughts together, Vince looked over at Pidge for some reason.

The ninja looked right back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Mechka, you managed not to do that while we were attached to a nuclear engine in full meltdown…"

"I was too busy then," he sputtered, then blinked. "Wait, huh?" He _had_ been busy. Too busy to even be freaked out. Was that a thing? _Is this progress?_

Pidge seemed just as surprised. "That actually works?"

"I guess?" He shrugged weakly. "Not sure I want to test the theory."

Looking between them, Lauda grinned slightly. "Happens often, does it? It's a perfectly reasonable answer."

A near-stranger being here for discussion of his little sparking problem sent heat rushing through Vince's neck and ears. "Well uh… yeah, I have a habit, I guess you could say."

She took that remarkably in stride, checking out the scorched wire and selecting a replacement. That was a reaction he'd never gotten before from anyone who wasn't on an Explorer Team. "Like our shamans. I didn't know Earthlings had them."

"Shamans? I'm definitely not a shaman." He paused. "I think." _What do you really know about shamans?_ Never mind whatever an _alien_ thought a shaman was. "What are they again?"

Now Lauda outright laughed. "I've heard most shamans say that, to start." She finished replacing the wire and leaned back. "Shamanism is how my people survived, in the ancient days. They were stranded on a chaotic planet that could barely support life. But they learned to speak to that chaos, to use it, to work alongside it and funnel it into order." Giving him a knowing look he didn't wholly like—but didn't wholly hate—she added, "Hydrans born with a strong affinity for the art often cause… incidents around themselves before they learn to properly speak to the planet."

Vince stared at her for a few moments, taking that in. "That's… pretty cool," he admitted, cracking a hint of a smile. "Though, doubt my sparks mean I could speak to a planet."

"No planets here, no." She laughed softly, then reached over and patted the hand that had sparked. "But much like our shamans, I'm certain you'll figure it out. Your boss seems to have faith in you."

He gave an awkward shrug. "Not sure why… but it's nice. Though, he is kind of crazy." Pidge gave him an odd look at that, but didn't say anything.

"I did notice that," Lauda agreed wryly. "Though, you haven't met my crew."

"You haven't met the rest of _ours_. Flynn's one of the sane ones."

"They ought to be getting along well, then." She seemed pleased by the prospect.

Pidge was still eyeing Vince oddly. _Not sure why…_ he was surprised by that comment, how familiar it sounded, how familiar it _felt_. And he wasn't comfortable with it. Finally, looking between the two of them, he leaned back on the console and frowned. They did still have work to do. "Would the appropriate way of interrupting this be saying _awwww_ in that deafening squeal Hunk does sometimes?"

Vince looked over at him and snorted; Lauda snickered. "_You_ sound like Tarai… she's our navigator."

"I'm going to assume that isn't a compliment," he said flatly.

Shrug. "It isn't an insult, either. Just an observation." She looked back at Vince, then down at the mess of cables connecting engine four's power conduits to engine three. "Next engine?"

He'd just barely managed to avoid asking if the _Farantin_ had a Baltan too, and smiled gratefully at the change of subject. And for the earlier encouragement, though he still wasn't completely sure what he made of it all. One thing he was completely sure of, though. "Next engine."

* * *

Two reports had arrived in the same subspace batch. One was from Explorer Team 651, and it wasn't good news. They were requesting immediate recall; their ship had been disabled in No Man's Land, and while a band of bounty hunters had come to their aid and prevented a catastrophic incident, Captain Tekyal was almost certain their sensitive espionage mission had been compromised. Colonel Hawkins frowned as he went over the details of the report. It was worrisome, no doubt…

The second report had come in from Explorer Team 686. He'd been wondering when he was going to hear from them; he'd already had some _words_ with the head of the Spinward Garrison about his people running amok on Khoru. The 686 had some words, too. Words about how they'd done nothing wrong on Khoru but get stabbed in the back by a source. Words about how _ungrateful_ the garrison troops had been for their bringing down an elder Najari in their midst. Also an admission, somehow sheepish even in text, that they'd been the source of a recent incursion at the Break—though they'd had no choice in the matter.

And then, almost as an afterthought, a mention that they were sending the report from a merchant ship they'd rescued that they thought might be doing something shady in No Man's Land.

Hawkins blinked. Blinked again. Reread the 686's report, then the 651's, then slowly shook his head as the realization fully sank in.

_Explorer Teams…_

Leaning back in his chair, he burst into laughter.

* * *

Gradam was a large town built into the Onekyh Mountains, on the southern border of the Crown Province. Once it had been host to the finest military academy on Arus. Now it was a barren wasteland, the mountains themselves pocked and cratered, a few scorched walls all that was left of the Gradam College of Guardians.

But beneath the ruins lay something else. A steel and concrete vault housing a single relic: an ancient broadsword, its blade tapering out into a many-pronged fixture that was both graceful and deadly. The elaborate hilt was set with sapphires; the blade was ever so lightly gilded, giving it a silvery-gold sheen. According to legend, it had been wielded by a mighty hero in the War of Golden Revival. Or perhaps it was a replica of such a weapon. Either way, the sacred blade was said to have been blessed by the gods themselves, and had been protected by a dedicated cohort of knights for centuries.

Even—perhaps especially—in the face of the Drule invasion, the Knights of Light had not abandoned their charge. Their final order before Gradam had fallen had been to remain, to protect the sword… and remain they had, despite everything.

But things were changing.

Miralna—she had given up her lineage when she joined, as all of the sect did—was the quickest of the Knights, and was the most often sent out for scouting duty. She was good at the job, and by and large enjoyed it. At least it got her out of the vault every so often. She'd never been so excited to run back _into_ the vault as she was today. "Lord Skoren! Lord Skoren, there's news!"

The commander of the Knights eyed her disapprovingly as she skidded to a halt before him. "Calm yourself, seden. Show respect." She flinched at the use of her rank, but bowed her head in acknowledgment. He didn't speak again until her breathing evened out. "Now, what do you have to tell us?"

"King Alfor is rallying what forces remain to the Valley of Zohar. The runner I talked to didn't know anything more, but both the nearby enclaves are going."

The nearby enclaves amounted to perhaps twenty soldiers. The Knights of Light had twenty as well, and they hadn't run themselves ragged with guerrilla attacks. But they had a sacred trust… "Then we wish them fortune, and we wait."

_What? _A few of the knights shifted uncomfortably, while others nodded. All of them had sworn their lives to this cause, but whether they served it like _this_ was up for debate. "We can't just keep hiding here!"

"We cannot leave the sword."

"Then we bring it with us!" Miralna looked around the rest of the knights and stepped towards the blade, eyes narrowed. "This weapon was used to liberate this planet from invaders once. What have we been protecting it for, if not to be used again?"

A few gasps ran around the chamber. The suggestion was _blasphemy_. But then… what was rejecting the call of their king? What was cowering here while Arus crumbled?

"She's right." Alun, one of the older knights, spoke very quietly, but there was no fear in his tone. "What is the blade of an Arusian hero with no Arus to honor it?"

"What if we lose the blade to the Drules? The Golden Gods will never forgive us."

"Unless we are being tested! What if they're waiting to see if we will fight for our own planet, instead of hovering over relics and begging to be saved?"

"Indeed. Would the Exalted Father truly condone turning our backs on the High King?"

"Yes, we mustn't lose sight of that. This is King Alfor himself summoning us."

Skoren was content to key the debate continue. Philosophical debates had not been uncommon while they waited here, though this one had rather more immediate consequences than most. And perhaps that was why this one was rapidly turning in one direction.

They wanted to fight for their king, as every knight was sworn to do. Who was he to refuse?

"Very well. I've heard enough; your words are true. We will go. If we fall, we fall with every weapon unleashed upon the enemy." Taking a long, deep breath, Skoren drew the sword from its stand. Ghostly reflections of gold and sapphire bounced around the vault. The others fell in behind him, their own weapons at the ready.

Finally, they would _fight_.

"Radiant Warrior, bless our path and our purpose. We march for Zohar!"

* * *

It must have seemed like a mad bird chase when he'd first put the plan together. Head off to the barren areas of Zohar, to find the remains of a forgotten temple, in hopes of finding means to possibly access an ancient defensive system. A defense system so old that it was every bit as forgotten as the temple in question. But Alfor had floated the idea to some of his oldest advisors, gathering whether it seemed too mad an idea to attempt. The level of madness, they disagreed a great deal on. But they could all agree it was worth at least looking into. Any hope, however slim, seemed worth pursuing.

He may not have told any advisors but Coran that he would be personally leading the expedition… it would get out, of course, but it bought him a little time. Time to address some details before he actually headed off. He needed to ensure that if this did go wrong somehow, people he trusted would be there for Allura… and Tanner, wherever he was right now.

It took some more time to find cloaks and shields with just the right camouflage. Alfor himself would lead a small group of knights familiar with the area, with every possible means to hide in the sparse environment of the Valley. In time, maybe more would arrive… if this was successful, they may well be needed swiftly. Who knew what kind of attention they might draw?

It was a bit of a trek to get to the tunnel closest to Zohar. From the tunnels they moved quietly within the last bit of vegetation for cover, until it was mostly just rocks with a few dry shrubs here and there. They pulled their cloaks closer, blocking their faces with their shields, moving slowly enough that the motion wouldn't catch any observer's attention; the camouflage they'd chosen let them blend into the rocks easily enough.

Soon enough Zohar came into view, and Alfor exhaled in sorrow. His vision had been of a city, but countless years had passed since what he'd seen. All that remained were a few huts, huddled near an old well set within a large basin. Coming closer, Alfor recognized parts of the well as remnants of the great fountain from his dream. Broken now to serve multiple uses for a smaller settlement, yet he could still sense how it had once been… now he just had to find where the temple once was. But it seemed the years had been even more unkind to the surrounding ruins than the city itself.

The ornate tiles of the pathway had been removed completely; the trees were gone, with no hint they were ever there. Walking towards where the temple should be, he found only a rocky heap beside a mountain. Looking up at the mountainside, he could see what looked like shadowy caves clustered about. Gryphon lairs… he paused, realizing which mountain he was looking at. He knew these lairs well, especially the largest one, and felt a tug at his heart as he studied them. But no, he couldn't become distracted from his task, not yet… he turned to the rocks where the temple had once stood.

Closing his eyes, he focused his energies, remembering his vision and letting his mind search. He needed to know if he was in the right area. Within only a few moments, he felt another tug at his heart… but this one was leading him somewhere. A large opening between the rocks, perfectly hidden by stone and shadow.

Motioning for the knights to remain, he slipped carefully through the crack, finding a tunnel of crumbling stone. He crawled through as quickly yet carefully as he could, just barely squeezing through some particularly narrow parts. It felt like he crawled for hours, though he was certain he couldn't have; in time he found himself in a chamber he recognized. The heart of the once proud temple of Li-ten. Most of the marble was there, but the gold was stripped away. Li-ten himself was broken; the statue was no more. Only the rough, battered form of his face and one hand remained recognizable, resting amidst the rubble.

Alfor scanned the crumbling walls, hoping for any clue to what he was looking for. Yet it seemed that Time had added more items to the list of things it had claimed. Nothing remained here but the ruined statue… Alfor turned to look over the remains, and could hear the voice from his vision echoing in his memories.

_Ask._

Bowing his head, he addressed the statue softly. "Ancient one, I am sorry if I lack the means to properly address you. I'm not even sure if you can hear me. But I will ask anyway, for I am running out of ways to save this world. My last means of hope is to awaken the mighty Lions from their sleep. If there is some way you could aid us… any sign you could grant… help me. Please."

With his quiet words, a glimmer of light flickered in the hand on the ground. Upon closer inspection, he could see an outline carved into the palm. The outline was familiar… almost the same as something he'd seen before… his eyes widened slightly, and he reached for his pendant. The ancient pendant that had seemed like the key to this mystery, once… and now the same glimmer sparked along its edges. He knelt, placing the pendant into the statue's palm.

As he did so, a cry rang out from beyond the rocky tunnels.

The Drules were coming.


	22. Find the Answers

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 21_  
Find the Answers

* * *

Flynn was quarantined in the back of the sick bay, where nobody might stumble through the protective containment field by accident. Radiation regeneration therapy was well outside his expertise—he'd never cared much for biochemistry. But to the extent he understood it, it involved repairing and 'rebooting' the DNA, then purging and replacing any radiation-damaged cells. That was why it took so long; the process couldn't really kill off entire vital organs at the same time. It was also part of why the containment field was necessary. Apparently murdering a sizeable quantity of one's own cells required some immunosuppressive effects.

Whatever it was doing, it was a pain in the ass. Actually it was a pain in a lot more than that. He ached everywhere, just enough that he couldn't successfully push it aside. And the therapy burned huge amounts of energy; Jace kept shoving mercifully-bland nutrient shakes down his throat. No doubt it was better than throwing up blood, but the thought of _weeks_ of this wasn't appealing.

He was hurting, he was exhausted… and he was bored out of his _mind_.

Rule number one was no datapad. Electromagnetic fields would interfere with the process; even the monitors for all the wires he was hooked up to were outside the containment field. So a sizeable pile of books was sitting on the table next to him. Half of them he'd finished reading already—Sven's mythology books had been especially fascinating. Half of them he was in too much pain to try to focus on—Hunk had smuggled a damn _cookbook_ in a pile of comics.

Rule number two was no visitors for longer than ten minutes, and Jace somehow managed to appear to enforce it even when he was elsewhere, otherwise occupied, or _asleep_. Lance had learned that one pretty fast. He'd been chased off awhile ago, leaving Flynn to stare blankly at Hunk's cookbook and wonder if it was worth it.

**THE ULTIMATE HEAVY METAL COOKBOOK: 666 badass recipes to crush your hunger into submission!**

***This book's recipes are inspired by the greatest metal bands of the 2300s, featuring murder peppers, sugar skulls, and everything in between. Do not cook with actual heavy metals; those are toxic. And more importantly, they taste bad.**

No. It wasn't worth it.

As he put the book aside again, some motion caught his eye. Pidge was standing in the doorway, eyeing the cookbook with a similar level of skepticism. Definitely not a visitor he'd been expecting, and he wondered if that should worry him. "Pidge? Something wrong?"

"No sir." The ninja did not ask him how he was doing. Which probably merited a reminder of manners, but really Flynn had been asked that so many times lately he was just as happy not to get it again. Besides, what came next nearly short-circuited his brain. "I brought you something."

"You did what?" Now he was definitely worried.

"Brought you something," Pidge repeated in exactly the same tone, though he looked slightly less confident after that. "I thought… you might want to have this while you're here." He held something up to the faint shimmer of the containment field.

Flynn blinked, leaning forward and squinting a little; his vision was slightly blurry from the treatment. A glint of glossy black rewarded his efforts. _What the…_ he knew what he was seeing, but it made so little sense he had to question his vision. "That's… isn't that your knife?"

"Yessir." He nodded. "It's sterilized."

That was not why he'd asked at _all_, though this being Pidge, he wasn't sure if he'd been intentionally deflecting or just missing the actual point. "Don't you… need it?"

What the actual hell would possess him to ask that? _When exactly did you get hesitant to deprive the ninja of his emotional support knife? …Oh._

Pidge hesitated at the question, looking away for a moment. "I…" He visibly swallowed. "I need you to know I'm not pulling it on anyone while you're out of commission, sir." He pushed the hilt through the field.

If Jace came in and saw _that_ he might murder them both; Flynn took the knife without any further question. He held it a bit awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say as Pidge shifted in slight but obvious discomfort. He _really_ wasn't certain this was the wisest course of action… but refusing didn't seem like it would be any more helpful.

"You're sure?" he asked finally, quietly.

It took a few moments for the younger engineer to nod. "Yessir."

"Alright. Then… thank you." He couldn't decide what to make of this. Did the ninja really care about his peace of mind? Was he just trying to do his job, like he said so often? Or was there something deeper that he couldn't even guess at, something he was missing so far beneath the surface…

_Try again, you may as well. Can't hurt._

With a searching gaze that wasn't at all without sympathy, he drew his hand back and cocked his head. "What are you afraid of?"

Like he had before, Pidge flinched at the question. Like he had before, he rejected it outright. "I just want to be a good soldier, sir. Can I do anything else to help?"

Flynn stared at him for a little longer, wishing as always he could find the way through that wall. But he certainly wasn't going to find it in _this_ condition; he sighed. "Not unless you…" He trailed off, something sparking in the back of his mind. _Wait_.

He had been about to ask if Pidge had any books he could borrow. Specifically, books in Common, given he knew he couldn't make any sense of the Baltan alphabet—the thought of trying to translate it blind was also not appealing. And the thought of blind translation had suddenly, sharply reminded him of something else. Something he had intended to ask of their systems analyst, but not until he was certain he could be trusted.

For all the many, many questions he still had about the ninja, trust was no longer among them.

"Flynn? Are you alright?"

"…Fine, sorry. Listen—come here." He moved as close to the field as he safely could, kneeling closer to Pidge's eye level. The ninja tilted his head curiously, but nodded and approached. "There is something you can do… but it needs to stay between us."

The questioning look intensified. "I can keep a secret. What is it?"

He took a moment to glance around and make absolutely certain Jace hadn't snuck back in on them. Then he nodded, speaking quietly. "Go to my quarters. There's a micro drive case in my top drawer. Find the one labeled 'ops manual backup'."

Pidge took that in and nodded also. "It's not an ops manual backup, kir sa tye?"

"Not a bit. It's a scan of a data crystal, unknown subformat. I want you to do what you can to decrypt it."

"Unknown subformat?" the ninja repeated, coming as close to genuine excitement as Flynn had ever seen him. "Really? What is…" He paused a moment, blinking. "…Is this the crystal Colonel Hawkins said you recovered on your last mission?"

Kid really _was_ smart. Not that he'd doubted it. "None other."

"De chyle…" He sounded strangely impressed. Did he think Flynn had actually gotten _permission_ to have that lying around? "But you don't want the others to know?"

"Not yet. Not unless you find something important." He smiled faintly. "That's a very illegal copy of a classified intelligence resource. If there's nothing useful on it, there's no point telling them something that could only get them in trouble."

Pidge nodded his understanding, then thought for a moment. "Do you want to see the Alliance's official report also?"

Flynn blinked. "Excuse me?"

"We're going to Gliskor," the ninja explained. "It's on the AML."

…And here he'd thought his very illegal copy of a classified intelligence resource was bad. The Auxiliary Mainframe Loop was a system the Alliance employed to guard against decapitating strikes; the entire central command database, classified parts and all, was backed up via secure subspace network on roughly a dozen different planets. It was a highly secretive system. Few of the planets were known, and the exact number was unconfirmed.

He was reasonably certain Pidge had just offered to _hack_ it.

"…That… won't be necessary," he finally managed. "Much as I'm curious to know what intel isn't telling us, I've a fair bit more faith in your abilities than theirs." If the ninja _happened_ to take that as a backhanded encouragement, well, what Flynn didn't officially know wouldn't hurt either of them.

Though the ninja's immediate reaction was just to stare at him. He looked stunned, though Flynn could not _begin_ to imagine what he'd said there that was more shocking than the premise of this assignment. But then Pidge straightened up and saluted. "Yessir." There was a ferocity in his voice. "I won't fail you."

…_Huh?_ Blinking, he decided to just go with it. "I know you won't—"

"—Ninjerk, do you think I can't see you? Ten minutes, I said! Out!"

Pidge didn't even jump; Flynn sure as hell did. "Sorry, Doctor." He wasn't sorry. Turning away from the containment field, he slipped out of the sick bay, leaving his commanding officer staring blankly after him.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Daniel had been summoned to the crew quarters—more accurately known as Lance and Hunk's room—with a worrisome level of vagueness. Murder vines aside, Lance was never vague. His interrogation by text had gone nowhere, and he couldn't help but wonder if he should be nervous. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but…

…No, actually it totally was that he didn't trust them. The only thing more dangerous than _him_ having an idea was Hunk and Lance having an idea together.

Tapping the entry console, he was greeted by the click of the lock, the soft hiss of the hatch… and a _whoosh_ of flame from inside the room. "Whoa!" He took a step back before his mind put the scene together. Hunk was standing on one side of the crew quarters, welding… something?… very aggressively.

An epic guitar riff sounded from somewhere, and the big guy grinned. "Hey little dude!"

Lance was standing at a safe distance from the welding, a smug grin on his face. "You're here!"

"Yeah, you wanna finally tell me why?" As he asked that, Hunk flipped off the welding torch, revealing that he'd been welding… nothing? Daniel eyed him. "Uh, what were you even doing with that?"

Grin. "Lookin' cool, obviously."

Daniel laughed. It _had_ looked cool.

"So!" Lance walked over, still smirking, approaching something large and metal in a corner of the room. It probably had actually been welded at some point. "Remember what I said about that asteroid simulation?"

"Yeah." He smirked right back.

"Well, thanks to my brain and Hunk's know-how…" The pilot indicated the pod with a _ta-da_ gesture, backed up by another guitar riff. "It's real!"

…_Holy…_ "Wow! Really?" Daniel ran over to the pod and circled it with wide eyes and a huge grin, all nervousness forgotten. "You guys built a simulator? That's awesome!"

"Ain't it?"

"And you get to test run it!"

Pausing by the opening, Daniel looked back at them and put a hint of challenge in his tone. "Is it going to be boring like the Academy simulators?"

"Fuck no!" Lance glowered. "Who do you think we are?"

"I mean, there's gonna be some boring goin' on if you're not careful," Hunk countered innocently.

Laughing, the gunner waved that off. "Sorry, sorry. Had to ask."

"Pfft. Go on, get in."

He'd thought they would never ask. Hopping into the pod, he pulled the straps down and put his hands on the yoke, shifting a bit to get comfortable. That part, at least, was surprisingly easy. "Chair's comfier than the Academy ones."

"You're about to get crushed to help between rocks," Lance taunted. "Figured the seat should at least be comfy."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see." He turned his attention back to the darkened screen. "How do I turn it on?"

"The on button!" Hunk answered brightly.

Blinking, Daniel looked at the console in front of him, finally catching sight of a bright green button with a thumbs-up emoji painted on it. "…People get mad at me when I randomly hit buttons." That was true; the fact that he hadn't seen it was totally beside the point. The screens lit up as he pressed the button. So did Lance and Hunk, exchanging grins that _definitely_ worried him. Just a little.

He shook it off. This was gonna be _awesome_.

Lance circled around so he had a good angle on both the screen and the controls. Part of this sim's purpose might be sheer hilarity, but he _did_ expect it to be much better training than anything the Academy had lying around. Hunk took a position by the pod's external display.

The first asteroid was an easy one. This pod _was_ built of scrap metal and spare parts, giving Daniel a chance to get a feel for the controls was only fair. It came drifting lazily at the screen, a large and unusually round space rock that slowly rotated to reveal a smiley face.

No question who'd put that one in. Snickering, Daniel gauged its trajectory and swooped around. The sim controls were pretty smooth—not as smooth as the actual fighters he'd trained in his last year at the Academy, but pretty smooth. Hopefully the whole sim wouldn't be this easy.

Clearing the smiley asteroid, he saw points of gray starting to pop up on the screen. A dozen, two dozen… suddenly the entire space in front of him was filled with asteroids, spinning and drifting, and he grinned as he plunged into the rocky maze. _This is way more like it!_

Punching the throttles up, he shot a gap between two particularly large rocks, then started weaving through an area of smaller, faster ones. He wasn't sure what kind of ship the pod was actually programmed for; it didn't seem as small as a fighter, but definitely wasn't as big or clumsy as the _Bolt_. Maybe it was the team's previous ship. That was the one Lance claimed to have pulled this in, after all.

An asteroid cutting right through the field he was in, sending the other rocks into totally different trajectories, forced his attention solely back to what he was doing. With another burst of speed he escaped the cluster and laughed. "This is actually kind of fun!"

"Heads up, kid. It's no walk in the park." Lance smirked. "Well for _me_ it is."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Sure, now it's fun," Hunk agreed with a snicker. "Just don't get cocky. You're not alone out there…"

"No hints!" Lance hissed, though it almost immediately became clear the big guy wasn't talking about what he thought he was talking about.

"…Here come my peeps now!"

Sure enough, there was a new wave of asteroids coming in. And sure enough, they all were shaped precisely like sugary marshmallow chicks. "Really?" Daniel snorted, barreling into the swarm, and he immediately almost lost a wing to a quickly spinning asteroid's beak. "The hell?!" Pulling into a sharp set of evasive maneuvers, he got out of the immediate danger and narrowed his eyes. _Crap, gonna have to take this seriously_. His sim record wasn't exactly spotless as it was… but it had been pretty awesome, and he wasn't about to tarnish it.

Lance snickered; it wasn't really a commentary on Daniel's moves. The peepsteroids looked a lot funnier in action than when Hunk had just been describing them.

Now that he knew to respect the sim, Daniel made it through the flock with minimal further incident. But the sim's difficulty was ramping up again. He was almost immediately greeted with a larger wave of new asteroids, and these were knocking into each other in unpredictable patterns.

Slipping through a hole with only inches on both sides to spare, he couldn't help laughing. "You guys are awesome!"

"I know."

"…Never mind, Hunk's awesome."

"Hey!" Lance smacked the side of the pod, glowering.

Hunk just snickered. "Ouch."

"Hmph." The pilot crossed his arms, watching Daniel getting more comfortable weaving through the rocks. "Don't go getting all relaxed now, kid."

"No relaxing here!" He hit the jets to prove it. "I can't risk my amazing sim record. I beat all the speed records once."

Okay, so it _might_ have been at two in the morning when he definitely wasn't allowed to be there. And it _might_ have been with the sim safeties disabled. So it _might_ not have counted, and in fact, _might_ have gotten him into a fair bit of trouble. But he'd done it!

Unaware of any of those caveats, Lance raised an eyebrow. _I gotta look into that._ In any case, for the moment, an asteroid field called for a bit more than that. "It's not just speed though, kid. It's precision." Daniel made a vague noise of acknowledgment, but then proceeded to speed through a gap he could easily have avoided, so Lance somehow doubted he'd really gotten the message.

Hunk doubted it too. "Make with the pewpew?" he asked under his breath. Lance winked an affirmative, and with his most innocent whistle he flipped a switch on the outside of the pod.

As Daniel skimmed a particularly large rock, plasma fire erupted from somewhere behind him. "Shit." This had not been in the memo! Though really he probably _should_ have expected it. Scrambling to get his weapons prepped, he fell into evasive maneuvers between the asteroids while trying to find the source.

"Pew pew pew pew," Lance snickered.

Hunk was watching Daniel's attempts to enable the weapons, raising an eyebrow; he really thought returning fire was the correct move here? Oh, well… he exchanged shrugs with Lance, who looked positively gleeful. _Kid's gonna learn the hard way_.

"No." What was going on behind him wasn't lost on their gunner in the least. "Don't be all amused and giggly, that's not a good sign."

"Dude, it's like you don't trust the people who built the evil simulator." Hunk feigned pouting.

Daniel wrenched around as a shot came way too close, searching for somewhere he could get some room to maneuver. The asteroid field wasn't going to give him that. "No! No I don't!"

"You don't trust me?" Lance snorted. "I'm offended."

"I mean he ain't wrong…"

"Yeah, I don't trust me either."

Finding an opening, Daniel darted through with the unseen enemy still firing. "See? I'm just making smart decisions. You sound be proud."

"Accidents happen," Lance muttered, and Hunk snickered.

"That's what most people say about me being born," Daniel snerked right back.

_Well that's fucking stupid if true_, Lance mused; he couldn't quite tell if that was the kid's joke-face or not, mostly because whatever face he'd been making was replaced by mild panic a second later. He _was_ still in the middle of a field of giant space rocks, and they _were_ still getting more aggressive.

As for the source of the plasma, well… the original intent had been to program in the Galra ship they'd escaped at Kithran. But it turned out they didn't even have an image of that ship in the database, let alone a simulator model, and 3D modeling wasn't one of Hunk's strengths. So they'd had to go to the stock resources.

There had only been one acceptable option. "Is that… is that the Millennium Falcon about to kick your ass?"

As his pursuer finally came into view on his radar, Daniel found himself stuck in a tiny corridor between half a dozen asteroids. No room to evade. And the signature on his screen was unmistakable. "Fuck." He knew where this was going. "Yes it is." Despite knowing it wouldn't work, he took a stab at dodging, and did manage to avoid the other ship's next shots. It just came at the cost of smashing his fuselage into a giant rock.

The screen went black, flashing bright red words with an image of what, if Daniel wasn't much mistaken, could only be a spaceplane with a tearful frowny face.

**SIM OVER**

**YOU'RE DEAD**

Looking up, he was greeted with the two grins he had pretty well expected. "Not bad at all, little dude."

"Yeah, you did a good job. Not all of us can go into an asteroid field and win, but you lasted a good while!"

Daniel eyed the two of them. Maybe he hadn't done badly, but he was still dead, and fuck _that_. "I wanna go again." He could see the whole run playing back out in his mind, and now that he wasn't in the middle of things he could see where he'd gone wrong. "I should have used the asteroids as cover from the fire instead of trying to evade both."

"Yeah, you should've." Lance grinned.

"Round two, huh?" Reaching over and flipping the pod's reset switch, Hunk let a sly grin creep over his face. "Wanna do a difficulty setting that ain't 'easy' this time?"

That got him a slightly panicked glare. "Excuse me?"

"Kidding! Sim ain't got difficulty settings." Grin. "The only one is 'easy'... to get murdered in."

Laughing, Daniel turned his attention back to the controls. "Definitely gonna be less easy to do that this time." He reached down and pushed the green button, and the screen came back to life.

Leaning back and getting ready to watch, Lance shot a quick glance over at Hunk. "I give him three minutes longer this time?"

The big man considered that. "Three thirty, it's a bet."

"You're on."

"You're both gonna lose," Daniel taunted, and as the smiley asteroid appeared again he hit the jets. This was gonna be _awesome_.

* * *

Whenever Jace had a patient in the sick bay overnight, he slept there too. It was both preference and policy: the Alliance mandated patients be monitored in some form at all times, obviously. He figured actually being in the room was the best option if something did go wrong.

It felt like he'd been living in the sick bay a whole fucking lot lately. Which should have made him happy… he was being kept busy doing his actual job, what wasn't to love?

_Like you really don't know what's wrong._

He was sitting at the desk looking at Flynn's scans, grumbling to himself in Portuguese, when Sven arrived to check up on him. "How's the patient?"

"Right on track. He's also a pain in the ass, but I'm pretty used to that." Laughing, he turned around and shot the Viking a grateful look. Scans were _not_ his favorite part of the job, especially when they barely fucking changed from hour to hour.

Sven laughed too, not even lecturing him on his language. "Is there a person on this ship who wouldn't be?"

"You and uh… well… pretty much you, let's be real." He snorted. At this rate he was going to be able to test that theory.

"Seems about right. I brought you a sandwich."

A sandwich sounded wonderful. Even if it was one he'd fixed himself—or maybe especially then. He accepted it and leaned back in his chair. "Thanks, man. Anything exciting going on out there?"

"Not particularly." Sven paused a moment. "When you get the chance you should make more sandwiches, though. We're running low."

That was not a problem this team had ever encountered before. Jace knew perfectly well why it had come up. "Yeah, I've been meaning to get to that. Since someone—I'm sure I can't imagine who, but his name is definitely Daniel—_butchered_ a whole bunch of them." Shaking his head dramatically, he looked towards the back of the sick bay and raised his voice slightly. "Maybe after Tails over there stops pretending to sleep and actually sleeps…"

"I'm trying!" Flynn cracked an eye open and glowered. "Maybe if you weren't being so _loud_, you going to kick your company out after ten minutes too?"

"Fuck no. Go back to fake sleep."

Shrugging, Flynn rolled over and very theatrically yanked his blanket over his head.

Sven laughed, rolling his eyes affectionately at the banter. "I saw the sandwich butchery. If it wasn't so wasteful I'd have found it amusing." At least Hunk had tried to salvage the butchered sandwich fillings… in a kind of crazy casserole the medic definitely wouldn't have approved of. It hadn't been bad, though. "How long is Flynn going to be in there?"

"Awhile." Jace had said the word _awhile_ an awful lot lately, too. "You can't judge radgen therapy precisely, it ramps up unevenly. But based on his scans, at least a couple more weeks." He rolled his eyes too; it wasn't nearly so affectionate. "Think we can imagine not to have any emergencies for a couple more weeks?"

"I cannot promise anything of the sort." They weren't heading anywhere likely to be dangerous, but that had never meant much before. "I've come to the conclusion that I usually have no say in the matter."

The medic laughed, but it didn't last very long. "Isn't _that_ the fucking truth…" He sighed and looked at the sandwich in his hands. It was still wrapped; he wasn't actually hungry, though he should have been.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

That had been incredibly unconvincing, and Sven studied him carefully. Was it appropriate to call him out here, or should he just let it go? Usually he would ask Jace whenever questions about proper 'normal' protocol came up, but… well, why not? He _was_ sitting right there. "Should I just accept your response, or should I call you out for your poor quality lying?"

Jace stared. "You know, just when I think…" Whatever he'd been thinking, he opted not to elaborate on it, in favor of spinning his chair around and shaking his head. "…You know what's the only thing worse than being a medic with no patients?"

That sounded a little like a trick question, though those weren't usually Jace's style. "No. What is it?"

"Being a medic with patients!" He rolled his eyes again.

That… made a lot of sense, really. "I'm sure we all prefer it when you have no patients as well," he agreed, nodding. Jace _had_ always been pretty consistent about yelling at them for keeping him busy.

"Yeah. Then I'm just bored, instead of…" There went another thought he wasn't going to complete. "…This was so much easier in the fucking infantry," he finally grumbled.

Sven narrowed his eyes slightly. His friend was many things; 'subtle' was not even a little bit among them. He was too used to just grumbling to himself. "Boredom seems better, in comparison."

"Fucking truth." Jace looked up at him and blinked. "…The fuck, don't look at me like you look at your maps when they misbehave."

"I can't help my facial expressions." The navigator crossed his arms. "I feel very similar to the way I feel when they, or you, misbehave." Or really when any member of the crew misbehaved. He felt that way a lot.

"But I'm not even actually misbehaving! For once."

"But _something_ is wrong."

Much like he wasn't subtle, Jace wasn't all that good at deflecting. The two might have been related. In any case, he glanced over at Flynn—he might have been asleep, but also might not have been—then stood and motioned for Sven to follow him out.

The corridor was empty, and the medic leaned back against the hatch as it shut. "Dude… it's not even complicated, really." This wasn't something he'd admit to with anyone else; he had a reputation to uphold. "This whole fucking 'getting attached to this bullshit unit' thing was way easier when this bullshit unit didn't keep getting mauled by lizard kangaroos and shot by cute Drules and dosed with nuclear fucking radiation every time I turn around." He frowned slightly. "And getting the worst case of rift sickness I've ever seen, don't feel left out."

Sven was quiet for a few moments, trying to process that. It was the addition of the afterthought, more than anything, that confirmed what was really going on there. Rift sickness had been horrid, no doubt, but it wasn't comparable to the other three in one simple manner… "You're worried about… losing a patient?"

It was so much easier to say it that way than _you're worried one of us is going to die_.

Jace just looked at him, then shrugged. No fucking way he was going to say _yes_ to that. As if the Viking wouldn't get the implied yes anyway… he got a familiar expression. The one he put on when he was trying to figure out how to be appropriately tactful. That was one Jace knew very well, and he groaned. "Don't give me that fucking look either, you can say it, I won't tell." Because Sven was definitely the one worried about this conversation getting out. Obviously.

"Is that not… a part of your job?" Even with permission, even with _Jace_, that was much too blunt; Sven shook his head and tried again. "What I mean is, were you not expecting this?"

"Fucking…" Jace laughed. Expecting it? No, he had not _expected_ to get attached at all. He'd expected to do his time, transfer out, and get back to some nice normal unit where this was _simple_. "…Look, when you're on the heels of a couple whole battalions storming some shithead pirate's personal pleasure palace, the people you're dragging back to dig bullets out of aren't usually your fr…" Nope, nope, _nope_. He switched to an f-word he was significantly more comfortable with. "…fuck."

That also made sense. More sense than Sven had expected, even. A certain level of professional detachment seemed like it would be useful for the job. But professional detachment and Explorer Teams didn't go together at all. "I suppose that would make it more difficult now," he agreed delicately. Anything else he wanted to say would probably just get him glared at.

"Yeah." Jace closed his eyes. "The one that got me bounced here sure as hell wasn't the first patient I'd ever lost. Just the one the brass fucked with. Maybe I could've saved him if they hadn't gotten in the way. Maybe I couldn't have, but I had a better idea what was going on than they did… at least I'd fucking _know_." He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling. "It's stupid to even _think_ 'not fucking again' after that. It's not realistic. It's not the goddamn job. But… it's there, you know?"

Sven nodded. He knew. Knowing what you wanted your duty to be—what you thought it _should_ be—and how it actually played out, could be two completely different things… it had pretty much been the story of his life before he'd gotten here. Jace was experiencing a very different form of it, but the familiarity was there.

What he was not going to even pretend to do was give back that professional detachment. They _were_ an Explorer Team, after all. "Well you've done a wonderful job of keeping us all alive so far." He grinned. "Even with the added difficulty of liking us."

Laughing, the medic elbowed him. Lightly. "Fuck yeah I have."

"And I have no doubt you'll be able to keep it up."

"That's the plan." Frown. "Though if people keep insisting on keeping me busy, you're probably gonna hear more bitching."

"Of course. You _not_ expressing displeasure?" Sven frowned too. "That would be highly out of character. I'd be worried."

Jace snickered. "You know, for as much as you don't like me saying I like it when you're an asshole, you do it _really_ well."

"It's all due to your influence."

"And my parents said I'd never amount to anything."

"At least you're beating expectations?"

"Truth." Turning, he opened the hatch and poked his head in, checking the monitors. The readings were clearly showing real sleep now; he pulled back and turned his attention back to Sven. "…Wanna go for sandwiches? I can toast something. In loving mockery—I mean, memory of the great sandwich massacre."

Grin. "I'd love to."

* * *

Cam and Vince were on their way to the gym, and Cam couldn't help but notice how anxious Vince looked. Maybe that made sense; he'd only had so much cause to interact with the commander before. "Relax, he's not scary. He's pretty awesome, really."

"It's the swords I'm scared of," Vince muttered, though the truth was he was worried about the possibility of his nerves making him spark. He wasn't sure if this was a good plan or not, but Cam seemed focused, and Hunk had suggested he find a way to calm himself. More to the point, he'd suggested _this_ way to calm himself, which seemed… questionable? But then, after his talk with Lauda, he found himself wondering if he really could learn to _control_ this problem someday.

Self-discipline seemed like a start. If swords couldn't help with that, what could?

"I think it's supposed to help us relax, not be scared. Come on, we probably shouldn't keep him waiting." Cam was doing his best to be encouraging, though truth was he felt impatient. After all the messes he'd been through lately, he _needed_ to ask Keith this. He wanted to be less of a burden, less of a problem.

"Yeah, that is the point…" Vince nodded and they moved on.

Keith was in the gym, relaxing, going through the motions of his katas in a quiet trance. His breathing was even and his heartbeat was calm, but his awareness was not dulled. It was honed as sharp as the sword in his hands, and he heard the swish of the door and the sound of two sets of footfalls. Turning slowly, he noted who arrived. "Starr, Hayes."

"Commander," Vince said a little stiffly, saluting.

Cam gave a small grin. "Hello, sir."

Keith set Raiden down and picked up a towel. "So, gentlemen, how are you today?"

"Good, good," Vince mumbled nervously, shooting Cam a look. Keith was his to handle.

"We're… good, sir. Um, we'd like to ask you something."

That he probably could have guessed by then being here; Hayes especially didn't make a habit of dropping by the gym. "Okay. What is it?"

"Well, I just want to learn and… well, Vince thinks learning this might help him, but… wouldyouteachustofightwithswords?" Cam realized he was more nervous than he thought as the request barreled out of him at light speed.

Keith blinked. "Um…?"

"Was that in Russian?" Vince asked quietly, eyeing him.

Blushing, Cam shot him a look that said _no_ in no uncertain terms. He got an understanding look in return; if anyone understood nerves it was Vince. It helped him continue on. "Apologies, sir. Would you teach us to fight with swords?"

Keith studied the two cadets carefully. Cam looked hopeful and serious, nothing really new there. But it seemed to be more than just aiming to please him, like he really _wanted_ this, and Keith couldn't help wondering why. Vince looked terrified, nervous, but he was standing in front of him anyway and that must mean he had a reason. "I don't see why not. But, if you don't mind me asking, why do the two of you want to learn?"

"Um, it's been pointed out I need some Zen in my life," Vince answered quickly.

Calmer and with the same seriousness in his eyes, Cam looked at Keith and nodded slightly. "I just… feel I need to learn, sir."

"Zen and just learning…" Keith nodded. It felt like there was far more to each story, but it wouldn't hurt to help them. He knew his training and meditation given him a lot of strength when life threw him curveballs… and Explorer Teams were thrown a _lot_ of curveballs. "Well, I don't see why not. Zen isn't easy to achieve, but we'll see what we can do. Did the two of you want to start right away?"

_Right now?_ Vince gulped air to stave off the panic that caused, but this was the point, he needed help _not_ to let his anxiety take over and possibly cause sparks. "Uh, yeah, sure, why not," he stammered.

Cam spoke more calmly. "Whatever is most convenient for you, Sir."

"Well, have a seat on the mat then." Keith gestured toward the floor mats, then walked over to dim the lights.

Settling down and eyeing the lighting, Vince felt like he knew where this was going, and his shoulders tensed. He tried to relax them and nodded as Cam offered him an encouraging smile. At least _one_ of them was looking forward to this… Vince felt more like he had no choice. He had to try something.

"Okay. Just close your eyes, try to let your mind go blank." Keith watched the two of them settling in. "It's okay if you can't do it right away. Meditation is an art, and it takes time to develop and get proficient at it." He cued some relaxing music up via his datapad, then sat across from them.

Vince groaned at the music. Yes, he'd known where this was going. Now he just felt like he was in an elevator… he gave the commander a questioning look.

It got him an understanding nod, which was better than he'd feared, at least. "The reason I like having the music is that it helps give something to focus on without focusing. Let yourself get drawn into it. Imagine it turning into a type of… landscape in your mind. See birds, trees, whatever the music makes you think of."

Cam nodded, listening to Keith's voice and the music, just letting himself go with the moment. He sat easily on the mat with graceful flocks of birds swooping through his mind. Vince, on the other hand, ended up visualizing himself doing electrical wiring to the lilt of the music… he tensed. _That can't be right. That isn't what Keith means_. He shifted, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

Watching the two of them, Keith could guess at what the uncomfortable set of Vince's shoulders meant. "There is no wrong way to meditate. Focus on breathing, calming your heart if it is racing, slowing your thoughts. Just… exist."

Nodding, Cam felt himself fall into a deeper sense of calm. Meanwhile, Vince sighed and started to overthink that one instead. _I just exist, I just exist._

"If it helps, imagine you're… floating through your blood, or your nervous system," Keith continued. He'd never actually tried to teach this, but he remembered being taught. "Feel your fingers… your toes… let the stress of the day melt away from you."

Vince sighed. All he felt was self-conscious. No, wait, he felt his foot… it was starting to itch.

As Keith watched them, it was becoming clear that Cam was a natural, but Vince looked tenser than when they started. He let them continue with the exercise for just a few more minutes, then hit a button for the music to wind down. "How are you feeling?"

Cam smiled as his eyes opened. "Pretty good, sir."

"My foot itches," Vince grumbled.

Keith couldn't help the laugh. "Well, scratch it, and then let's have the two of you on your feet."

Scratching his foot, Vince watched as Keith grabbed wooden swords from a locker. He frowned at them, a little confused… though he wasn't exactly _un_happy not to be presented with sharp metal right now.

"Okay. These are obviously not real swords, but it's best to practice where you're not actually going to cut yourself," Keith explained, handing them over. It was probably the first thing the young engineer had unequivocally agreed with this whole session.

Accepting the sword, Vince and felt the weight of the wood in his hands and hoped he wouldn't be too horrible. Meanwhile next to him, Cam was practically vibrating with excitement. Maybe he was just a _little bit_ jealous.

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Keith showed them a few different hand grips on the sword and the slow movement exercises that went with them. Cam felt like he'd been doing this all his life, it felt like the sword—wooden as it was—was meant to be in his hand.

Vince kept dropping his.

Scolding or singling him out wouldn't help at all; the kid clearly needed encouragement more than anything. So Keith kept patiently walking him through the techniques without bringing attention to the mistakes, while now and again also maneuvering Cam's shoulder or arm positions to give him a smoother range of motion. Not that it was lost on Vince who was the weaker link here. Needing to distract himself from how hard he was finding the lesson, Vince paused a moment. "How long did it take you to master this, sir?"

"It takes time." That wasn't really an answer at all, and he continued before Vince could even raise an eyebrow. "It all depends on the student, really. Patience is a virtue, one we all should strive for and master. But, me specifically… I've been immersed in similar training since I was very young. So I suppose you could say, I've been working on it all my life."

"That's pretty cool," Vince said, impressed and distracted… then he groaned as the wooden sword hits the floor again.

Giving him an encouraging nod, Keith leaned over and retrieved the sword for him. "There are days when I can't even focus on it. We're only human, not perfect."

Vince nodded. "Well… I'll keep trying, would like to be less sparky, sir."

"It's all we can do, Hayes," Keith agreed, and wondered if he should be asking Flynn for more detail about the _sparky_ situation. It had been in his file, but the Academy had diagnosed it as an 'attitude problem'. It struck him as unlikely.

As he tried to hold the sword correctly and go through the motions again, Vince glanced at Cam, and again felt a bit of envy at the grace his friend was displaying.

Noticing, the commander offered another attempt at reassurance. "Some do pick it up easier than others, but it's not a race or competition."

"I'm my biggest foe," Vince said with a shrug.

Keith placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Give yourself time… and some credit. The first step is always the hardest and scariest, but you've taken it. That is an achievement in and of itself."

_Maybe so_. He smiled. Keith really _was_ pretty nice, and he felt a bit better about everything as he went back to practicing. Within a few minutes he was managing to hold onto the sword, at least; he felt sweaty, but it was progress. Though he wasn't sure this would ever be something that really helped him. It felt like he was just barely keeping it together.

After a few more minutes, Keith cleared his throat. "All right. I think this is enough for today." It wouldn't do to overtax them. "Just keep working on what I've shown you, and we can do this again in a couple of days if you want."

"It can't hurt to keep trying," Vince said, then made a face. "Well, maybe my shoulders."

Keith couldn't help a chuckle. "Trying is always a good thing. Just make sure you stretch. You're using muscles you've probably not used much before."

"I don't use _any_ of my muscles much," Vince laughed.

"Then this could be beneficial for you in multiple ways."

Nodding, Vince noticed Cam had just now finally put down his sword. He looked reluctant to stop. "Cam, you sore?"

The comms officer nodded with a grin. "But it felt good… well, except for the shoulder where I was shot."

Keith eyed him sternly. "Are you sure you were cleared to do this, Starr?"

"Doc didn't say I couldn't. Just said to be careful and stop annoying him."

Well that… sounded about right, truthfully. "Alright. Stretch those shoulders out, both of you. If it gets worse, try some heat to help the muscles relax. And Starr, don't push it too hard too fast. I don't need Doc yelling at me or you."

"No one needs that," Vince snorted.

"Exactly. Okay… I need a shower before my shift starts." Keith bowed to them each before leaving.

After watching the commander leave, Cam turned and grinned at Vince. "Well, I enjoyed that. What did you think?"

"I didn't hate it…" He wasn't sure he'd _liked_ it, but he hadn't hated it. "Not sure I'm ever gonna figure out what Zen is, though."

" I don't know if I'll figure that out, either." Zen wasn't necessarily what Cam was here for, to be fair, but he wanted to learn everything he could. "I thought it was fun. Even if it was a wooden stick."

"Yeah… I did appreciate we weren't waving them at each other. Guess that's another lesson."

"Probably." He nodded. "We've never really held a sword before, pretty sure we just got the basics. Or at least a few of them."

"Yeah." Vince nodded too.

"Well, I think the boss had the right idea. Shower! See you later, Vince!" Cam left, beaming. That lesson had been _amazing_.

Vince just shook his head and watched him go. He felt a lot of things, but calm wasn't one of them. "See ya."

* * *

The Knights of Light arrived to a landscape of darkness. The Valley of Zohar wasn't just the site of a village—nor even only the site of an ancient temple the knights had never heard of. It was the only way to cross the sheer cliffs of the Thunder Ridge, a subrange of the Kyva Mountains that had well earned its name. Storms were more common than not here; the one that was cloaking the valley when they arrived rendered it dark as night, though it was the middle of the day.

Flashes of light pierced the darkness almost constantly. The blue-white of lightning, and the ghostly red of Drule laser fire. Well, _one_ of those the Knights could do something about. They came in at the back of the enemy's ranks and fell upon them in a flurry of blades and war cries.

"Diya Kopora!"

"For the High King!"

"Burn in the Five Hells, _sinycka!"_

Even their fellow Arusians froze for a moment at their sudden strike on the Drule lines. It wasn't only from surprise. Since the invasion, most of the Golden Knights had been forced to abandon ceremony for pragmatism. Glittering armor and bold assaults had given way to camouflage cloaks and guerrilla tactics. Seeing the Knights of Light appear in full plate and fury was like returning to an Arus that had not existed for months… months that sometimes felt like centuries.

Lord Skoren stepped forward, the blessed sword of the gods blazing with reflected lightning. "Who leads you, invaders? Face me, if you dare!" His Drakure wasn't the greatest, but it was enough to draw the Drule platoon leader's attention. She approached him, slinging her rifle over her back and drawing a blade. A small circle of Drules and Arusians gathered to watch an honor duel seemingly torn from the pages of history; around them gunfire continued to rage.

Ducking beneath a flurry of fire, Miralna broke through the Drule ranks. Her task was to find information. A shrouded figure next to some burning wreckage caught her eye, waving her over; as she came closer, the wreckage became recognizable as a crashed Drule fighter. A body that must have been its pilot was sprawled at the standing knight's feet. She gave it a bit of a kick as she stepped across.

"Blessings of the Radiant Warrior, friend. Are you in charge here?"

He blinked. That sort of formality was long gone, as well. But then he nodded, bowing. "As close as any, until His Majesty returns."

A streak of laser fire cut between them. Both reacted instantly, grabbing the other to push them under cover, and they ended up falling gracelessly behind the wreck. Miralna couldn't help a small grin, though they didn't have time for amusement. "What's been happening here?"

"My detachment came here with King Alfor. He was investigating some tunnels in the rock," the other knight explained quietly. "Our lookouts caught sight of the Drules shortly after he entered; the storm rolled in almost right after that. He's been there for days. We have scouts in the tunnels, but they haven't been able to find him." His eyes narrowed. "But he had a supply pouch, and he knows what he means to do. Our orders are to hold this ground, and we _will_ do so."

With his planet under a crushing occupation and the enemy ceaselessly hunting him, the High King was… exploring tunnels? There must be more to that story, but it wasn't any of her business. They'd had trust enough in King Alfor to bear the sacred sword to this battlefield; this was no time to start questioning. "How many of the sinycka are here?"

"Unknown. They've been coming in waves. The storm has kept their aerial forces at bay, for now." He indicated the wreckage of the fighter. "They seem hesitant to commit melee forces without having full sight of the battlefield. It's been giving our own reinforcements time to arrive, but their numbers are certainly greater."

Miralna nodded her understanding. Holding the line it was, then. Peeking around the wrecked fighter, she could see more Drules arriving. They needed the king… "Where are these tunnels?" She pulled off her heavy golden chestplate and greaves; they would only get in the way. Her undersuit was still tough, and much more flexible. "I'll help search."

He led her to a gap in the rocks. It was dark, and the outer stones were slick; as she moved further in, the only light became the faint glow of the flarestone she pulled from her own supply pouch. It was immediately evident why nobody had been able to find the High King. The 'tunnels' were more like a maze of broken stone, splitting and twisting almost constantly. For a moment the mission seemed foolish, but—no. It was just more proof that her help here might be worthwhile.

As she took one downward turn, she thought she felt a tremor. Thunder? The Drule fighters? Just her imagination in these cramped ruins? Shaking it off, she continued her search.

* * *

"No… no, not _now_." Word of the Drules arriving had briefly frozen Alfor, but he couldn't afford that. Had he achieved what he needed here? He must have. There was no time…

Placing his hand back on the pendant, he felt a sharp jolt, and the room spun around him in a whorl of lights.

Once more he found himself in the temple during its grander times. Sounds of chaos and destruction echoed from behind him. Looking back, his eyes widened as he was faced with several figures in gilded robes: the High Priests of the Golden Gods. Anger was etched in their faces as they commanded their lower priests and followers to smash everything around them. Alfor watched in confusion, the vision seeming to be nothing but an unwarranted attack. The only hint of explanation, he heard muttered by one High Priest.

"Good. Just as it is willed by our Exalted Father and Radiant Warrior."

"This… I do not remember being told," Alfor murmured, watching helplessly as the statue of Li-ten was broken. Soon the priests of Li-ten were chased out, with the followers of the Golden Ones charging after them, calling for their blood. He was tempted to follow, to see what came next, when he was stopped by the collapse of walls and rocks around him. The temple's destruction was becoming complete.

How could this be the truth? How could he never have heard of it?

"Please… do not lay blame on me," he whispered to the broken statue as the vision wavered. "I…" He was silenced as a light shone out from the tunnels in the rubble. At first he thought his men had come for him, but then he realized that he was in some kind of vision still. These men had not come for him, but for something else. Alfor watched in disgust as they _ooohed_ and _ahhhed_ over the gold still within the temple ruins. They peeled off everything they could see, and were just about to depart when something more drew their attention. Alfor's eyes widened so far they nearly fell out when he saw… they had taken the pendant from Li-ten's broken hand.

Understanding dawned on him. This was the true place where the pendant had rested. Not where he had found it, stashed among relics from a forgotten time, deep within the dungeon of an old priest's abandoned manor.

An old… priest's…

"It was bought from the looters," he whispered. "Someone must have known and hidden this, in the hope of it never being found."

He looked to the damaged face of the statue, anguished. If the Golden Gods had been behind this destruction, Li-ten could only be one thing. But… there were implications there he didn't want to think of, and he didn't have time in any case. What mattered was that his planet was desperate, and his quest had brought him here.

"Li-ten… if what is happening to Arus now is your means to punish us for what was done, I plead to you. Forgive us all, or if You cannot forgive…" He steeled himself. He was the High King, this was his duty. "…let _me_ take the brunt of your anger, not…"

A spark of light appeared as the air seemed to crack open, a form forging itself from dark clouds before him. But the form wasn't Li-ten. The shape of a great winged lion stood before him in the chamber, edged with an electric blue hue.

"_Fear not, Royal Son of Arus."_ A rumbling voice spoke around him, more felt than heard. "_I have no anger towards you, or the many children of Arus. I care not for what was lost. Only that it is help that you seek, and here you are… this is all that I can want."_

The spirit lion reached out towards Alfor, placing one great paw upon his hand and the pendant within it. A bright light burst from tiny seams along the edge of the pendant, and as the king watched with wide eyes, it cracked open.

_"The Storm is rising…"_

Suddenly a sharp pain hit his sides, and the vision faded. Alfor found himself back in the ruins of the present day, gasping for breath, puzzled as to why he suddenly felt dizzy with hunger. Pulling his watch from his cloak, he realized with horror how much time had passed during his visions.

Outside… the Drules… his knights!

The ruins shook as he snapped back to what was happening about him. He couldn't stay here. Grabbing a nutra-bar from his pouch before he fainted outright, he wiggled through the tunnels back to the surface before the crumbling ruins could entrap him. Just before peeking out, he looked at his pendant once more.

Opening it at the cracked edges, he could see some sort of key gleaming bright. Another mystery? Lightly closing it again, he pulled himself from the tunnels, finding a landscape of storm and darkness… he tucked the pendant away in his cloak and called out to his knights.


	23. The Next Phase

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 22_  
The Next Phase

* * *

The Glis were supposed to be one of the easier alien races to comprehend. They were about what you'd get if you took a common gray mouse, made it the size of a golden retriever, then gave it a forked prehensile tail and an aura of ageless nobility. One of their four Grand Convoys had accepted an offer to settle among humans when the Alliance was founded, making them a common sight in the Atlantis and Pacifica sectors; they were a known quantity.

Or not.

_Apparently_, the Glis who lived around Earth were a single distinct subrace. The ones on Gliskor were shockingly bright white or metallic shades rather than mousy gray, and wore heavy robes of shimmering silks rather than the light tunics common to their brethren. Some of that probably had to do with their planet having just a small fraction of Earth's gravity… which had probably been in the briefing, but somehow nobody had noticed it.

Not entirely true. Lance and Sven had noticed it; it was kind of important for landing. Whether they'd forgotten to consider it would also be important for walking, or had just thought it would be funny not to mention? Their teammates had their suspicions.

In any case, half of Explorer Team 686 was in an embarrassed heap at the bottom of their boarding ramp, trying to disentangle themselves without bouncing halfway down the concrete, when a mottled gold Glis in electric-blue robes calmly trotted up to them. "Alikria-ka, honored Earthlings! Welcome to Iskor-i Chakchira. Do you require assistance?"

"Uh, no," Hunk grunted from the bottom of the pile, trying to push Sven's foot out of his face. "Totally cool here."

The Glis leaned forward, twitching its nose slightly. "Pardon me for my doubt, but are you quite sure?"

Sven kicked Hunk in the mouth—lightly—before he could say anything else. "We would appreciate some assistance, yes."

As the Glis scurried away, Lance burst into laughter from the top of the ramp. "That was beautiful, guys." He flipped his datapad's recorder off and tucked it into his pocket; Flynn was going to _love_ it.

Several people glowered up at him, and Hunk shifted out of Sven's kicking range. "Dude, I can punch you when we're back in normal gravity, you know."

Lance feigned shock. "Punch this face?"

"Don't think I said _face…_"

"Like you wouldn't have done the same thing, dude."

Smirk. "Why d'you think I'm gonna punch you? You left me outta the fun!"

None of this was actually helping the team get out of their predicament. Daniel was stuck on the bottom of the pile; that wasn't as bad as it would have been in normal gravity, but it was bad enough. "I'm being squashed down here," he grumbled, starting to try to shove his way out from under everyone. His first success was dislodging Vince, who landed next to the ramp squarely on his butt.

"Ow…"

The Glis returned with a vehicle that bore a vague resemblance to a golf cart, pulling it up right beside them and setting the brakes. "Here, there are handholds, if you can be aided by such."

_This must happen a lot_. Keith, who'd managed to fall off the ramp just removed from the rest of the pile, pulled himself up with the cart and turned to help the others. Which at least was something the gravity made _easier_. As he helped Vince up, Hunk grabbed the cart and got to his feet, freeing Sven and Daniel.

Watching the group get themselves sorted out, Lance decided this was his cue to leave. "See ya, suckers!"

"Yeah you better run!" Hunk yelled after him, laughing and shaking his fist. Daniel ran back up the ramp after him, eager to get back into the _Bolt's_ artificial gravity… and to see just how bad the video actually was.

The Glis' whiskers were twitching again. Keith had the suspicion it was holding down a laugh. "Welcome again to Iskor-i Chakchira, honored Earthlings. I am Brother Nim, of the Guidance Bureau. How may I assist you?"

"Apologies, um… honored Glis." Not for the first time, Keith was wishing he'd had a much better protocol briefing than the database had actually provided. "We're looking for a library."

"A-chila." Nim flicked his tail. "Which sort of library? Many to be found here."

"Something with a great deal of history. Maybe especially information on individual planets." As Keith spoke, Sven and Vince were warily eyeing the cart. They both had suspicions on where this was about to go.

They weren't wrong. "You are best served to start with the repository of ancient records, I should think. Come, I will take you to the Archive." Motioning to the cart, their guide hopped up onto the front platform, which seemed to have an array of pedals and no other controls.

Hunk took a few careful steps away from the cart, adjusting as best he could to the gravity, then grinned at his teammates. "I'm gonna go find out about refueling. Have fun at the library, guys!" He started off towards the center of the spaceport.

"What you seek is in the other direction," Nim called after him worriedly.

"…Oh." The big engineer stopped, blinking. "I knew that." He wheeled around and headed off with a sheepish grin.

The other three climbed into the cart with varying degrees of trepidation. It wasn't helped much when Nim looked back at them and said with complete earnestness, "Strapping yourselves in would be well advised."

"Thank you." Keith found the straps and buckled in tightly, watching the others do the same. Vince was clearly worried, while Sven just looked a little bit disgruntled.

It had nothing to do with the cart or the Glis. _Why doesn't Lance give us that kind of warning?_

Once they were secured, the cart zoomed off. The engine was quiet and the streets were smooth; on a normal planet it would have been a very nice ride. But this was not a normal planet. Even the tiniest bumps were magnified, and the cart came up off half its wheels with every turn. In fact, based on how the chassis shifted, it was designed to do precisely that.

The fact that it was operating within design parameters was less reassuring than Vince would've thought. "Oh my _gosh_ I wish I swore!"

"Always time to start, honored Earthling!" Nim offered helpfully. "Or so I have heard from others."

Snort. "I have heard that before."

"Perhaps the advice is wise, then. Hold tight, the journey is not long." As he spoke they hit something that sent the cart bouncing at least two feet in the air.

Even though he was strapped in, Sven grabbed the side of the cart with all his strength. "Swearing will not make this easier!" That was a position he held in general, but he was applying it with extra certainty here.

Keith just grabbed a handhold and stayed quiet. It was going to be yet another interesting day.

* * *

"Dude, you're gonna love me today."

Flynn had rarely ever been so happy to have his face buried in a pillow. It meant his immediate reaction to Lance's entrance could be kept all to himself. Once he fought the blush down he rolled over slightly, giving the pilot a skeptical look. "What did you steal?"

Snort. "How did you know? I stole back three books I let Daniel borrow, because he's not reading them. _And_ I have some _hilarious_ video for you to watch."

"Your mission to make him enjoy reading is going that well?" Flynn sat up, grimacing a little.

"I don't think he even cracked them open… I'll have to try again. But hey, new material for you." He set the books down on a table outside the containment field—they'd have to undergo a quick decontamination blast before Flynn could actually have them—and sat down, pulling his chair as close to the field as he could. "Take you what, an hour to read them all?"

Flynn laughed. "I'll space them out. So what disaster have I missed?"

"I _might_ have forgotten to remind everyone we're on a low-grav planet." Smirking, he cued up the video and held it up. "It was glorious."

Leaning over to watch, the engineer snickered and shook his head. "Innocent mistake, I'm sure."

"That's me… innocent!" Lance grinned, studying his friend carefully. "You're looking," he really wanted to say _good_, which was a given, "closer to your normal shade of pale."

"Not sure how to take that." Flynn eyed him. "You're not going out to flirt with mice? I hear they're cute."

"I thought about it," he really hadn't, "but _tails_. Ugh." He shuddered. Scaly mouse tails were just creepy.

Flynn—who had been gifted the callsign Tails once in the Academy, then again on his first assignment, and most recently had it dug up by Jace—glowered at him. "_Excuse _me?"

"Oh come on! Awesome hair does not count."

"According to my old crewmates it did." Amused, Flynn leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. For a minute they just sat in comfortable silence. Then he sighed. "Have I mentioned how _weird_ that was?" He felt like he had, really, but with as much as he'd been out of it lately he could have imagined the whole thing.

Not only had he mentioned it before, he'd mentioned it _repeatedly_ before. Lance didn't care; he leaned forward. "What was weird?" They could have this conversation fifty more times if Flynn wanted.

"Having to patch up an engine bay and sit around under medical supervision like this is a _normal_ mission."

Snort. "You act like walking into high radiation is just your normal Tuesday."

"You know how many times I'd done that before I was ten?" Flynn retorted. Not so much since he was ten, admittedly. That absolutely wasn't the point. He definitely felt like they'd had this part of the conversation before…

"Nope, and it doesn't change my mind. I need to know the moment you're good enough to take a punch, because I'm gonna fucking hit you."

Yes. _That_ he'd heard before. "Haven't you already done that?" He absently rubbed the long-healed bruise on his jaw.

"Pfft. That punch doesn't count, I didn't even know you then."

"Oh, so now that you know me you want to punch me again." Smirk. "Didn't expect I'd be the member of the crew that applied to, but alright."

Lance scowled at him, though he was secretly pleased to be snarked at. It seemed like a sign of recovery. "Don't risk your life and we won't have an issue."

"I didn't risk anything!" Flynn was mildly offended, despite knowing he'd just lied. Just a little. If it hadn't been for Lauda, he'd be looking at a few more _months_ in here. That… wouldn't help his case.

"You risked being stuck with Jace for weeks," Lance shot back. "You're certifiable."

…Okay, that one he couldn't argue with. "That's fair. You can punch me. Not now though, if you cross that containment field he'll make _both_ our lives hell. Moreso than usual."

"The minute you're on your feet, knocking you right back on your ass." He winked, then glanced at the clock. They were coming up on their ten minutes. "You know he wouldn't even let me bribe him to let me stay longer? Who the hell isn't susceptible to bribes?"

Somehow Flynn wasn't surprised by either part of that. "What were you trying to bribe him with?"

"Money for his hookers. Figured I could skip a few weeks at the comic book shop, and I mean, it's kind of a charitable donation, right? Sure as fuck needs the help."

Flynn burst into laughter.

Grinning—he kind of loved that sound—Lance let him go until he started coughing, then waved for silence. "Okay breathe now, or he won't let me back in."

That was reasonably motivating; the engineer regained his composure. "He told me he has to go out and restock while we're on the ground. Made me promise not to let anyone visit while he's gone." He feigned worry, indicating the IVs and the containment field. "I don't know what he expects me to do about it, though. I can't really move far enough to chase you out."

"Oh yeah?" Smirk. "I'm great at sneaking around."

"I'll bet you are." Flynn arched an eyebrow. "Not a bit conspicuous."

"Nah, I'm great at blending into the background." He was not fooling either of them.

"Good. We'll test your ninja abilities."

"Just, you know… let's not have your ninja test me."

For a moment Flynn's eyes went to the knife tucked next to his stack of books, a wry smile flickering across his lips. Then he looked back at Lance and shook his head. "See, if I let him do that—or rather, if _you_ let him do that—I'd have to punch you, too."

Lance laughed. "Yeah, and I'd let you."

"Let's hope it never comes to that, I might break something on… well, one of us."

"Yeah, no. We're both too pretty to break." At that, Flynn dropped back onto his pillow again, because his 'normal shade of pale' had gone more than a little red. Not that it actually escaped Lance's notice, though he misread it entirely. "You alright? Got a temperature?"

"…Yeah, I might." _Yes. That's definitely it._

"I'll tell Jace to put some ice on your head."

"Must you? If it were dangerous one of those," he pointed at the monitors, "stupid things would be yelling at me. They do that a lot. And yelling back at them is no more useful than it is with engines."

The pilot couldn't help laughing at that. He'd dearly love to be in the room for Flynn trying to argue the monitors into submission. "I just wanted to tell him how to do his job." Wink. "Might be fun."

"Oh, alright. If you do that just make sure it's within earshot." He paused a moment; there were footsteps echoing lightly out in the corridor. "Speaking of, here he comes. You'd better get out of here. And don't you even think about coming back once he's off the ship, don't you _dare_. As a superior officer I would be obligated to give you a very disapproving look for at least a second or two."

Snorting, Lance took another glance at the clock. "You won't see me until… tomorrow. Solemn vow."

Following his gaze, Flynn barely bit back a laugh. The _Bolt's_ clocks were still set on Garrison time; there was no point whatsoever in trying to sync them with local times as they traveled. On this part of Gliskor, it was early afternoon… but back at the Garrison, it was very nearly midnight. "I believe you. Absolutely."

Reinforcing the point, their medic arrived bearing a nutrient shake and his usual scowl. "Midnight snack, Tails. Lance, it's been _eleven minutes_."

"The horror! How's your ass?" Actually, thinking about it, he didn't remember seeing the doc in the pile… then again, it had been a _pile_.

Jace had not been in the pile, and snorted. "That's no fucking way to talk about my patient." He'd called Flynn an ass at least once an hour since he'd been quarantined, but that wasn't the point.

"No, he's smartass, you're an ass." Smirk. "Are you one of the ones who landed on his face, then? Not that there's much difference…"

"Dude, you think I was going out there with giant donut dumbass? Gotta try harder than that."

"Aww fuck." Lance sulked. "I'll get you though, somehow." It usually wasn't that difficult; this was just a minor setback.

Flynn snickered. "I'm betting on flyboy."

"Of fucking course you are." Jace shoved Lance with his free hand. "You're cutting into your next visit."

"Alright, alright. See you tomorrow, Flynn." With a wink, Lance turned to go.

The engineer winked back. "See you then."

That had been, well… not fucking subtle in the least. Jace rolled his eyes as he passed the shake through the containment field. "Okay, I'm gonna go restock my gear. When Lance comes in _tomorrow_, you make fucking sure he doesn't get you too worked up, unless you want to be in there for an extra week."

Flynn blinked, flailing for a response to that, not coming up with anything terribly useful. "…Okay." So much for sneaking around… shrugging, he grumpily sipped his shake. He definitely did not want an extra week of this nonsense.

* * *

Jace held what he considered a healthy respect for the Glis, and not healthy in a metaphorical sense. He'd worked with several Glis xenomedics in training, and several more on Athales before things had gone bad. What he'd learned was that no matter how cute and fuzzy they looked, no matter how polite and noble they talked, the damn things had a vicious streak that could put any human to shame. One of them had spoken with pride about their Elders once glassing their own homeworld to deny it to looters. Another he'd personally seen rip a pirate's throat open with her teeth while simultaneously strangling another with her tail… after which she'd calmly trotted off with the soldier she'd been retrieving as if nothing had happened.

Basically, if there was anywhere in the galaxy Jace would prefer not to cause trouble, Gliskor was the place. So of course he'd somehow wound up chaperoning the two crewmates most likely to get them in trouble.

Pidge had two missions to attend to. One was to pick up a new vacuum suit for Flynn; his old one had not been salvageable. The other was a personal matter requiring a brief visit to the local subspace relay station. It definitely didn't involve gaining unauthorized access to classified intelligence information.

Daniel was just bored, and wanted off the ship without going to a library. That was dangerous as fuck, but Jace figured letting him run off unattended would be worse.

The kids were standing together in very awkward silence on one of the boarding ramps when he got there; he snorted. "Porra, you two look like you're posing for a prison photo. Let's move it."

What was that even supposed to mean? Daniel shook his head, following him down the ramp. "You got it, Doc. What are you two going to get again?"

"Restocking the medications. Especially for the dumbass who got himself irradiated."

That got him a glare from the ninja. "We did everything we could to avoid that, doctor."

"Dude, that's nice, but now I'm the one stuck babysitting him. You could at least let me bitch."

That was probably fair; Pidge shrugged. He was trailing a little behind the other two, which was tricky, given that the gravity was slowing them down more than him. It _may_ have been to avoid the notice of as many Glis as possible… the spaceport was crowded with plenty more than just Glis, he noted as they headed to the commissary quarter. Quite a lot of the crowd was heading in the opposite direction, nearly all wearing either navy or chartreuse, some with painted faces or carrying large collections of streamers. He absently wondered what all that was about.

Daniel debated poking the ninja, but decided he liked his fingers attached and settled for a questioning look. "What about you?"

"Need a vacuum suit." He didn't elaborate, it would just set Jace off again.

The gunner didn't ask, either, snerking a little. "All very exciting stuff, I see."

"We've had enough excitement lately," Jace countered.

"Never enough excitement."

Eyeing the two of them, Pidge caught a look from a passing Glis. It twitched its whiskers at him in a very impolite manner. "Incorrect," he muttered under his breath.

_"You're_ incorrect," Daniel mimicked just as quietly, in his brattiest tone.

"I think the topic is subjective." Pidge had heard him just fine. "But you're still wrong."

Jace snickered; Daniel eyed him in confusion. "If it's subjective how can anyone be wrong?" He'd barely even finished asking before he deeply regretted it. Maybe the ninja would decide it wasn't worth answering…

No such luck. "Because objectively, if any one person feels they can have too much excitement, then too much excitement exists at some time. Which makes you wrong."

"But _I_ don't feel like there can be too much excitement." He might regret starting this discussion, but if they were having the debate he intended to win it. "How does what anyone else thinks weigh in on what I believe?"

"You didn't say _you_ believe there can't be too much excitement. You said there's never enough excitement."

"Which is a belief I hold." Daniel couldn't decide whether or not he preferred this to arguing with Cam.

Pidge shrugged. "But the existence of people who feel otherwise defies the categorical nature of your belief—"

"—Other people feeling otherwise doesn't change what I believe! It just means we feel differently, doesn't mean anyone's _incorrect_."

"But people feeling differently makes your rule incorrect for them. And a rule that isn't always correct isn't a rule, by definition." He frowned slightly. "Also you can't prove a negative, so—"

"—Okay look, the medic is getting a headache. Again." Jace glowered at both of them; he wasn't even sure whose side of the argument he was on, but he was ready for it to be over. "Ninjerk, can you please just shut up and go back to flinching at mice the way Brennan here flinches at birds?"

"Hey!" Daniel did not appreciate his intervention. "I don't flinch, I avoid."

"I heard you ran into one."

"Yeah, I remember." He shuddered. It hadn't been for lack of _trying_ to avoid them. "I blame you for that, by the way. If you'd just let Keith believe I was allergic to birds, none of that would have happened."

Jace considered and discarded a lecture on the importance of the commander having an accurate picture of his crew's medical status. The kid would not be impressed. He opted instead for, "And where would the fun in _that_ be?"

"…Whatever."

A large cluster of chartreuse-wearing Quasnot nearly ran over them at that point, and they took a few moments to actually pay attention to what they were doing. A sign indicating the commissary quarter finally caught their attention. "I think we're where we need to be," Pidge said absently as they entered. One of the first buildings was a pretty standard-looking medical supply post.

Daniel looked at the building and snorted. "Yay."

"You wanted to come, caralho." Jace glared at him. "Come on, you can help me pick out needles."

The kid feigned excitement. "Oh Jace, I thought you'd never ask." That got him a snort and a mostly playful punch to the arm. Mostly.

Entering the building, they found a single Glis on duty at the front desk. "Alikria-ka, honored Earthlings… friend Shinori." The 'friend' might have come out a little bit aggressively. "What do you seek?"

Muttering something equally passive-aggressive in Baltan, Pidge dropped one hand to the empty sheath at his side. With the other he handed over a data chip containing Flynn's suit specs. The Glis accepted it with a huffy whistle, turning away to put it through a reader.

In Daniel's opinion, this was as interesting as the ninja had ever been. "What'd you do to piss off whiskers?" he whispered.

Pidge knew he shouldn't snicker at _whiskers_; it was petty and unbecoming. It was also funny, so he snickered anyway. "My people failed to have our civilization collapse twenty thousand years ago like theirs did."

"Damn." Daniel was actually very proud of himself for making the ninja laugh, but suspected showing it would only ruin the achievement. "That's one hell of a grudge."

As the Glis finished up with the chip and turned back to them, Jace stepped closer to the counter and leaned over it slightly. He was quite certain whiskers here didn't need to hear what the kids were discussing. "Need some type 4, 5, and 8 radgen equipment, a basic medkit restock, and some high-gauge needles."

The Glis, who was pointedly ignoring the Shinori and thus had indeed not heard any of it, nodded much more politely to the medic and vanished into a back room.

Pidge watched it go, then looked back at Daniel. "Grudges are one of their specialties." And multi-millennia _misunderstandings_ were possibly one of Balto's, but there was no need to bring that into it. "Impressive in all the wrong ways, kir sa tye?"

Impressive, yes. In all the wrong ways, maybe… Daniel quirked his head. "What does… 'keer sa tie' mean, anyway?" He had definitely butchered those vowels like they were one of Jace's sandwiches, but it would do.

Being asked about Baltan sentence modifiers was _not_ what Pidge had expected from this trip, and he blinked. "…It's… a request for confirmation, sort of? It doesn't translate very well." Which was precisely why he still used it… he added more quietly, "English lacks so many useful words."

Nodding, Daniel considered the last comment and shrugged. "You would know better than me. I only speak one language." Or two, depending on how one classified the various dialects of English, but whatever. "Plus a few Korean curses."

"Everyone on the ship seems to swear in multiple languages, I've noticed. It seems useful."

Were they actually discussing the merits of bilingual profanity? _That_ was not what Daniel had expected from this trip. But now that he thought about it, the ninja wasn't wrong… the only people he couldn't remember hearing curse in another language were the people who didn't really curse to begin with. Particularly… he grinned slightly. "It is useful. Especially with Sven, he says he knows I'm cursing but he can't ever prove it."

Pidge eyed him. "But he isn't wrong, kir sa tye?"

"No, he's not wrong…" He trailed off as the Glis returned, carrying a lot more boxes than it looked like it should be able to handle. "…but if he can't or won't prove it, that's a win for me," he concluded.

Several of the boxes went to Jace, as well as a spread of clear envelopes full of needles for him to look over. Two larger boxes were for Pidge—a vacuum suit and its attendant life support system. That got him a look that was either concerned or just scornful. "Friend Shinori, that suit will fit you not."

The 'friend' had _definitely_ been aggressive that time.

"It's not for me." Pidge rolled his eyes and handed over a credit chip. "Thank you very much." Despite using the proper words, nobody could have mistaken his tone for polite either.

Daniel side-eyed the Glis. It was not some rodent store clerk's job to rag on the ninja; the 686 had that covered just fine. "I didn't realize mice had such _attitudes_." He'd known perfectly well Pidge had an attitude, of course.

Maybe it had come out a little louder than he'd intended. The Glis looked at him, its whiskers twitching slightly. Jace looked at him too, thoroughly unamused… then he picked out a few packs of needles and dropped a credit chip on the counter. "Aaaand thanks! We've gotta go." Grabbing the boxes and both kids—the low gravity had its benefits—he dragged them out of the building and dumped them on the curb. "Honestly, and the Viking thinks _I'm_ gonna cause a fucking interstellar incident."

Rubbing his wrist, Daniel gave him a look that was somewhere between a scowl and a pout. "Why are you always dragging me places?"

"Because the other option is letting you get in some kind of shit I'll probably have to patch up, and I don't need that extra fucking stress in my life." He started packing the medical gear into the bag he'd brought for just that purpose, and frowned. "I might also feel an inexplicable kinship with other assholes, but I wouldn't count on that too much."

Looking between the two of them, Pidge kept his opinions to himself; it all seemed pretty accurate. Daniel just stared silently at the medic, dumbfounded. He was never too sure how to feel about Jace being nice to him.

The thought of making Pidge carry his own boxes came and went quickly. At this rate he might club some Glis over the head with one. So he finished packing up and straightened, exhaling slowly. "So, anywhere else we need to hit?"

"Just the subspace relay, eventually."

"Not me, but I'm totally not ready to go back to the ship."

Snort. "Come up with a better idea, then, unless we're going to go watch the ninja send mail." Pidge's immediate scowl made his opinion on _that_ clear enough.

Daniel frowned, looking around the spaceport. He didn't know what kind of entertainment actually existed around here, but… a Glis with navy blue dye streaking its fur trotted past them, and he blinked. It was definitely wearing two bright blue foam fingers on its tail.

As he stared after it, a poster on a nearby kiosk caught his eye. Walking over to check it out, he found what was up with the crowds they'd been seeing. The poster showed a line of hulking, angry-looking humans crouched across from a line of equally grim-looking Glis. One of the Glis had a ball wrapped up in its tail.

**ANNUAL EXHIBITION: NI-KILA ATHLETICS BUREAU VS. PACIFICA SHARKS**

His eyes lit up slightly as he realized what he was looking at. "Guys, check this out! A rat football game with low gravity, it sounds awesome! Let's go check it out."

"Football? Seriously? Fucking…" Jace stopped as he came in sight of the poster, his derisive look slowly shifting into a grin. The implications were fantastic. "…Fucking _yes_, man."

Pidge shrugged. He wasn't in any hurry to get where he was going; in fact he'd probably prefer the crowds to have thinned out a bit. Football didn't interest him much, but the premise of this seemed amusing. "Sure. Will someone explain to me why it's called football when the players hardly use their feet?"

Both of the others snickered at that. "No one really knows," Daniel offered. "It's a weird cultural thing."

"Oh." That made sense. Well, it didn't make _sense_, but Pidge never questioned 'weird' when it was applied to anything related to humans. Shrugging again, he fell in behind the other two and started following the crowd.

* * *

The Glis were significant biological outliers within the Alliance, being one of only half a dozen non-humanoid and only _two_ non-bipedal sapients. Iskor-i Chakchira translated roughly to Ambassador City: it had been built as the public capital of Gliskor, to allow their allies to interact easily… well, relatively easily. The streets were filled with carts bearing aliens about, and most buildings were a mix of other races' architectural styles. It was a fascinating place, if difficult to focus on just now.

The building the library team was headed for was _not_ built in one of those borrowed styles. Nim brought the cart to a surprisingly gentle halt before a large, low structure decorated with shimmery cloth banners. There were a couple of carts in front of them at what appeared to be some kind of passenger unloading dock. They watched a pair of Kejans stumbling from the front cart and exchanged glances. At least they weren't alone.

"Great Archives are opened freely, but built not entirely for Earthlings, I fear. Those in the reception area will aid you."

Keith nodded, slowly unhooking his white-knuckled fingers from the handhold and taking a steadying breath. "Yes. Thank you."

"Most welcome, honored Earthlings." After a rather shaky Akese left the cart in front of them, Nim pulled up to the entry ramp. "Fortune with you in your search."

"Fortune, uh… in your day?" Vince offered awkwardly, drawing a small smile from Sven and an amused whisker-twitch from Nim. Flushing slightly, he followed Keith to the door.

Not that Keith was doing a lot better; he gave the door a short tug and it flew open sharply. "Uh… we need to be careful," he said sheepishly.

"Eep, yes."

"Yes sir."

The door brought them into a narrow corridor, with railings at several different heights on each side. "This gravity is weird," Vince commented, holding the railings tight and managing a decent pace. "I feel bouncy."

Sven nodded. "It's definitely an odd sensation."

"Walking beats that cart though."

"Agreed."

The corridor opened into a large, octagonal lobby draped in more colorful banners. Though the ceiling was two human stories high, several of the walls were lined with four rows of Glis-sized doors interspersed with ladders. There were also a few larger doors and two reception desks. One of them was occupied by the Akese they'd followed in. The other was open; a bronze-furred Glis was sitting on it, watching them.

_This is pretty cool_. Vince was trying to look everywhere at once. The general idea had become pretty routine now—find a library, look for Altea—but the different forms of libraries were fascinating.

"Alright." Keith looked around too, then headed for the desk. "Let's get started."

The Glis dipped its head as they approached. "Alikria-ka, honored Earthlings. I am Sister Kria. Is it knowledge you seek here?"

Keith blinked. _Why else would we be here?_ Of course he wasn't going to say _that_ out loud. It had been a solemn question… was there some kind of ritual response he was supposed to make?

While he was debating it, Sven stepped in. "Yes, do you know of anything in your archives that speak of a planet called Altea?"

_Okay, that works_.

"Altea…" Kria trailed off, not moving or speaking. Vince was briefly worried about that, but as he shifted he could see that she wasn't _completely_ still. There was a console behind her, and she was typing rapidly with her tail. It was almost hypnotizing to watch. "Have you any information already to narrow the search, or do you seek all answers?"

"All answers, please," Sven said quickly. Really _any_ answers would be nice.

"_All_ answers might be asking a lot," Keith muttered half to himself. "But every bit could help."

Kria typed a bit more, her whiskers starting to twitch in annoyance. At one point she reached up and adjusted what had looked like a piece of jewelry clipped to one wide ear; when she moved it became evident it was some kind of earpiece attached to the console. Finally she stopped typing. "The New Archive is empty." Removing the earpiece, she yelled something over her shoulder in a shrill, whistley language, then hopped off the desk. "If it pleases you to accompany me, we shall seek your Altea within deeper knowledge."

It had taken Vince a few moments to realize she'd stopped typing with her tail, and he was a little disappointed. He blinked, shaking it off just in time to see a new Glis arriving from one of the small doors, taking Kria's place at the desk. Nodding to it—it seemed like the right thing to do—he turned and followed the others.

Following Kria through one of the human-sized doors took them to a gently sloping corridor. This one had railings too, as well as a fluffy carpet running down the middle. For a minute they walked in silence. Then she looked back at them. "Have you familiarity with our people's history, honored Earthlings?"

All three considered that briefly. Everyone knew the basics, that was Alliance History 101. The ancient and proud Glis Empire had collapsed under its own weight, leaving an insular and hostile Glis Remnant behind. They had scraped by until the Fourth Kingdom attacked. Glis civilization had collapsed a second time; the survivors had sworn all that was left to punishing the Drules. The so-called Glirian Crusade had been one of the paths that converged to form the modern Alliance.

Beyond that? Well, they hadn't even been expecting a different subspecies here, so…

"Um… not much but the basics, honored Glis."

"I'm sorry to say I don't know many details either."

Kria didn't seem bothered. "Ancient tales are rarely spoken, yet always in our blood. The basics are enough. Our people are of two eras. The New Archive holds all knowledge since our rebirth, since the honored Alliance was forged by the same furnace that once consumed us. Where we go now…" She turned, leading them through a door that had been all but invisible until she opened it. "The Forgotten Archive. Vast knowledge was gathered by our Elders, remaining now only in fragments. Answers there may be here, but perhaps more pieces of a puzzle than a continuous tale."

Sven and Vince exchanged glances. More puzzle pieces sounded pretty much like the Altea status quo. But maybe they'd finally have enough pieces to put something together. Eventually.

Keith's thoughts were tracking the same way, but he wasn't about to say that either. "Any information is better than none."

They entered a room dominated by a bulky machine, with several cushioned benches arrayed around it. A similar console and earpiece were sitting on a small table. "Simplest if I search. Our equipment, you may see, is unwieldy for others. I hope you will take it not as an insult."

"Of course not. It's an honor to have assistance." Though Keith said that, and meant it, he _did_ find it a little off-putting to see her sitting and facing them while she worked. Vince, on the other hand, was immediately back to being entranced with the tail typing.

After a minute Kria tilted her head. "Have you searched long for the Altea? Earthlings only rarely seek the long-forgotten here. It is gratifying."

"Not all that long, ourselves." That got him a side-eye from Sven, who knew objectively it hadn't been all _that_ long that they'd been searching… but it sure felt like it had been. "We're really looking for a fugitive who is searching for the planet."

"A fugitive? You are police, then?"

"In a way. We're bounty hunters." As Keith said it, Vince tensed up and set his jaw in an attempt to look like a bounty hunter. He mostly succeeded in looking mildly constipated, and it was all Sven could do not to laugh.

Mercifully, Kria either didn't notice or didn't recognize human body language that well. "Ri-alika. Much respect held by our people for hunters. A calling of power and justice." She dipped her head again, this time a bit lower; she was still typing. "But you have found… nothing?"

"We've found puzzle pieces that don't seem to fit together," Sven offered.

"Yes. And it seems that only some believe Altea is real. Others consider it a myth."

The Glis nodded slowly. "I can find no record of an Altea." She flicked her tail across her whiskers in what seemed to be a thoughtful gesture. "To be sure, it may have taken that name after our Elders surveyed the stars. Have you consulted the Lygoth? They often share not the whispers of new stars they find, until they feel their information is sufficient."

Keith blinked. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; maybe it was a wonder something like this hadn't happened sooner. "We did consult them. They believe it is only a myth, but we've found other evidence since."

"I see." She considered that for a minute. "Puzzle pieces, you say you have. Any that might have… other pieces besides, that we might seek and find?"

"We know that Altea participated in the War of the Infested," Sven offered tentatively. He didn't expect much out of that. But to his surprise their guide perked up.

"I have heard of that war! Let me see."

As she picked up her typing again, Keith gave Sven a small grin. He was glad _someone_ remembered that point; he'd been in a fog of painkillers for that particular discovery. Vince was transfixed again, though with enough wits about him to hope this time they might get some answers…

"Kira-na. I had hoped for more, but there is something." Kria reached up to adjust her earpiece, and immediately had everyone's full attention. "The War of the Infested. Occurred some fifty-eight Earthling centuries ago, during the time of the Unified Remnant. Vast in scope, but reached not the stars where our Elders held sway. Rumors were many, but facts are known. A fearsome extraplanar parasite arrived with Drule scouts, and possessed and consumed the Union of Dhesria. Many worlds banded together to silence the threat."

Vince's eyes widened. _An extraplanar parasite! _They had heard that on Takrekul too, but it sounded a lot scarier when the parasite was taking over a whole interstellar faction. Or at least, he assumed that was what the Union of Dhesria had been; he'd never heard of any such thing.

"We have not a list of those others. Our Elders cared only for anger and isolation. But likely enough your Altea is in the spinward-coreward quadrant of the Interior Expanse. The Dhesria were located as such."

A quarter of the Interior Expanse… Sven frowned thoughtfully. That was an enormous stretch of space, but it also enormously narrowed down what they'd had to go on before. Nothing was certain, obviously. But it was the first truly concrete hint of a location they'd been given. It was something.

It was _something!_

Kria didn't seem inclined to give up quite yet. Maybe she was thinking about how large that area was, too. "That is what we have. And the Lygoth knew it not?" Again she snapped her whiskers lightly with her tail. "Have you other leads to follow?"

That was a question Keith probably wouldn't have answered, at least not very quickly, were they on nearly any other planet. But this _was_ an Alliance world, and the Glis were one of the Alliance's most respected races. Of all places, he was pretty sure they could speak freely here. "We'd run out of ideas, honestly. We've found evidence but none that leads us anywhere else—the Terinians claimed to have a relic from the Alteans, we found a temple on Sorthal we believe was dedicated to them…"

Neither of those names seemed to strike any kind of chord with their guide, but the overall point was clear enough. "You have searched many stars, then. What others?"

"Kaliega, obviously—that's where we started." Sven glanced at the other two, just _daring_ them to say anything about how that visit had gone for him. It did draw a bit of a snicker from Vince, but he bit it down quickly. "Also Alcieux, Takrekul, even a couple of black market contacts on Khoru and Dradin." Fortunately Lance wasn't here to yell about how that had gone for them either.

Kria gave an excited sort of whistle-bark. "Those are all?"

It felt like more, really. Keith nodded slowly. "We've been just about everywhere."

"Yes, many stars, with mysteries enough to be found there. But if not yours, then there is aid I can provide to you. You must go to Onygrine!" She looked around at their blank looks and clarified. "Archive world of the Vex-Cha, but open to all with coin to pay." Pausing again, she wiggled her whiskers slightly. "That is, if I correctly understand, a metaphor."

"…A metaphor for what, exactly?" Keith asked, not exactly nervously, though not exactly confidently either. The Vex-Cha Confederacy was a mercantile empire located almost directly across the Interior Expanse from Earth. Relations between them and the Alliance were cordial enough—owing largely to the Alliance's position as a de facto bulwark between them and the Drules—but they could be… unpredictable.

Though that didn't turn out to be why Kria was using metaphors at all. "I know not what 'coin' is for certain. An obsolete form of Earthling money, I think?"

The regal-alien-mouse-_librarian_ not knowing what a coin was struck Vince as oddly endearing, and he grinned. "Just any form of payment, these days, usually." Immediately he felt silly. _State the obvious much?_ But the Glis nodded in appreciation so he decided to take that as a win.

"A-chila. Vex-Cha rarely do favors freely. But you are bounty hunters, are you not?" She looked them over again. "Their leaders make no secret of their desires, and they honor the needs of those who hunt for them. If you could deliver them a bounty, certain enough they would gift you access in repayment."

_An actual bounty!_ Vince's eyes somehow went still wider. He looked over at Sven, trying to gauge his reaction. For his part, Sven was looking at Keith. Taking on an actual bounty sounded like _precisely_ the kind of thing they would do.

He didn't even have to think about it for long. "Where would we find this bounty information? Is there a particular planet to visit?"

Kria twitched her whiskers, then removed the earpiece. "Any envoy of the Vex-Cha would hold such. Even here in Iskor-i Chakchira there is one to be found."

Nodding, Keith typed a quick message into his datapad, dispatching Cam and Hunk to find this envoy. Their comms officer had to know more about the Vex-Cha than most of the crew. "I believe we'll be able to do that, then. Thank you."

The Glis dipped her head. "What you can learn here may be exhausted, I fear. May fortune find your answers among the Vex-Cha. Come, I will lead you back." She still seemed to be deep in thought as she led them back along the fluffy-carpeted corridors.

Not that she was the only one; Vince was both excited and mildly terrified, as usual. _Am I actually a bounty hunter now?_ He nearly tripped a couple of times in his distraction, but Sven caught him.

Just before they reached the lobby, Kria stopped, giving that odd whistle-bark again. "Honored Earthlings… there may be one more possibility."

Keith paused too, looking at her. "What might that be?"

"If it pleases you to wait, I will be swift." She motioned them into the lobby, then darted up a ladder and disappeared through one of the small doors.

The three exchanged confused looks, then hopeful shrugs. "Wow, she's fast."

"That she is… and dedicated."

"Helpful librarians _is_ a nice change back from snakes and mafia."

After only a couple of minutes, Kria returned, sitting up on her hind legs and dropping something from her tail into one forepaw. She offered it to Keith; a small data chip glittered in the lobby's soft light.

Vince was starting to feel like he might just have some tail envy. They seemed so _useful_.

"Thank you." Keith accepted the chip curiously. "Can you tell us what this is?"

"Coordinates to a faraway world. The slimmest of threads." She shook her head. "We know not this planet—it was not important. Lifeless water and sand, without even a name. But after the rebirth, our distant scans found it cloaked in stardust and light."

Sven frowned. "A nebula?" A mini-nebula surrounding a planet, no less? Nebulae didn't _work_ like that… possibly unless a supernova had been involved. Which wouldn't have been good for anyone.

"So it has seemed. Unlikely it may be to have bearing on your search… yet you seek an unknown world, and mysteries call to mysteries."

Frowning slightly, Keith looked at the other two again. The galaxy was full of unexplained phenomena; he understood why she sounded so doubtful. But he also understood why she'd offered it, and they were still in no position to pass up any lead. "Thank you. If all else fails, it's worth looking into."

Kria nodded. "You have all I can give you, honored Earthlings. Farewell and fortune." Dropping back to all fours, she dipped her head low.

Keith bowed in return, while Sven nodded. "Thank you. Farewell and fortune."

"Farewell and fortune," Vince echoed. Taking one last look around the lobby, they departed the Archives.

* * *

Pick out a bounty, Keith had said. What could go wrong?

Getting there. That could go wrong.

Hunk had more or less adjusted to Gliskor's gravity while he'd been arranging getting the _Bolt_ refueled. But when it came to trying to navigate beyond the spaceport, his confidence in that adjustment was significantly _less_. And then there was Cam; even knowing what to expect, he'd taken two steps down the boarding ramp, overcompensated, and ended up flat on his face.

People falling down their boarding ramps was apparently the best way to get a Glis guide's attention. One Brother Ta-kir had arrived to help, and they climbed gratefully into his cart.

Cam found the restraints and strapped in, a little nervously. "Safety first, right?"

"Totally. Hit a bump in this thing, we might go flyin' to next Tuesday." Hunk buckled in too, then looked at Ta-kir. "So, uh… you happen to know where we can find some Vex-Cha classified ads?"

The Glis laughed, a kind of chittering bark. "Their embassy is what you seek, honored Earthlings. Hold tight!" With that, the cart shot off into the streets.

"Dude drives like crazy," Hunk whispered to a wide-eyed Cam as the cart bounced wildly. "I like it!" All that got him was a lot of muttering in Russian that he really didn't need to hear translated; the tone said it all. He just grinned wider in response. "Vroom vroom!"

Cam did his best to concentrate on the mission instead of the cart's bouncing. A bounty for the Vex-Cha… it should be interesting, that was for sure.

Vex-Cha was a collective term, comprising several cousin races that had allied together for peace and profit. The two original members of the coalition were the Cha-Akor and the Vexakila, and they still dominated its politics. Hence the name. Cam had never met one of either, or any other Vex-Cha race, but he'd studied their language and protocol basics at the Academy.

Hunk wasn't too sure why _he'd_ been sent on this job, unless the boss was worried about things getting touchy. Which didn't seem likely, but the way things usually went with them, probably wasn't _unlikely_ either.

In any case, they made good time to the Vex-Cha embassy: a large, domed building with six intricately-carved buttresses surrounding it. As the cart halted, Cam had a brief sensation of whiplash, though it faded quickly. The vertigo when he stood up didn't fade so fast; he nearly fell over.

Hunk actually _did_ fall over as he disembarked, but at least it didn't hurt all that much. He jumped up and dusted himself off, then grinned at Ta-kir. "Thanks, bro!"

"Yes, thank you, sir." Feeling a bit green around the gills was no reason to be impolite. Cam was trying to be more careful about that sort of thing.

"Most welcome, honored Earthlings! Fortune to you in finding what you seek!" Bowing his head, the Glis sped off.

"They sure are nice mice," Hunk commented, still grinning slightly.

Cam paled. "We're not supposed to call them that!"

"…I mean, we had one in my old engineering corps whose callsign was Squeaky, she thought it was funny." Glis didn't even squeak. He looked up at the Vex-Cha building; the entire front staircase appeared to be a fancy escalator. They should probably get to work. "But yeah, we're on their planet, no mice. Also no boxes, yeah?"

"And no flirting. I don't want to get shot again." The big engineer gave him a _look_ at that, and he winced, remembering slightly too late that people weren't supposed to know that part. "…And _what_ is the big deal with boxes, anyway? Or is it just another fable like the murder vines?"

Hunk snorted. "Little dude, you didn't like me callin' the Glis mice, you'd be _horrified_ by the box." The comms officer gave him a skeptical look; he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There was a cat person involved. He fitted, he sitted… with some help." Shrug. "Anyway, that's why you're here, to make sure I don't say anything dumb. Let's do this!" He headed for the escalator.

It took Cam a moment to follow. "You put a cat person in a box?!" Stepping up next to Hunk he frowned, thinking on that. "Well, cats _can_ be evil."

"Now who ain't diplomatic enough?"

"We're on an Explorer Team!" Grin. "Everything's fair game except Drule vodka."

"Dude, I wanna try some of that stuff now, no lie." Reaching the top of the escalator, he pushed the door open and stepped inside… and suddenly there was gravity. A _lot_ of gravity. "Dude!"

"Whoa… who turned the planet on?" Cam struggled to stand up straight. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if they'd been leaving Earth gravity and not Gliskor gravity, but _yikes_.

Though they hadn't really gotten to looking around yet, they had both at least noticed the embassy was a single large, circular room. A clicking sound came from a desk in the center. Then a strange voice; it sounded like a mix of buzzes and clicks that had somehow been shaped into recognizable Common. "If the gravity is not to your liking, the fifth chamber has it disabled."

Both of them startled a little, and startled again when they looked to the voice. Hunk knew next to nothing about the Vex-Cha; he'd seen pictures once or twice. Cam had also only seen pictures, and pictures did _not_ do them justice.

It was a Vexakila behind the desk. An enormous insectoid creature, easily eight feet tall, with two compound eyes the size of a human head. Its narrow face and slim limbs were covered in chitinous fuzz, as were its stubby antennae. It was brightly colored, mostly green and pink. All of that, they knew from pictures. But what they had _not_ been expecting was for its carapace, its fuzz, and even its diaphanous wings to be brilliantly iridescent, rippling and shimmering with every slight shift in the light.

Hunk could not remember any science fiction where the creepy bug aliens were so _pretty_.

One of those gemlike wings was currently pointing off to its right. The embassy chamber was divided into six sections; presumably it was indicating the fifth. Cam blushed slightly, forcing himself to stop staring and answer. "Apologies. We just weren't expecting it."

The Vexakila clicked its mandibles together; it may have been laughing. "Many before you have reacted in precisely the same manner. I am Valeesh, the Docent of this embassy. What brings Earthlings here?"

Still a little flustered, Cam approached the desk. "We're, uh… we're looking for some ads?"

Valeesh clicked again. "Ads? I do not comprehend."

Not surprising, considering how poorly he'd put that. Cam grimaced, then decided to try his hand at something that took more focus. Maybe it would get his wits about him better… he flicked his tongue against his teeth, making a series of clicks. Ak-Kila, the language of the Vex-Cha, was rather complicated; his wasn't the greatest, but he was pretty certain he'd gotten across that they were looking for bounties.

Not only had he gotten it across, Valeesh's return clicks were positively delighted. Apparently he rarely encountered humans who could speak even slightly comprehensible Ak-Kila. He directed them to the embassy's second section, where several large tables were set up; for Hunk's benefit he also pointed with a wing.

After a few more clicks, Cam nodded, then switched back to Common. "Thank you, Valeesh."

He clicked back. "The English can be found at the second table. Good hunting."

Grinning, Cam headed for the table, pulling Hunk along behind him. If he hadn't been so excited about successfully talking with a Vex-Cha, he'd have noticed there was no way he was pulling Hunk anywhere without Hunk's cooperation. Really, Hunk was just as happy for any sliver of assistance; he dropped gratefully into a chair and made a face. The gravity in here was still throwing him.

His grimace faded as he looked over the table. There were all sorts of resources spread before them: datapads and other curiously styled tablets, screens set into the table, and… "Are those _newspapers?"_ With a huge grin of his own, he grabbed a stack of papers, which turned out to not be paper at all. They seemed to be some kind of incredibly smooth, silky fabric.

Close enough. He started flipping through the papers while Cam picked up a datapad. After a few moments he activated one of the table screens as well, eyes flicking back and forth between the devices. The Vex-Cha really did have a _lot_ of contracts to offer.

"Something simple," he murmured half to himself as he scrolled. "Reasonably quick, no boxes, no flirting…"

"No assassination either, yeah?" Hunk frowned slightly. "Bossman won't like assassinations."

"We do have a ninja," he countered distractedly. That got him a _look_. "…I mean, yeah, probably want to steer clear of those."

"Even if _we_ wanted to, don't think we could get away with not _tellin'_ the boss what bounty we took."

"Yeah, we can't do that. Commander Kogane would skin us alive." He snorted. "No assassinations."

They were quiet for a few more minutes, scanning through more pages. There were a _lot_ of assassinations. It didn't seem like the Vex-Cha usually cared to take their enemies alive. Picking up another stack of papers, Hunk found something new, though not necessarily any more useful. "Here's a couple cargo escorts… _maybe_ coulda pulled that off in our old ship."

"Yeah, the _Bolt_ isn't all that quick. Too bad, it would be nice and simple."

"Maybe." Like anything they did was nice and simple. "Here's somethin' promising? Security job planetside… no, wait, indefinite duration, that won't work."

It wouldn't work, but it was closer to what they needed than escorts and assassinations. "Keep an eye out for some more definite durations, that has potential."

"Totally."

Another few minutes, and Cam suddenly found himself staring at something very promising. "Hey, look at this one, it sounds easy enough. Go to Selech, pick up some files from a lab, scan them and deliver the scans to a handler. Then take the files to the Vex-Cha on Onygrine. Kind of like a delivery service."

"Yeah? Onygrine's where we're supposed to be goin' anyway." Hunk leaned over his shoulder. "Huh. That does look pretty solid."

Grin. "I think we have a winner. Lance can be an official delivery driver."

"He'll love that." Laughing, Hunk checked the reference number for the contract. The fine print said to find its associated paper and take it with them. He found the page and rolled it up with a flourish. "And no boxes or flirting!"

"And nothing that will make the Commander skin us alive."

"Always a plus." Grin. "So, whatcha think… get back to the ship before we manage to get in trouble?"

"Yeah, we should head back." Cam looked at the paper in the big guy's hand. "Maybe drop by the intel clearinghouse, see if we can pull a map or something?"

Hunk nodded. "Let's do it." He picked up the pace a bit—he was going to be so happy to get back into the crazy _low_ gravity—but he did manage to wave to Valeesh as they reached the door. "Thanks for the help!"

At the same time, Cam clicked out _thanks and have a good day_. Or at least he was pretty certain that was what he'd said. It may have been _thanks and don't fall in a river_, but he supposed that was a nice thing to say also.

Whatever he'd said, Valeesh clicked a cheerful farewell in return, and they headed out. For once, they'd had a mission that had gone pretty well.

* * *

Staggering from the ruins, weak and overwhelmed, Alfor nearly fell into the arms of the first knight to reach him. He could hear the tunnels collapsing behind him; he'd gotten out just in time.

"Your Majesty!"

"I was successful." He spoke quietly but with urgency, still not quite confident he might not pass out any moment. "We must find a way out of here. Tell me the situation." He could see glimpses—the storm, the burning wreckage, the weapons fire—but they were chaotic. Even in top form, it would have taken him awhile to get a handle on things.

Sondar, the leader of the original detachment he'd brought with him, approached and bowed his head. "Reinforcements have been pouring in for both sides. We believe the Drules know you are here, or they wouldn't be committing such forces. Casualties are high."

The king nodded slowly. "What paths can we use to escape?" Fighting their way through wasn't an option. Even if they could be confident of victory—which they couldn't—every soldier's life was precious. They couldn't afford to lose any more than necessary; really they couldn't even afford to lose the necessary.

"There are two paths that we don't believe the sinycka have covered. One goes up onto a terrace just below the gryphon lairs. It's easier to move people through, but more exposed. The other is an old dried-up riverbed that isn't likely to be dry at this moment." He looked up at the stormclouds. "It will be much slower, but provides better cover."

Alfor considered the options. Usually he'd have favored the faster escape. The more quickly they could detach, the better, and disappearing into the mountains could come next. But there were things within that particular mountain that he didn't dare risk the Drules stumbling across, and he was pretty certain he knew the path Sondar was talking about. It was too close… and _very_ exposed. His original detachment, with their carefully chosen camouflage, might be able to traverse it relatively safely. The others much less so.

"The riverbed." He pulled the hood of his cloak up, covering his crown. Wearing it at all had been a calculated risk… but the image of the Arusian crown being _abandoned_, even for a moment, would have immediately cratered morale. Besides, he'd had no idea if it would help his cause with Li-ten. What he knew was it wouldn't help his cause _now_. "Rally our people, but we can't let the enemy realize where we're going."

"As you command, sire." Sondar turned, barking orders to the nearest combatants. The storm would work in their favor until they actually reached the river.

Alfor took a moment to adjust his cloak, leaning over a large rock and shivering. He wanted to take the pendant out and look again, but didn't dare. What he'd seen in the ruined temple still filled him with awe… so much that focus was difficult, especially in his weakened state. Every time thunder crashed through the valley, he thought he heard a growl or roar beneath it. The images kept playing through his mind…

The Arusian forces were starting to circle inward, taking a defensive formation without clearly appearing to do so. Those of the original detachment were on the outside edge, letting their camouflage shroud the movements of their comrades. If all went well, they could fall back and vanish before the enemy knew what had happened.

All was _not_ going well. The echo of engines became audible throughout the valley. Realizing something was happening, unwilling to risk their prize slipping away, the Drules were trying to deploy their air cover through the storm.

"…Never mind subtlety." He looked up at the sky. It was raining hard enough to disrupt the wide-beam lasers of the Drule fighters, but if they got close enough that wouldn't matter. Not to mention spotting for the ground troops. "We have to get under cover before they reach us. Go!"

The ranks surged. Racing through the rain and the wreckage, the knights stormed the pass towards the riverbed. Alfor himself stumbled in his exhaustion, only to have two of his warriors grab his arms and nearly carry him forward. For a moment, it looked like they might make it…

Someone yelled something, a panicked cry barely audible through the rain. It sounded like someone calling his name, perhaps calling for help. Instinctively, Alfor stopped and turned to look for the voice, pulling free of the knights assisting him and causing his cloak to briefly fall away. For a moment he froze. He was too tired, too distracted, and his mind was left too sluggish. He _knew_ he needed to recover his camouflage and run. He just couldn't seem to move.

Three things happened in rapid succession. The first was a massive bolt of lightning striking one Drule fighter and arcing through two more. Though the craft themselves were unharmed, their pilots were not; flash-blinded, the three fighters collided with a roar that drowned out the thunderclap. Fire began raining down on the valley, oily wreckage setting brush alight despite the rain.

Second, a Drule sniper on one of the slopes caught sight of Alfor's crown glinting in the firelight. Immediately, he dropped his sights over the king—making sure to go for the chest rather than the head. King Zarkon would want the head intact, especially with how long Arus had resisted. He squeezed off two shots, scorching plasmapoint rounds whistling through the rain as twin streaks of blue light. He had no time to see if the shots had landed true; a chunk of burning metal forced him to move.

Third, a new sound began to echo through the valley, indignant shrieks that pierced through the storm. Shadows were detaching from the mountain, gliding down from the caves with remarkable swiftness. It seemed the battle had disturbed the gryphons.

For a moment, the battlefield went still, the combatants on both sides staring into the sky in shock and confusion. The tide had just turned, it must have, but nobody seemed fully clear how.

It became clear when King Alfor crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide, but no longer seeing.

Chaos erupted.

Any remaining semblance of subtlety disintegrated. The Arusian ranks broke, some knights charging the Drules in a fury, others still trying to bear their king to safety. The enemy may have taken his life; they would _not_ be permitted to take his body. The Drules responded by pushing forward themselves, ready to overwhelm this last stand, but the gryphons were falling on them with razor-sharp beaks and talons. Even the fighters were being harassed by the angered beasts. Clearly they were no match for steel and fire, but their swarming was impeding the already-obscured vision of the pilots.

Slinging the High King's body over his shoulders, Sondar tried to call the troops to order, but the situation was deteriorating too rapidly to effectively regroup. Most of those who tried to rally to him fell as they crossed the open parts of the valley. The few who remained, he looked at seriously and shook his head. "We deny our King to the Drules, at any cost. Cover the retreat. Diya Kopora!"

The other knights nodded. It could well be their death warrant, but they would do their duty. For Arus.

"For the King!"

* * *

The collapse had been gradual. Parts of the tunnels had been cut off, forcing Miralna to retrace her path, only to find where she'd come from sealed by new debris. With every breath she'd expected the rocks to fall directly on her, and once she'd come across the cold hand of another scout who had met that fate. But giving up was out of the question. Giving up was death. She moved on.

After what felt like hours, she heard the first trickle of water. Rain was making its way into the ruins. And where rain was coming in, there might be a way out… following the sound, she came to a stream, and flashes of light began to penetrate the darkness. Pulling her sword out, she used the hilt to carefully help burrow through the rock, holding her breath with every inch.

Abruptly, she broke into the open air. But for a moment she was certain she'd gotten lost. The valley was empty except for small fires, bodies, and… feathers? What had happened here? What may have been the sound of skirmishes in the distance caught her attention for a moment, but she needed to get her bearings before she could be any use in battle.

Looking around, she hissed softly as she caught sight of Lord Skoren's body. He had fallen where he'd first issued his challenge. The sacred blade was some distance away, half stuck in the dirt; it looked like someone else must have wielded it somewhere in the madness. Miralna gritted her teeth. It was a poor omen, but this battlefield was far beyond omens.

There was noise from her left. Movement. A pair of Drule soldiers appearing from a nearby pass. They were carrying something… she knelt behind a rock, praying to the Golden Gods for their Golden Mark not to give her away. They were looking around themselves quickly, even nervously, but there was an air of triumph around them.

As they came closer, she could see they were carrying a body. An Arusian body, slumped and lifeless, wearing a crown…

…_No_.

She didn't stop to think. She didn't hesitate for a moment. Snarling in rage, she raced from cover, seizing the sacred blade and tearing it free of the earth. "You _dare_, sinycka?!" Despite their alertness, her sheer intensity seemed to startle them, and the body they were carrying slowed their attempt to draw their weapons.

The sword of the gods seemed to blaze with power as it cut through the first Drule soldier; she barely felt a hint of resistance. The second soldier shouted something at her—she didn't speak Drakure, but it sounded like a taunt. Not that it mattered. Drawing the blade free she cut down this enemy just as easily, then caught King Alfor's body as it fell.

Checking his pulse told her what she'd already known. His body was cold and heavy, and the golden marks on his cheeks—the blessing of the Golden Gods upon every Arusian—had gone dull. Shivering, she lowered him to the ground.

_What do we do now?_

If the Drules had seized the body, there could be no knights to speak of left alive. That she was certain of. With no knights and no king, what hope did Arus have? She felt tears forming, and reached up impatiently to brush them away. There wasn't time for tears. But what else was there now?

So far as anyone knew, the Princess and Prince were still alive. She had to get back to them. She had to get the _body_ to them. Whatever would happen next, only the Crown could decide. And they had to know…

With the sword in one hand, the king's body over her other shoulder, she started looking around for any kind of shelter. What she saw instead was more Drules approaching from the pass. The second soldier she'd killed hadn't just been mocking her… he'd been calling for backup.

_Dovoyat pol._

Setting the body back behind the rock she'd used for cover before, she pulled the king's cloak over his head and steeled herself. If she could just hide him, just cause enough of a scene to distract them, just deny the body to the enemy… it would be enough…

A shadow fell over her. And in a soft flurry of wings, a black and gray gryphon landed by her side.

"What…?" She stared at the creature in confusion. Gryphons preferred the remoteness of the mountains for a reason; they _never_ approached people. But it stepped closer to her, sharp eyes fixed on hers, a regal intelligence shining there.

Suddenly there were more of them. The skirmishes she'd heard in the distance… the Drules had been fighting _gryphons?_ It didn't make any sense. And what made even less sense was the great beast before her giving a slight nod, then gripping King Alfor's arm with one powerful talon.

Was she really going to argue with something that could rip her open with a single strike? At least it wasn't a Drule. And there was something… a crackle of lightning running up the back of her neck, the look in the creature's eyes…

"Go on," she whispered, stepping back. "Keep him safe from _them_."

With a fierce cry, the gryphon seized the body and took to the sky. Four others came to flank it, blocking sight of the body from the ground. A few more were keeping the Drules occupied, though they were disengaging… as if they'd done what they came here to do.

They weren't here to save _her_, that was for certain. She had to go. Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from the gryphons until they vanished into the dark clouds above… something fell where they'd vanished. A glinting bit of gold, dropping from the sky and slamming to the ground at the feet of some of the Drules, snapping and twisting on impact.

The crown of Arus was broken.

Staring silently, Miralna looked down at her hand. She could try to deny that to the Drules as well. She could choose her duty to the Crown, and make an ill-fated effort to spare that symbol from humiliation. Or she could choose her duty to the sword… and flee with a symbol of victory, to fight again.

With one last look at the departing gryphons, she turned and ran.


	24. Complicating Factors

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 23_  
Complicating Factors

* * *

Keith had dropped by the sick bay before getting started with his day. Just a quick visit… the only kind the Doc would allow, anyway. Though the Doc wasn't there this morning. Probably off making breakfast. He walked to the back of the sick bay and stood just outside the containment field; on the other side, his second appeared to be asleep. In truth he was a little annoyed with himself. He didn't get the chance to drop by as often as he'd have liked.

Jace had been sending him daily reports, of course, even though there wasn't much to report. The therapy was going precisely as expected. Flynn _was_ getting better; he was annoyed about how long it was taking, but he was damn lucky it wouldn't be longer.

He'd done what needed to be done… exactly what Keith himself would've done in the same situation. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Brave, crazy man…"

"Oh stop that."

He blinked. "You're awake?"

"No." Flynn's voice was muffled by the pillow, but he still managed to put a hell of a lot of snark into a single syllable.

Chuckling, Keith shook his head and played along. "Sleep talking? Since when?"

"Do I not? Wouldn't know." Flynn cracked an eye open. "Something blowing up?"

"No… and no. Just dropping by. I'd ask how you're doing, but I suspect being cooped up in here is even worse than restriction."

"This _is_ restriction. Except with Jace." Pause. "You're right, it's worse."

That sounded about right. "I'm sorry I haven't been in more often."

His second rolled his eyes. "You've got a ship to run, get on with it."

Keith smirked. That answered how he was doing, too. "How can I run a ship without the one who keeps it running? Who probably deserves to be put in for a Crystal Spur of his own?"

"Easily, you…" Flynn's response short-circuited as the rest of the question sank in. "…You _wouldn't."_

Grin. "I've got it all set up. Just have to hit send."

Not a bit of that was true, but the engineer's expression made it completely worth it; he sat bolt upright, eyes narrowed. "Kogane, I know where you sleep!"

"Plenty of time to send it off before you get out of sick bay." Smirk. "And even then I'm sure Doc will tell you not to do anything strenuous, which would include killing your commanding officer."

"Hmm. True." Flynn relaxed slightly, then smirked right back. "I'll tell Pidge to do it."

Keith laughed outright. "Okay, okay. Speaking of, did I tell you about Hayes coming to learn swords and zen with Starr?"

It sounded vaguely familiar. Keeping reality and medication-induced dreams separate was still a bit of a struggle. "Probably not a bad idea. How did it go?"

"Not too bad, but he seemed more tense at the end than the start. Not sure I'm expecting him to try it again, but I told him taking the first step was good for him."

"Here's hoping." Flynn laid back, hands behind his head, grimacing slightly. "He could use any help he can get, never seen anyone so nervous in the military." _Ninjas with emotional support knives aside…_ "How is the bay holding up?"

Keith nodded. "Things seem to be going fairly well… luckily it seems like we've stayed out of trouble."

That got him a glare. "Surely you know better than to say things like that by now."

"…Yeah, I'm sure I'll jinx it. You need anything?"

"Only to get this over with." He rolled his eyes and hissed softly. "You were standing there for what, five minutes? Jace is going to be here to yell at you any second now."

That was the truth. "Alright, I'll let you be. Get some rest, if you can."

"Getting nothing but rest." Rolling over, he grumbled a few things that were almost definitely Latin curses.

Keith smiled faintly. "Language."

Another wave of curses followed him out, in Common this time, and he couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Pidge had commandeered one of the conference rooms as his decryption workshop. They had much better system hookups than the bedrooms or rec rooms, and he needed any little bit of help the _Bolt_ could give him. Datapads—even datapads as heavily modified as his—did not have the processing power to get this done with any kind of efficiency.

The work was fascinating. Pidge had studied data formats from all manner of alien civilizations in the Academy—from the Alliance's integrated Streamline-Zero, to the Drule paramagnetic binary, to one-off systems from independent races. He had never seen anything like the data crystal from Sorthal.

What he was immediately certain of, much like Colonel Hawkins had told them, was that it wasn't native to Sorthal itself… or really anywhere around it. Crystal matrix storage was common to that area of the Rim, and all of it had a certain structural commonality. That commonality was nowhere to be found on the drive Flynn had given him. Though superficially similar, this was something else.

Much of what he'd accomplished so far was confirming what they'd been told at the briefing. There _was_ value in that; it told him he was on the right track. He hadn't yet looked at the report he'd pulled on Gliskor, not wanting it to influence his own decryption, so the briefing information was his only touchpoint.

There were effectively three layers of incidental encryption on the crystal. The first was the crystal itself. Without the correct equipment to read the data, the physical parameters of the crystal had to be rendered into a mathematical format. The initial scan had done most of that work for him; what was technically on the drive was a whole lot of numbers that could be assembled back into a picture of the crystal. He didn't need the picture. He just needed the numbers.

The second was the file format, what Hawkins had called the structural data. It had been immediately clear why intel had believed it to be a graphical format. The bit-equivalent of the system was easy enough to identify, but they formed two radically different byte-equivalents. One provided the raw text that they'd been told about. The other was some sort of plotted point, but on what axis? Therein lay the issue. The intended data reader would have known where to put these points. He didn't.

Third was the language. Translating without context was not wholly unlike a mathematical problem itself… to the extent it was even possible. It certainly wasn't his specialization. But he could find patterns, and if he _could_ solve the structural format—assuming it really was graphical—it could move things along very nicely. He'd made some slow progress with the raw text, but he knew he'd be limited until he could crack the structure.

Conceptually his task was very simple, he thought. _Find the axis, break the system_.

The axis really did not want to be found. Most obviously, he had tried to guess it based on what he believed to be the individual coordinates, which had gone nowhere. The crystal's own lattice was a hexagonal structure, so he'd tried every derivative axis layout he could think of, even though he was sure intel would have already tried that. He'd tried extrapolating from the structure of the text bytes; all he'd gotten was a headache.

It was oddly exhilarating to have a problem complex enough to get a headache from. But he'd also promised not to fail, so a little less exhilaration and a little more progress would've been nice.

_There must be something…_

Intel had cracked at least part of this. They'd seen enough to give themselves context for translating the language. They'd gotten that blurry mess of a picture from somewhere. Or had all of that been in the 'raw text' too? Shaking his head, he thought of the picture again. The five colors that had matched what the others had found in that temple…

_Wait_.

Five.

Pidge stared at the numbers on his datapad, shaking his head slightly. Five was a geometric disaster of a number. He knew of five-axis systems, but they were arbitrary—really six-axis systems that just left one out for reasons of efficiency. He closed his eyes, trying to envision other options. There was no way to achieve five-fold symmetry in three dimensions. There just wasn't.

_Then don't use three dimensions_.

Eyes flashing open, he pulled up a new screen and drew a five-point rotational axis, doing a few equations and plugging the bit-equivalents into place. The numbers lined up; he may have successfully plotted a point. For a moment he was elated… then reality set in, and he grimaced. What was he supposed to do with _this_ thing? Were the graphics two-dimensional? But regular pentagonal tiling wasn't possible either.

At least not on a flat surface…

There were options. It could be a spherical model, it could be hyperbolic, it could be a godsdamned _dodecahedron…_ but where would that get him? He was right back to three-dimensional space, and none of those options could seamlessly fill such space. It would be a nonsensical way to represent visual data.

_What if it isn't even visual?_

He stared at the numbers again, then at the single pentagon he'd plotted, trying to visualize what else could be done with them. Plotting several more, he tried stringing them together; it got him nothing. On a whim, he plotted out the first twelve points on a net, then folded them into a dodecahedron. Connecting all the points to each other gave him a complicated web that looked pretty cool, but didn't tell him anything either. He sighed. There was no shortage of interesting manipulation to be done with this data, if only any of it were _useful_. Scowling, he converted the dodecahedron into a sphere, just to see what it would do.

The web trembled slightly as the model shifted, and Pidge froze.

Vibration.

Sound?

He started typing furiously, building the framework. There were so many variables. Which byte-equivalents went to which face, the frequency of vibration, the speed each dodecahedron was to be read at… this would take a lot of brute forcing, enough that he doubted he had the capability for it even with the _Bolt's_ help. But he could try a tiny bit of code and see what happened. If he was onto something, there should be _some_ clue.

For the next several hours, he sat in the conference room listening to a horrible mess of atonal chords, static, and feedback. Vibrating the super-bytes, as he had mentally labeled them, certainly did create _sound_. The model he'd created was swapping out each variable in turn, playing back the data, then moving on. It didn't know any better, which wasn't really making him feel _that_ much less like pitching it out an airlock. He was talking himself out of that for about the tenth time when something different came through. Something unintelligible, but more organic, somehow…

He sat up straighter, his full focus back on the datapad. The next few iterations became steadily clearer and cleaner, more like an actual recording than the riot of senseless noise he'd heard so far. When it started to degrade again, he stopped the model and went back.

The sound was distinctly alien. It had a light and lyrical cadence. Soft humming and buzzing sounds mixed in with a couple of hard consonants, a sweeping vowel sound… he tried feeding more of the raw data into the model. More sounds, more obvious words. Some he even could have transcribed with some degree of accuracy, but nothing he could…

"…za deça Voltron fæz iīra…"

Pidge's jaw dropped. He played it back. Once, twice… at least a dozen times before he convinced himself it was really what he thought it was.

"Voltron," he echoed in a whisper, staring in disbelief. He'd taken so many leaps of logic to get here it was hard to believe he'd succeeded. But he had broken the system. That single word confirmed it.

…And now he had a drive full of audio information in a language he only knew one word of. Wonderful.

_It's a process_.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his neck; the headache was back with a vengeance. Maybe it was time to go back to the other data for awhile.

* * *

"Murder pepper toast? MURDER PEPPER TOAST? You do this just to annoy the fuck out of me, don't you?"

Sitting serenely on the countertop in the _Bolt's_ galley, there was a typical plastic breadbox. Sitting serenely in the breadbox was a stack of unnaturally bright red toast. And glaring at the breadbox, not the _least_ bit serene, was a medic who was definitely questioning his life trajectory. Again.

Hunk seemed as worried as ever about Jace's annoyance, which was not at all; he gave his most innocent grin. It was kind of serene. "Maybe?"

"Who the fuck do you think is gonna eat _murder pepper toast?"_

The big engineer looked over at the galley table for backup. Lance and Daniel were sitting there—they had really just come in looking for breakfast and run into the latest edition of cooking wars. Lance didn't hesitate for a moment. "I'll try it." He shot Jace a smirk.

"Me too." Daniel was a little less confident. Only a little. He did firmly believe he should try every possible kind of toast at at least once, and murder pepper toast was sure as hell one he'd never tried before.

Jace eyed them, his irritation quickly giving way to a smirk of his own. On one hand, they'd sided with giant donut dude, which he really should've seen coming. On the other hand, now they had to eat murder pepper toast. "If you insist." Opening the breadbox with a flourish, he stacked two plates with toast and set them out on the table. "All yours!"

…_Fuck_. Lance had walked right into that and he knew it. Well, it didn't smell that bad. Shrugging, he took a huge bite.

He'd never regretted anything quite so immediately in his life.

For his part, Daniel was pretty sure that had been a dare, and he'd never backed down from a dare. He wasn't going to start now… with _toast_. He grabbed a piece and bit into it. _Holy mother of…_ he fell into a coughing fit, but wasn't about to give Jace—or Lance, really—the satisfaction of laughing at him. "My grandma's… jjambbong is… way worse," he choked out through his burning throat.

"It's… fucking… great," Lance agreed, coughing just as violently.

"Sorry, what was that, caralho? I couldn't quite make it out."

Shaking his head, Hunk gave Jace a swat before crossing to the fridge and pouring two large glasses of milk. Lance barely even waited for it to be poured before he jumped up, grabbed a glass, and managed to dump way more of it on him than in him. Still, it was enough to at least tone down the coughing; he dropped back into his chair, gasping for breath.

"It _is_ fucking great," he insisted as his mouth cooled down a little. "Totally… worth the kick." _I am gonna die._

Jace abandoned all pretense and burst into laughter. "_That_ was so fucking worth it, anyway."

Even Hunk was chuckling as he poured some more milk. Daniel had managed to down his first glass without incident—his grandma's jjambbong really _was_ a hell of a thing, so he had some practice. He gladly accepted the second as the big man grinned. "I'm so sorry, my dudes. Maybe shoulda started with plain ol' jalapeno toast."

"Fucking maybe?" Lance repeated, downing the second glass of milk with some more success.

"Porra…" Jace was glaring again. If jalapeno toast happened he was going to… well, he really didn't know what he was going to do, but it wouldn't be great. For now, the obviously inedible murder pepper toast was sitting there mocking him. "Know what, I'm gonna salvage this stuff." Taking a moment to consider everything he knew about neutralizing heat, he grabbed a skillet and some honey, commandeered the milk, and got to work.

Hunk eyed him doubtfully. "Dude, what's to salvage?"

"Did you not see those fuckers just trying to eat this shit?!"

Having gulped his third glass of milk down, Daniel was ready to rejoin the discussion. He didn't look any more convinced by what Jace was doing. "I'm all for making toast, but what's wrong with plain old buttered toast? Or peanut butter toast?"

"Variety, little dude! Someone had to invent peanut butter toast too, yeah?" Hunk took a piece of his masterpiece, bit into it, and frowned. "…Okay it _is_ kinda dry, could totally do with some salsa."

Jace called him several impolite things in Portuguese.

"Ugh." Lance looked at his plate. Having recovered from the inferno, his taste buds were belatedly noticing that murder peppers were actually pretty tasty—a kind of earthy base, with sweet and citrusy hints. "If it didn't try to kill you it's really _not_ that bad. Couldn't they separate the taste from the burning?"

"The burning is the _point_ of chili peppers, hot stuff." Jace was hunting for the vanilla. Daniel narrowed his eyes, pretty certain the medic had just called Lance _hot stuff_ and equally certain that wasn't something he needed with his breakfast.

Lance himself just winked. "I knew you noticed."

"It took murder peppers, wouldn't brag about that."

"Not my fault it took drastic measures for you to admit the truth."

"Can we change the subject?" Daniel was seriously considering taking another bite of the hell toast, just to remove himself from this conversation.

Luckily, right about then Hunk looked over Jace's shoulder and frowned. He could see what was going on in that skillet… "Are you making murder pepper French toast?"

"Maybe."

"Dude, Doc, that's brilliant!"

Jace stopped in the middle of flipping the toast over, blinked, and looked between Hunk and the skillet. "…I've made a horrible mistake."

"I'm not eating that stuff," Lance declared.

"I'm not making it anymore, he called it a good idea." The medic unceremoniously dropped the toast back in the skillet and made a face.

Snort. "I think Hunk approval makes it a good idea, dude."

"Sure you do, because you just cooked your last fucking brain cell."

Looking between the two of them, then at the toast that was definitely close to getting scorched, Hunk decided the only option for salvaging this situation was talking it over. "Outta the way then! I've got this." Pushing the medic to the side, he found the cinnamon—no wait, that would probably be a bad idea—and got to work.

Daniel stood up and watched for a minute. "I'll try it," he volunteered; it was, after all, another type of toast. "Can't be that bad." He shot Lance a challenging look.

Their pilot was having none of it. "You're young, your esophagus is probably already healed."

"…Are you admitting you're old?"

Glare. "No, I'm saying you're a _kid_."

"I'm not… why… I'm _not_ a kid!"

"And I'm not _old—_"

Keith had been heading for the gym after leaving the sick bay; he _was_ going to be giving Starr another lesson, with or without Hayes. A combination of raised voices and the smell of burning peppers drew him to the galley first. One look at the scene told him absolutely nothing, except that he would probably regret this… "What in all the Japanese hells is going on in here?"

Everyone except Hunk gave him a very confused look. That was when he realized the hells hadn't been the only thing Japanese there, and tried his question again in English. It was hard to _not_ get flustered around here sometimes.

"—Oh hey, boss," Lance said as if he hadn't even been interrupted.

"Wanna try some murder pepper French toast?" Hunk offered.

Oh. Oh dear. "Murder pepper what?" One of the commander's eyebrows had shot up so high it nearly vanished into his hair.

"French toast! You know, it's toast, but from France."

"Oui, oui," Lance agreed; Jace glared at him.

"Nobody wants to hear about your oui oui."

"Everybody wants it, you mean."

"I don't." Daniel was contemplating the hell toast again.

Keith shook his head in exasperation, then waved Hunk's offer aside. "I'll pass on the toast. You all need to do something productive around here, if you have time to be fighting amongst yourselves about breakfast."

That earned him a mildly offended look from Hunk. "Food _is_ productive, boss."

"Yes, but not everything is about food, Hunk."

"I know that!" Now he was more than mildly offended. "There's kabooms and loud music, too!"

Jace snorted. "Where has _food_ been involved with any of this?"

"Peppers are food, Jace." Lance smirked.

"That's not what your face said."

"Okay, that's enough!" Keith crossed his arms and glared around the galley. "Hunk, what did you and Starr find on Gliskor?"

Blink. "Uh… some kinda retrieval mission? We sent you a memo? We even pulled the Alliance's database info on the planet before we left." He gave his most innocent smile, then added some more milk to the skillet.

Daniel looked at the commander's expression and made a face, muttering to himself… mostly. "The sword up his ass must've gotten extra twisted today."

"He's got Boss Face," Lance agreed equally quietly. "I don't like it."

"He wants us to be productive, maybe I should do some scans?" Jace volunteered. "Medical advice is usually to _not_ have sharp objects up your ass…"

Glare. "I heard that. Since the four of you clearly have nothing better to do, you're going to make the plans for our mission to Selech."

For a moment, except for the sizzling of the skillet, the galley went mercifully silent. It didn't last.

"…Dude, I'm just sitting here!"

"The four _least_ strategically qualified people on the team are gonna do fucking _what_ now?"

"I wouldn't say least qualified." Keith raised an eyebrow. "Two of you managed to find a mob boss back on Dradin."

It was adorable how the boss thought there had been any kind of actual _planning_ involved in that… before anyone could point that out, Hunk broke in. He looked mildly panicked. "Boss, do you remember what happened last time I came up with a plan?"

"I was there," Lance offered, "I can remind you."

Jace passed that opening up in favor of scowling at the commander. "Yeah and they planned the mob boss thing real well, too, that's why Cam came back with a _hole_ in him."

"I was not there for that part."

"I was there for that part," Daniel offered with a shrug. "See? Poor planning skills. Planning is boring anyway, I prefer impulsive decisions."

"I've never even _made_ a plan that wasn't a treatment plan."

"The only thing I've done right in any of these plans is _flirt."_

"And me'n Cam specifically picked a mission that didn't need any flirting, cuz he's super bad at it."

"Yeah, he shouldn't do it unsupervised."

Keith waited for the protests to die down, a slow smirk creeping over his face. Lance recoiled slightly; Keith smirking was fucking terrifying, and definitely not a good sign. Hunk didn't think much of it either. "Uh… boss, you _definitely_ look like you need some toast." He piled the murder pepper French toast on several plates, distributing them to the others before bringing one to Keith and offering it with a hopeful grin.

The commander accepted the plate, still grinning. "I have faith in the four of you to figure this out. Good luck." He turned and walked out of the galley without another word, closing the door behind him.

There was a beep, and a mechanical click, and the light on the hatch's control panel went red.

"…I think we're rubbing off on him a little too much," Jace muttered, staring at the door.

"How did it go from murder pepper sauce to this?"

"Did you guys really just out Cam's flirting secret?" Daniel demanded, ignoring the door and glaring at Lance. He'd _promised_.

Hunk blinked, answering before Lance had the chance to. "Wait, it was a secret? Little dude didn't tell me that, he just said we shouldn't do anything with flirting!"

"And I only mentioned it because Hunk did," Lance added a little defensively.

"Well it _was_ a secret." Daniel glared around the room. "You better all leave him alone about it, I don't wanna hear him complain. He complains enough as it is."

"…I'm not gonna make fun of him."

"Same."

"I've got plenty of other things to insult him about."

"Good…" It was dawning on Daniel that he sounded a lot like an overprotective boyfriend, and that definitely wasn't something he needed in his life. Time to change the subject again. "…He locked that door, didn't he."

Hunk went over and tried it, just to be sure. "He sure did."

"We weren't even being _bad,"_ Lance protested, sighing.

"You were breathing."

"You keep me that way, Doc."

"True." Jace dropped into a chair, sighing too, then frowned. "You were also looking at his ass, which isn't my fault."

"Not my fault you don't appreciate ass."

"I save asses, I don't appreciate them." The medic stared at the plate of toast in front of him, then the curiosity became too much and he took a tiny, cautious bite. "…What the fuck? This is actually good."

Lance blinked, eyeing his own toast doubtfully, then shrugged and took a small bite himself. It _was_ good. "…Huh."

Hunk grinned.

"I was operating at my normal level of bad behavior," Daniel grumbled as he tried his own toast. "Never gotten me locked in a room before."

"Kid, I do _not_ buy that."

"My _normal_ level of awesome hasn't. Now I've had a few extraordinary bouts of genius that got me put on restriction, but…"

That sounded much more reasonable. Lance took another bite of toast, looked at the door, and shook his head. "Okay, so, about this productivity thing."

"Yeah, what's this bounty bullshit about?"

Returning to the table, Hunk pulled out his datapad and opened the file. "We're supposed to go to some planet called Selech and retrieve some info—gotta get a copy to a handler there, then take the original to Onygrine. Which is the planet the boss said the Glis pointed us to. Between that and the mission not takin' assassination, boxes, or flirting, it seemed like a good idea." He shrugged.

"It sounds simple enough." Lance frowned. "We go get it, get it scanned or whatever… what's there to plan?"

Jace snorted. "When has anything we've done ever been that fucking simple?"

"…Point."

"Welp, might as well at least look through the overview, yeah? Get some idea what we're dealin' with?"

"May as well. Then we can get out of here."

Nodding, the big engineer brought up the file and started reading aloud. "Selech. Terrestrial planet. Currently a non-satellite affiliate of the Vex-Cha Confederacy. As of late 2416, the Alliance has…" He paused, blinking. "…issued a Level 3 travel warning for Selech…" Suddenly he was having many _regrets_ about this job. "…due to reports of an ongoing war between local organics and sentient robots." He pushed the datapad aside. "Um."

"Fucking _what_."

"That… doesn't sound simple."

"Doesn't anyone read science fiction?" Lance groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Robots _always_ attack eventually…"

Hunk kept reading. "Selech has historically been an insular planet, with the native Sela requesting all diplomacy be conducted through the Vex-Cha Affiliate Embassy. Information on the planet is therefore scarce. Scouting reports indicate it has fallen into anarchy, and the Vex-Cha have not yet intervened." None of that had made anyone feel any better. "Wellllp."

"Fuck." Lance eyed Hunk's datapad as though this were somehow its fault. "Could we just go back and pick a different bounty? Can that be our plan?"

"That sounds like a good plan," Daniel agreed.

"Can we do that while we're locked in a galley?" Jace asked, looking back at the door.

"We can't do much of anything locked in a galley."

"No, but he told us to make a plan," Daniel pointed out. "Going to get another bounty can be the plan. And if he doesn't say yes, I mean… you're the pilot, just turn the ship around."

"Willing to try it." Lance looked at the door too. "Hunk, you could pick the lock, right?"

Lockpicking was actually not a specialty of Hunk's; his skillset was more about blowing up the whole door. It _was_ part of Daniel's toolkit, and he was about to make the offer when he remembered they were discussing an electronic lock. So he kept his mouth shut as Hunk shook his head. "Not so much, bro."

"Oh well, was a thought."

"Still worth askin' about the plan, though, yeah?" Hunk hit the comms. "Hey boss, can we go back and get a new bounty?"

There was a very long stretch of silence, broken only by the group nibbling their toast and a single crackle of static. That answered that.

Jace sighed. The inevitable conclusion was becoming, well… inevitable. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but are killer robots really all that bad?"

"Every movie I've watched says yes," Daniel answered immediately.

"We did knock off a twenty foot snake monster," the medic pointed out. "Movies usually say those are bad news, too."

_"I_ knocked off a twenty foot snake," Lance corrected, glowering; Hunk nudged him.

"Vince helped."

"I appreciated his assist."

Jace waved all that off. "And the temple of elemental evil or whatever the fuck. And the lizard kangaroo. And the pirates, with or without a fucking carrier. I could keep going."

"Okay, you've got a point." Lance smirked. "We are fucking awesome."

"And we _do_ have a giant EMP cannon on this ship," Hunk said thoughtfully.

The pilot's eyes lit up. "Oooh…"

"Bet the Sela wouldn't mind us rollin' a ship down their main street if it gets the killer robots off their back, yeah?"

Grin. "We might get a parade."

"Would the cannon blast through a building?" The only thing Jace knew about EMP weapons was that they could fuck up a field hospital's equipment real quick-like. "This thing we're picking up is probably in a building, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah, probably." Hunk considered that, then gave him a knowing look. "But if we can get close to it, we've got a grumpy ninja and a grumpy infantry dude who I bet could get us through some urban combat."

Jace blinked. He hadn't seen that coming… but he did appreciate it. "I bet we can."

"Seems workable to me." Lance nodded.

Taking a bite of his toast, Hunk found the map they'd picked up and projected a bit of it over the table. "So we're supposed to meet this handler at a spaceport… here." A bright yellow highlight popped up on the map. "Info's somewhere? Not sure. But those look like highways." Several lines crawling over the map turned green. "And if they're crawlin' with robots or whatever, uh… we've got missiles! Right, little dude?"

Daniel had stopped paying much attention when the conversation turned to actual work; he'd busied himself making his French toast into a smiley face. Upon realizing Hunk was talking to him, he had to stop a moment and think back to figure out what he'd even been asked. "Um… yes we do!"

"I think the pit boss has a scout drone we could use, too." Grin. "We could kit it out with a mini-EMP, improve the camera some… dress it up in a little bow tie…"

"Two out of three isn't bad," Jace muttered.

"Hmm, yeah true, the mini-EMP might fry the drone. Probably ain't hardened against that."

Daniel snerked.

"Alright!" Lance finished his toast and stood. "Who wants to tell the boss we're ready to fuck up some robots?"

"They said no flirting!" Jace snapped.

"Dude, I know it's a foreign concept to _you_, but fucking things up is not flirting."

Hunk snorted, hitting the comms again. "Okay boss, you can stop ignorin' us now. We have a plan to get through the killer robots and we've gotta prep some equipment for it. So uh… can ya let us out?"

Another long stretch of silence. Daniel turned his smiley French toast into a frown.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food?" Jace asked, though without a whole lot of conviction.

"Did anyone ever explain the concept of fun to you?" Lance snorted.

"Yeah," the medic muttered under his breath, "they told me it dishonored the family name…" That wasn't entirely true. Fun had been fine, as long as it had been _approved_ fun. It was just that nothing he'd actually enjoyed had fit the category.

Daniel's toast became even more frowny as he looked between them. "Please don't drag me into your married couple fighting bullshit." Did he and Cam sound like this? Surely not. They did it better.

Both Lance and Jace stared at him in horror; the door clicked in the midst of the silence, but nobody was even paying attention anymore. Lance recovered first, for given values of 'recovered'. "Ew."

Well, if Lance was going to _ew_ about it, Jace was going to roll with it. "Yeah seriously, _Lance_." He reached over and patted Daniel's head. "This shit's always roughest on the kids!"

Hunk just about choked on his toast; Daniel was about to _eww_ himself, but then also decided to run with it. "Does that make you my mom?"

Lance eyed the medic and smirked. "Jace? Yep."

"So you call Lance daddy?" Jace shot right back.

"…Uh, know what, I'm gonna leave now." Hunk put his plate in the sink and headed for the door. "Y'know, before you three get locked in here again. Have fun!" He bolted.

The others barely even noticed him departing, which was quite a feat, given it was Hunk. "Eww."

"I'm gonna toss up the murder pepper toast…"

"I think I already did."

"You started that one," Jace snorted, getting up and loading the dishwasher. "You can't bitch."

Daniel looked affronted. "I can bitch all I want."

"…Yeah, point, nothing usually does stop you."

It was all Lance could do not to bust out laughing. "You would know!"

"Fucking right I would! Takes an expert to know an amateur." Finishing up with the dishes, he tossed them both a casual salute. "Gotta go check on my patient. Later, caralhos." Lance flipped him off as he left.

Sighing—and for a moment contemplating, mostly unironically, the fact that he was surrounded by lunatics—Daniel shook his head and started to eat his French toast masterpiece. He'd had more than enough productivity for one day.

* * *

Walking into the gym and shaking his head slightly, Keith found where Cam had left his things and placed the plate of French toast down next to them. The comms officer was already there, slowly practicing what he'd learned in their last session. His back was to the door—he'd learn better than that quickly—and he hadn't even noticed his commander coming in… Keith watched him for a minute.

"You're letting the end of the sword drop," he finally observed, and Cam startled.

"Sir!" He spun around, lowering the sword and bowing. "Didn't hear you come in…" Pause. He sniffed the air, catching something hot and sweet. "…What is that smell?"

Keith looked back to the plate and chuckled. "Breakfast, I think." He grabbed another wooden sword and moved onto the mat. "Let's get going, shall we?"

Cam grinned. "Yes, sir!"

For the next several minutes, Keith demonstrated some new techniques, watching Cam's attempts to mimic them and occasionally correcting his stance. They were switching from individual practice katas to some simple combat forms when the comms crackled behind them.

"Hey boss, can we go back and get a new bounty?"

They both paused, looking over at the comm panel for a moment, then Keith shrugged and looked away. Cam lowered his training sword, giving him a puzzled look. "Uh, what's wrong with the one we picked?" That did not get him any sort of actual answer, just the commander stepping away to get some water from the gym's cooler. It was only making Cam more and more confused by the second. "Um, sir? Are you going to answer them?"

Keith shook his head. "No."

"…Do I want to know?"

Smirk. "They're doing something… productive."

"Oh." Cam paled slightly. "Oh boy." No, he did _not_ want to know.

They returned to the swords. For the moment, Keith wanted to focus on the rhythm of battle. Moving naturally with the sword was a skill all its own, and slashes and thrusts an opponent unquestionably _could_ block required reading the combat just as much as slipping through their guard. Scoring points could come later. For now…

"Alright. Get some water." He was pleased with Cam's progress, but the young man needed to see what it was like to have a partner, sooner rather than later. "Let's see how well you do one on one."

Cam's eyes widened eagerly. "Really? I mean, yes sir!"

As he went over and got a drink, nearly fumbling the cup in his excitement, Keith stretched and gave his own practice sword a few more test swings. He smiled as the comms officer made it back without actually dousing himself with the water. "Ready, Starr?"

"I think so." He nodded, trying to relax, trying to remember everything he'd been taught at once.

Nodding back, Keith led him through a few easy sparring routines. Cam seemed startled at first by the impact of the wooden swords, the immediacy of a real block running through his hands, but soon enough his excited energy gave way to proper focus and adjustments. He was a pretty quick learner; Keith grinned. Even sticking to the basics, having a sparring partner at all was enjoyable.

All too soon, the comms crackled again. "Okay boss, you can stop ignorin' us now. We have a plan to get through the killer robots and we've gotta prep some equipment for it. So uh… can ya let us out?"

Sighing, Keith lowered his sword. Just as well, because Cam very nearly dropped his. "Alright, Starr, I think that's enough for today. Enjoy breakfast." Bowing, he left to unlock the galley, then headed for the showers.

Cam had managed to bow, but otherwise was still staring at the speaker. "What the hell do they mean killer robots?" he finally murmured to himself.

Not like anyone was left to answer him… shaking his head slightly, he put his sword away and tried the toast.

* * *

Vince swallowed a sigh at finding Sven. Yes, he was looking for him, but a part of him had been hoping it would take longer. But this was important… he knew his sparking issues weren't just going to go away, and part of him was always worried it might get worse. Swords hadn't helped, but that was no excuse to give up entirely. _So onward, _he thought, and stepped into the rec room.

The rec room had become a bit of a reading room for Sven, and he was enjoying the quiet as he read his book. But soon a sigh invaded his peace and quiet. He looked up and spotted Vince, and nodded. "Yes?"

"Uh…"

Vince looked very characteristically nervous; Sven lowered his book and waited patiently.

"I was, um, wondering if you could… well, I'm trying to find some Zen and asked the Commander for help but I kept dropping the swords…" Vince cringed at his babbling.

"Swords are frustrating. Not sure what they have to do with Zen, though." Sven shook his head slightly. He'd suggested some combat training might help the kid, true, but he hadn't exactly meant that swords themselves were supposed to give him peace of mind. On the plus side, he knew exactly where this was going now.

"Well, the Commander stays pretty Zen," Vince explained weakly, "though, you're very unflappable too and well, I need less flap…" He trailed off, wincing again.

Sven couldn't help laughing a bit, though he did feel for Vince, so he pushed it aside and gave the situation some thought. He had told Hunk he could try to help, admittedly. But actually seeing Vince just trying to work up the courage to _ask_ about it made him reconsider that offer. What he could teach might not actually help.

"Well, I've had a lot of training to stay calm, and reading helps as well." He waved his book in the air to demonstrate. "I could train you, if you'd like, but I'm not sure how well it would work… the training I went through to get 'less flap,' as you put it, was _very_ flappy." He hoped he was using the terms correctly.

Vince laughed at Sven using his ridiculous phrasing, which helped him relax a bit. "Really? I mean, I feel like I need to try something else. What is the training you went through?"

"I'm trained in Glima, it's a Viking style of martial arts. It's very intense."

"So, you really are a Viking," Vince laughed. "Does it have swords?"

"It can. You're trained on how to handle multiple types of weapons. I preferred axes and knives to swords, but it's also a weaponless art."

"_Axes…_" Vince scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. "Yeah, I don't think that'd be my preference."

"I didn't think it would…" Frown. "Even non-weaponized training is hard, though. It focuses on grappling, wrestling, throwing, and pain techniques. It teaches you to inflict as much damage as possible and helps improve your own pain management. It's different from normal self-defense martial arts. It's very focused on offense, on taking your opponent down and making sure he doesn't get up. You're trained in very overwhelming situations, so that in real situations you're more likely to remain calm."

As he spoke Sven watched Vince's eyes get larger and larger, and his face became more and more slackjawed. He was losing him more and more with each sentence, though he wasn't surprised in the least. Glima was intense, and it required full commitment and the right temperament for it. Exposure therapy—that was pretty much what it would be for him—just didn't seem like the logical solution for Vince.

There was a long moment of silence once he finished.

"Uh…"

Sven laughed, and Vince felt relief wash through him. _Yeah, no_. It was absurd to think that would help him, _he_ wasn't a Viking, but he hadn't wanted to offend Sven by refusing after seeking him out; the navigator's laughter made him feel much better about it. "Uh, yeah, I'm not seeing myself doing that."

"I didn't think so, though I am honored you asked."

"Heh… I mean it sounds interesting and you're probably pretty badass, so… go you?" Okay, so he still felt a bit awkward. "I'll just have to figure out something else, I guess. I mean, everyone has their own path."

"Languag…" Sven stopped himself, Vince was complimenting him, and he was one of the few on the team who wasn't typically swearing every other word. "Thank you."

Vince chuckled at the aborted lecture. "There really isn't a polite way of saying that though. Badbutt?"

"There is _always_ a polite way to say things. How about hardcore? That's polite, and still gets the point across." Sven stopped and internally sighed. _Stop lecturing him._

Vince nodded, somehow completely unsurprised Sven had found a way to politely say badass so quickly. "Alright, you're hardcore. Anyway, thank you again."

He nodded. "You'll figure it out, Vince. As you say, everyone has their own path. You're not at the end of your life…" Though he might've been if he'd _actually_ tried to learn Glima. "You have plenty of time yet."

"That's true." Managing a smile, he nodded again and turned away. "I'll let you get back to your book." Heading out, he wrinkled his nose in frustration. That had gone well enough, for what it was, but wasn't actually going to make him any less flappy. What was his next option?

* * *

It had been days since Allura had last seen her father. Even that had been only a brief meeting, but she knew what he was heading out for, and all of her prayers since had been for his success. She had plenty to focus on herself: making sure the people in the shelter were fed, seeing to it that other provisions were properly dispersed. Various tasks to keep her busy, preventing her from dwelling too much on worry.

She was quite happy that she had Coran as an advisor; since his arrival, he'd been by her side to help with any task that arose, and it was all the more important as she tried to keep her thoughts from wandering elsewhere. She was impressed with how familiar he was with everyone in a leadership position, and when new people volunteered for new duties he was a great judge of ability and character. Though she couldn't confide in him about the Lions themselves… at times she wondered what else Coran might not know about. It reminded her of how much more she needed to know herself. But for now, her lessons would continue to come from hands-on experience, and from the people she watched over until her father returned.

Presently, she was in the main cavern, sorting through resources that had been acquired from a recent scouting trip. Blankets, clothing, and medicines had been found this time—an unusually fruitful mission, and she hoped a good omen. As tempting as it was to take a pair of pants for herself, her jumpsuit still had life in it, so she was folding them for the other survivors. She preferred the main cavern, among her people, but as the occupation went on… even in the main cavern, a strange quiet seemed to hover over the people as they huddled together. It was difficult to get used to. But still, she needed to be visible to the people…

A wave of sudden gasps and sobs drew her eyes from her work. To those around her, it seemed a ball of lightning had flared to life in the cavern; as panic faded, whispers began. It _must_ be a sign of something. Yet Allura could see what it truly was, and the sign was nothing good… her voice caught in mid-breath as she tried to find words.

Her father's spirit had coalesced from the light. He floated close to her, taking her cheeks in ghostly hands that only she could see.

"I'm so sorry, my child… I have failed you and our people." He spoke quietly, a faint ethereal echo in his voice. "I became pinned down in the Valley of Zohar. I thought… I should have known they might trap us there."

"Father…"

"Shhhh… what's done is done." His tone was gentle. "You must be strong, Allura. Much hardship is before you, but fear not… I believe in your strength. You still have a chance… I have seen it."

"Saw what, father? How can there be a chance?" She spoke barely above a whimper, fighting for the strength he spoke of, but momentarily seized by shock.

"Hope," he whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. "I saw hope. What sleeps will awaken, and with this hope will come freedom for so many."

"What… sleeps…?" Stuttering a little, she looked in her father's eyes. _Does he mean…?_

Nodding as if he heard her thoughts, her father smiled sadly. "Yes. Not as soon as we might wish, but it is beginning. Oh, my dear Allura, how I wish I had more time to prepare you for what is coming. But you have enough for now… perhaps as much as can be given. Be strong, and have faith. And know that I have not been taken up as a trophy." Leaning in closer still, he whispered so softly she felt more than heard the words. "My body is safe by the Black Lion's feet." Straightening up, he started to drift back from her, the light reappearing as if to welcome him. "This is all I can say now… perhaps there can be more later."

"Father! Please don't leave me!" she cried as his form started to fade.

He just smiled, a sad look in his eyes. Soon he was gone from sight, and the soft glow that had lit the chamber left them in darkness.

Larmina had been spending as much time as possible out hunting; she'd arrived with a bounty of fruits and rolis just in time to see King Alfor's ghost beginning to retreat. As he vanished, she shook her head slightly… it wouldn't be _proper_ to rush in, but royal manners be cursed. Allura was in need of support. Larmina knew that look in her eyes. Setting her things aside, she ran to her aunt, wrapping her arms about her shoulders.

Allura leaned into Larmina, staring at the empty space where her father had been. Coran had rushed forward; he was briefly tempted to say something about the lapse in manners, but the vacant look in the princess' eyes spoke of the degree of shock she was in. Instead, he moved to her other side and helped Larmina guide her to a more private area. As they left, he called for others to finish what the princess was working on; a few stunned civilians moved in to do so.

Inquiries were made by several councilors as they were moving. Coran answered only that the Princess must have received a message, and it was a grim one. He had seen something like this long ago; in time he had no doubt all would know what the message was. The answer wasn't much, but it would suffice for the moment.

Once they arrived in royal chambers and helped Allura lay in her bed, Larmina turned to Coran. "Is it really true you've seen that before?" she asked softly; she was going to be both relieved and annoyed if it turned out seeing ghosts was something _he_ considered normal too.

But that wasn't what he'd seen. "Yes. In my youth, I was present with King Alfor when a similar light to that ball of lightning appeared before him. Later, we learned his grandfather had passed away." He gave a grim sigh, looking away. "I fear what news this one brought with it." From Allura's words, he had a sinking suspicion.

Larmina just nodded. No one else had seen what she and Allura had… it didn't feel like her place to confirm it, so she didn't.

Looking at her aunt, she could see her struggling with the truth of what the spirit's appearance had meant. No words could ease that harsh reality. She knew. Instead, she opted for the quiet comfort that a hug could offer. Soon came the tears and pain; all that accompanied the loss of a much loved father. Silently, Larmina held on until Allura was able to collect herself, hearing her own mother's words ringing again in her mind.

_Survive. Fight_.

It could wait a little while.


	25. Bugs in the System

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
Chapter 24  
Bugs in the System

* * *

Much like the Drules, all the Vex-Cha were born of a common ancestor. Very much _unlike_ the Drules, their civilizations had first evolved separately. All Vex-Cha races could trace their roots to a single primitive insectoid species, wiped out by a supernova millions of years ago, seeding dozens of worlds in their region of space with genetic material. There was an instinctive kinship between these "Children of Stardust," and only they were allowed to be full members of the Vex-Cha Confederacy. They did, however, welcome other worlds as satellites and affiliates.

Selech was one of those affiliates. It looked innocent enough from low orbit… it wasn't a large planet, though it wasn't tiny either. There was some cloud cover, some blue, some green, a lot of gray. If anything it seemed fairly boring. Just one of the dozens of life-hosting planets on the Spur.

If there was one thing the team was positive this place wouldn't be, it was _boring_.

They had a frequency and a passcode to contact the handler on-planet. They also had spaceport coordinates, though they were supposed to contact the handler rather than the port for landing instructions. Probably had something to do with killer robots. At least it gave them a spot to aim for… as soon as the _Bolt_ entered the atmosphere, Cam glanced over at the command chair. Time to get this thing started. "How should we introduce ourselves, sir?"

"Just leave it as… incoming bounty hunters?" Keith shrugged. Did bounty hunters usually have team names?

"We should be Deadpool Bounty Hunters XXX," Lance suggested with a smirk.

"No." Sven shook his head. "No, we shouldn't."

Cam looked between them and smirked too. "How about Bounty Team Kogane?" Keith shot him an icy glare, and he spun right back around to face his console.

"Am I going to have to come up there and do something I'm not medically cleared for?" Flynn asked; he was finally out of the sick bay, though he was mostly limited to sitting in the engine bay instead.

Keith turned his glare from Cam to the comms. "Go back to sleep, Kleid."

"He's glaring, in case you can't feel it, Flynn," Lance announced helpfully. "I'm sure you can."

"Not only can I feel it, I can _hear_ it."

"It's a doozy." The pilot snickered. "Anyway, if you want to be dull about it, just plain bounty hunters does work."

Giggling—then coughing quickly to cover it—Cam typed in a message and sent it away. "Bounty hunters it is." Within a matter of maybe two minutes, an acknowledgment came through with a new frequency. "We have a landing beacon." He sent it to Lance, who plotted it in and nodded as a signal came up.

"That was easy… this is gonna be a piece of pie."

Keith blinked. "I thought the phrase was piece of cake?"

"I like variety."

"In Lance's defense, pie is much better than cake," Sven commented as he watched the monitors. Daniel made a face, but opted not to tell him how dead wrong he was. For the moment.

"It's 'easy as pie', which is fucking stupid," Jace broke in. "Nobody who's used that term has ever made a pie."

Well, this was already going… about like things usually went. Keith rolled his eyes. "Well if we don't get moving, you all will end up in hot water and not eating pie _or_ cake. McClain, how close are we?"

"Almost there." He'd lined them up with the beacon easily, and was now tapping in a few occasional adjustments while thinking about pie. The spaceport was coming into view as they broke through some cloud cover; it was right on the edge of either sunrise or sunset, on a plateau surrounded by forests. The beacon was bringing them to a stretch of concrete that did not look like an actual runway at all, which was unusual—most spaceports were built to accommodate both horizontal and vertical landing configurations—though not unheard of, especially for smaller facilities. This one looked more like a supply post than anything commercial.

It was also visibly deserted as they came down. Several landing pads were cracked, cluttered, and otherwise in general disrepair; it looked like they were coming in to the only spot that was still being maintained. Didn't seem like the best omen.

Nonetheless, Lance brought the _Bolt_ down with a gentle bump and handled the short landing with his usual ease. "Okay, let's move it." Smirking, he jumped up and headed for the airlock before anyone else was even out of their restraints.

Pidge and Vince were there already. Pidge had Flynn's modified scout drone tucked under his arm; it was now sporting an improved visual scanning suite, a focused-beam EMP, and—at Hunk's strenuous insistence—a bright orange bow tie. Oddly, the way he'd strapped it to the center of the main rotor had actually improved the drone's stability slightly. Vince had his eyes locked on the bow tie as they waited, doing his best not to fidget.

Soon enough the whole team had gathered—except for Hunk, who would be no help for either handler diplomacy or anti-robot stealth, and Flynn, who wasn't allowed off the ship. They'd brought their weapons along, just in case. Jace was the last one into the airlock, and he frowned as he checked the panel. "Better actually engage the thing, there's some weird chemical traces out there. Nothing toxic, but fair bet it'll reek."

Keith nodded, pressing the button to begin the cycle sequence. "You know best, Doc."

"Reek?" Vince repeated, wrinkling his nose in advance.

"As long as it doesn't smell like vomit, I'll be okay." Cam sounded optimistic, but Sven and Daniel both edged away from him; the gunner glowered.

"If you throw up it better be away from me."

Jace rolled his eyes. He regretted saying anything. "I've got masks if it's too bad. Think the panel would be yelling, though. Let's get this shitshow on the road." As he spoke the airlock's pressurization cycle finished, and the outer hatch opened. A metallic tang drifted in, and the scent of sterile chemicals, though it really wasn't too bad… and it was about to be the _least_ of their worries.

Something small and silvery was waiting at the bottom of the boarding ramp. As they stepped out of the airlock it scurried a little ways up towards them, speaking in the precise, stilted Common of a creature that had learned, but never actually heard, the language before. "Greetings, brave hunters, and may the Makers smile upon you. Welcome to Selech. Come, we have much to discuss."

Nobody was paying that much attention to how their handler spoke, or even what it was saying. They were too busy panicking. Just a little.

"Whoa!"

"Eeeek!"

"Que porra?"

"Uwaaahhh!"

The creature that had come to greet them was, well… nightmarish. Its face was vaguely puppy-like, with a broad muzzle and large, wide eyes. The torso was short, stout, and featureless until splitting into its legs. All _eight_ of them. Each ended in a hand-like appendage, giving the strong impression it could use any of its legs as arms whenever needed. The hands didn't help its skittering gait at all.

It would've been disturbing enough on its own merits. But it also happened to be studded with blinking lights and visible wires…

"You're a robot," Lance finally managed to blurt out.

A few of the thing's lights blinked in what was probably an affirmative. "I am Unit," here it gave an utterly incomprehensible series of beeps and whirrs, "of the Sela. You are Earthlings? And something else?"

"…Shinori," Pidge muttered on sheer reflex, finally tearing his eyes away from the robot to glare at whoever had come up with this 'plan'.

"It's creepy," Daniel declared.

"It's a fucking _robot_." Lance was still trying to grasp the situation.

"Do we shoot it?"

The robot gave a questioning series of beeps. "It would be inadvisable. My circuits are delicate, my use to you would be jeopardized."

"No, we don't!" Keith glared at Daniel—and Lance, but mostly Daniel—and stepped forward, bowing. "I'm sorry. You're… not what we were expecting. Are you the handler for the Vex-Cha bounty?"

"I am." The same pattern of lights as before blinked. Definitely an affirmative. "You are the hunters who contacted me, are you not?"

"Yes." Keith nodded, trying to keep himself on an even keel. _No plan survives contact with the 686_. "It seems we had incomplete information about this mission."

Lance sighed. "I mean, robots _are_ usually the bad guys…" Daniel nodded a bit too emphatically, prompting Cam to drop a hand on his shoulder and pull him back slightly. Which wasn't necessary, he wasn't really going to shoot the thing. He just still _wanted_ to.

"Don't even think about it. Let the Commander see if he can salvage this."

"Yeah, yeah…"

The robot couldn't have missed their continuing skepticism, but seemed surprisingly okay with it. "Information rarely leaves here. The Selsandin have been steadily eroding our interstellar communications." It raised one of its leg-hand-things and waved them down the ramp. Keith followed, with Sven trailing behind him. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed as well. Apparently this was what they had now.

"Totally expected to have offended it," Lance muttered to Daniel, shrugging.

"We are not programmed to take offense," it said matter-of-factly; obviously they _were_ programmed with pretty good hearing.

"Oh, okay." He supposed that was a good thing. "What was your name again?"

"I am Unit," it gave the same beeps and whirrs as before.

That wasn't going to work. "So uh… beeps?"

It considered that briefly, then the yes-lights blinked. "If you prefer to call me Beeps I will answer to it. What are your unit names?"

Lance grinned, then remembered he was grinning at a robot. A still mildly _terrifying_ robot, if not in the ways they'd expected. "Uh, I'm Lance." A quick round of introductions followed, landing back on him, and he eyed Beeps carefully. "So uh, if you haven't gone evil what has?" Sven elbowed him.

To both of their surprise, it turned out to be the correct question. "The Selsandin. Native creatures. They are… or were quite intelligent, though lacking sapience. We had been training them as our helpers until the outbreak."

"Outbreak…"

"That doesn't sound good."

Beeps swiveled its head to look over them, then skittered over to a small structure that looked like a supply shed. It returned with a set of metal planks several times its own size, which it unfolded into something like a set of bleachers. A second trip rendered a pile of soft cushions, which it set by the bleachers and indicated for them to utilize.

"Fucking cushions?" Lance blinked. Did robots need cushions? "Fancy."

The team stared for a moment, but finally Jace opted to take one—screw it, they were off the rails here anyway. When the cushion didn't explode on him, the others slowly took seats as well. Keith pulled out his datapad and sent a message back to the engine bay; he couldn't help a creeping suspicion that they might need Hunk out here after all.

"We create such comforts for the Makers," Beeps explained, "though the Makers have not yet arrived." It sat in front of the bleachers, tucking six of its appendages beneath its body while leaving two free. "But we are certain they would approve, since you have come to aid us."

Hunk had come charging out of the _Bolt_ as fast as he could, and upon reaching the ramp skidded to a sharp enough halt that he nearly fell down it. Again. Staring at the obvious robot for a moment, he sat right on the ramp, shaking his head slightly. _This oughta be good._

Leaning forward, Keith gathered his thoughts. "So, what kind of outbreak do you mean?"

"The Selsandin were vulnerable to a disease that caused them to painfully waste away." Beeps gave a short whirr. "Our researchers were seeking a cure, but instead a mutation arose that caused hunger and violence. It has swept through the population with remarkable speed."

Keith raised an eyebrow, looking at Jace. He wasn't the only one doing so. The medic tilted his head, ignoring the questioning looks. "Alien rabies?"

Beeps beeped. "That term is not in my database."

"…It's alien rabies."

"Really?" Lance snorted. "That's all you got, alien rabies?"

"What the fuck do you want me to say? We're two sentences into whatever the fuck's going on here, _yes!_ It's alien rabies!"

"What do they hunger for?" Daniel asked quietly, though nobody was really listening; Keith asked a somewhat more urgent question at the same time.

"Any risk of us contracting it?"

"Yeah, _that!"_

"Was wondering…"

"It does seem like an important question."

Jace had no way whatsoever to answer that based on the two sentences they had, so he looked at the robot. It beeped again, a few different lights blinking. "No. It is a genetically narrow virus. That is why we required the aid of bounty hunters. The Vex-Cha wish to assist us, but the Selsandin are their genetic brethren." Even Beeps' muted tone became worried. "They cannot intervene directly without being at risk, and were they to carry it back to their civilization…"

Several members of the team flinched. No, space rabies getting loose among an interstellar civilization would _not_ be a good thing. "Aren't the Vex-Cha insects?" Vince murmured almost to himself; he'd read about the shared genetic heritage of the Vex-Cha races, but never stopped to consider the fact that there must be some "Children of Stardust" out there that _hadn't_ evolved into full-on spacefaring civilizations. It made sense, but it was a little weird to think about.

Making sense at all was good enough for Keith; he nodded. "So what do we need to do?"

"The laboratory where the outbreak began was lost immediately. All the data on what our scientists were doing should remain there. Without that data, we can hope to find no cure… you must retrieve it."

Taking everything in, Lance could only seem to hold one consistent thought. _Fuuuuck_. Based on their expressions, some of the others held similar opinions.

"I still wanna know what they're hungry for," Daniel muttered.

This time the robot heard him, and offered a markedly unencouraging response. "Anything they can reach, young Earthling. The hives began warring with each other when the easier food sources were depleted."

_Hives?_ Vince gulped. "Yep… insects."

Cam nudged Daniel, grinning slightly. "Willing to bet you're safe from them. Not enough meat on your bones."

Glare. "According to Beeps I don't think that matters!"

"Uh, it ain't that we aren't willing…" Hunk approached from the boarding ramp, dropping onto a cushion and frowning. "But couldn't you do this better than us? I mean, you're _robots_, yeah?"

What seemed like Beeps' negative pattern of lights flashed. "We are programmed to serve and to build. Not to harm, or to kill—never to kill—except to harvest the livestock and food crops of the Makers." It whirred slowly. "That is one of the reasons we trained the Selsandin to begin with, to help us subdue beasts that could not be cowed without violence."

Jace blinked. "Porra… they _did_ have their robot sidekicks go bad on them, it's just their robots weren't robots." Next to him, Sven shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide whether diseased insects were worse than boar-tahs. He supposed it would depend on exactly what the insects were like…

"Huh. Good thing we brought guns." Lance was not all that worried about what the insects were like, unless they were immune to bullets. "How have you been handling them without violence?"

With the two appendages it wasn't sitting on, Beeps indicated several large pylons surrounding their landing zone. At first they'd looked like some kind of landing assistance equipment. "We have reversed some sonic beacons, to cause them to flee. But their effectiveness is poor, and as you can see they are not moved easily." Vince eyed the beacons with interest, though he didn't have the chance to ask about them.

"Guns will probably work better." Keith frowned. "If the Sela won't object to us killing them…"

"Kill as you must, Earthlings." Beeps whirred sadly. "The Selsandin are slaughtering each other, as well as many Sela. We cannot save any of them without the data you will retrieve."

Keith himself didn't really like the idea of having to slaughter their way through these things, but he nodded slowly. If it couldn't be helped… they would just have to do their best.

"Okay, but these Selsandy things…" Jace was eyeing his service rifle doubtfully. "They kill _robots?"_

The Sela gave an affirmative beep. "Their pincers sever our wires easily."

That was not something Cam had wanted to hear; he paled. "If they can sever wires, what can they do to us?"

"Sever some arteries, probably." Jace sighed. "Guess I'm still going."

"I've got rockets!" Hunk volunteered cheerfully. Suddenly this sounded like a job for explosives after all.

Lance grinned. The original plan may have been totally shot, but they may just be able to shoot their way through the new one. "They need exterminators, let's do it. Just how big are these things?" Beeps rose up and reared back on its hind legs, waving its forelegs at a height of about five feet; he immediately regretted asking. _"Fuck."_

"Oh no."

"…I better bring some extra rockets."

"Crap." Vince's eyes went wide. Then he paused. If they were shooting their way through this now… "…I'm so glad I have no marksmanship skills." Maybe he could stay here and play with the cool-looking sonic beacons instead.

"As am I." Sven had already resolved that he would _not_ be going out there. Diseased giant bugs were definitely worse than boar-tahs, and probably didn't even have spines to sever. He wouldn't be much help.

Pidge wasn't much good with firearms either, and he doubted his needler pistol would do much damage anyway. But he'd taken responsibility for the drone, and he _did_ still have his chameleon suit. "We can still use this to scout, even without the EMP being useful."

"That's likely the best option," Keith agreed.

Not everyone was nearly so optimistic. Daniel shook his head. "One of us is gonna get eaten."

"Don't worry, kid. They'll go for Hunk first."

"Dude!" The big engineer gave Lance a wounded look. "Uncool!"

"You have rockets! You'll be fine."

Beeps had dropped back to its normal octopedal stance and was looking them over again. "You do not look like easy prey."

"Fucking right we aren't, Beeps." Lance checked his sniper rifle; he was regaining his bravado. "_They'll_ be the easy targets."

With a few more flickers of light, the robot returned to the supply shed. This time it returned with something that looked even sillier than the bleachers had: a pair of two-wheeled scooter-cycle… things. "We have no weapons, but you are welcome to these if they will be any help to you." It set them down and whirred. "Our travel attachments, based on the vehicles of the Makers. You should be compatible enough with them."

Vince looked over the vehicles. Well, 'vehicles' might have been too strong a word… "Are those mopeds?"

That got him a confused whirr. "That word is not in my database either."

"They're mopeds," Jace confirmed flatly, and Vince couldn't help but giggle. This whole situation was just bizarre. His life was _bizarre_.

"I call a moped!" Lance walked up to one of them and studied it; it at least looked fast.

Daniel raised a hand. "I want one too." He would feel safer on something with a motor, even though it was probably an illusion.

Nobody else objected, so Keith nodded to the two of them. The mopeds didn't inspire a lot of confidence, but they were better than nothing. And speaking of… he looked over at the pylons again. "So what _exactly_ do those do?"

"They emit a sonic wave that briefly stuns the Selsandin. About half of the time they flee once they recover." Beeps gave a small beep. "The other half, they become enraged."

"Doesn't sound very helpful." Vince approached the nearest pylon and poked it. Part of him was wishing a bug would show up, just so he could see what the emitter was like in action. The rest of him kind of hated that part of him for even _thinking_ that.

"They are not," the robot agreed, "but they are what we have. We were never designed for such things."

_Hmm_. He circled the pylon and frowned. "It's sonic?"

"Yes. An adaptation of the training frequencies we used for them. But we have not been able to do extensive testing."

"Sounds like the frequency needs modulation. Probably would just take some rewiring."

Keith was watching the discussion with his arms crossed. One thing the pylons clearly were _not_ going to be was portable; figuring them out might be a useful secondary objective. But it wouldn't help them complete the bounty they'd come for. "Alright, focus. We still need to go and get that information, the sooner the better."

"We can do that," Jace said, frowning, "and Team No-Guns over here can help Beepy fix its beacons?"

"We can be Team Go-Guns!" Hunk grinned, then quickly sobered. "…I'm gonna go grab the rockets." He headed back into the _Bolt_.

Cam eyed the pylons as well. He wasn't a _bad_ shot, but he might be more useful somewhere closer to his actual specialization. "I should be able to help with the frequencies."

Nodding wordlessly, Sven stepped a little closer to Vince and Cam. He'd never been happier to be on Team No-Guns.

"Seems like a solid plan." Lance swung a leg over and got himself situated on one of the mopeds. "As our plans go."

Wasn't that the truth. "Okay." Keith shook his head. "If anyone else needs to change up some gear to deal with bugs instead of killer robots, go get it, and let's get moving."

* * *

Team Go-Guns had departed with much fanfare… mostly meaning Hunk blasting a heavy metal rendition of Flight of the Bumblebee until Keith made him turn it off. As they headed off into the morning sun, the other three watched until they were out of sight—it didn't take long—then turned their attention to the pylons. Time to get to work. Two of them were ready to get to work, at least. This wasn't really Sven's thing either, but he supposed having someone to monitor the area was useful.

Beeps beeped cheerfully, skittering around them. "We are thankful for your help. The Makers, for all their infinite wisdom, never anticipated this. We were unprepared."

Vince couldn't help a wry grin. "Our lives are like that too, Beeps." He watched Cam pick out a pylon and start looking over the configuration. "Should I call Flynn?"

"Do we really need him?" Cam asked, finding a couple of wires to hook his datapad into the system. "I mean, it's just making some adjustments, isn't it?"

True, if they believed it would really be that easy. Even if it was… "But he's kind of my boss."

"Oh _thanks_, Starr." Flynn had in fact gotten tired of sitting blind in the engine bay—especially when Hunk had turned up yelling something about extra rockets—and made his way out to the airlock on his own. "Do we really need him, _honestly…"_

Cam froze, slowly turning to the ship. "Um… hi, sir…" Not even Sven could quite suppress a small snicker. Leaning over towards Vince, the comms officer hissed, "Since when is he allowed off the ship?"

Shrug. "He's not a prisoner, Cam."

"I know, but he was sick…"

"He got better?"

"I'm _not_ allowed to leave the ship." Flynn sat on the ramp and drew his knees to his chest. "I haven't left the ship."

Cam sighed. "Karma hates me." Mercifully his datapad chimed right then, announcing it had found the information he wanted. It took him a minute to interpret the Sela representation of frequencies, a series of overlapping waveforms, but it was really fairly intuitive.

Looking over his shoulder, Vince took a moment to sort out the signature as well, then looked back over at Beeps. "So what do you _want_ this frequency to do?" Not enraging the bugs seemed like a safe bet, but beyond that there were options.

The robot looked up at the pylon, considering that. "We use the emitters to protect our enclaves. Driving the Selsandin away would be best."

"Probably something infrasonic, then." Cam looked at his datapad. "Makes sense. This must be right on the edge for them."

"Would explain a lot," Vince agreed. If some of the bugs could hear the frequency and others could only feel it, it would explain the range of reactions. "So we need to figure out which way makes them flee and doesn't enrage them…" Something was tugging at his mind as he spoke, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

A few of Beeps' lights blinked. "Logically it does not matter if it angers them, so long as it also keeps them away."

Logically, that _was_ true, but it also got Vince to what he'd been trying to think of. Angering the Selsandin might not matter in the short term. But in the long term… "Uh, Beeps, you want to cure them, right?"

It blinked its yes-lights. "We hope to. The Selsandin were our loyal companions for many cycles. We owe them equal loyalty."

That was strangely touching, even coming from a spider-puppy-robot named Beeps. Vince could already hear Hunk's _awwww_. "Well, if you're going to administer a cure you'll have to catch them, right? How are you planning to do that?"

The robot hesitated, peering at him with its unblinking eyes. "I am unaware of a plan as of yet." It whirred and flashed a few lights. "There is no consensus on our Central Mainframe."

"You don't have a plan?" Cam frowned, looking over at Vince. "Kinda sounds like us sometimes…"

"No one should be us." Sven and Flynn both snickered at that. "Which is why I think we can offer a plan, kind of. Maybe we could use the beacons to knock them out? Then you'll be able to help them."

Beeps beeped. "It sounds viable."

Sonic engineering was not Vince's specialty, but it wasn't _that_ far removed from it. He knew frequencies. And their comms officer should know sound equipment. Between the two of them it couldn't be that hard… hopefully. "What do you think, Cam?"

He frowned. "Well, infrasonic would work to drive them away. It's more… annoying, so to speak." Explaining acoustic theory in any depth did not seem like the best use of their time. "If we want to straight up knock them out, might need something ultrasonic instead."

"Or you could pair the frequencies," Flynn suggested. Having watched the situation for a few minutes he had a _lot_ of questions, most of them pertaining to Beeps, but figured he had enough grasp of what was going on for now. No doubt Lance would explain the rest later.

Pairing the frequencies sounded like… well… an idea. Cam poked at his datapad. "Are we talking what, music theory here?"

There were few things Flynn felt less qualified to discuss than music theory. "I was thinking more of a failsafe mode."

"I'm no engineer, sir. Could you try to explain that?"

Shrug. "There's variance between individuals, like you were saying with the current frequency being on the edge. And there's always the possibility of system malfunctions. If you send out two frequencies—one to knock them out, one to cause them to flee—you at least have double the chances of not letting anything through."

"Okay, that makes sense." Cam was still frowning. "We just have to figure out which one can repel them, and which one will knock them out."

"I think the repelling frequency just needs fine tuned." Vince was studying the waveforms too now. "But we'll have to figure out the knockout one."

"Right. I still think ultrasonic. But that'll require more power… and could disrupt the robots."

Oh. He certainly hadn't thought of _that_. "No, we don't want to disrupt Beeps and its gang." He assumed Beeps had a gang somewhere. It did keep saying 'we'.

Cam nodded. "Beeps, do you have like… a sleep mode? Or some kind of safe place that could protect you from the beacons?"

"Our safe frequency range is very high," Beeps assured him. "It is one reason we used sonic methods with the Selsandin to begin with. The Makers used high frequency sounds for many things."

"Oh!" That simplified things. "Okay then."

"Whew, that's great." Vince had opened up one of the generator boxes attached to the pylon and was examining the wiring. "This looks like it should be simple enough to change the frequency. It'll just take some time."

As the kids got to work on the beacons, Sven stepped closer to Beeps. "So who are these Makers?" Part of the question was genuine interest; part of it was wondering how the Sela had ended up as Vex-Cha affiliates. And part of it was sheer curiosity as to what kind of twisted alien mind had created these things.

The robot beeped and blinked, seemingly delighted by the question. "Ancient and wise beings, born on a far-distant star, renowned as peacekeepers and diplomats. They tasked us with finding worlds suitable for life, and preparing those worlds for them to inhabit."

Sven tilted his head. He could think of a few races that description might apply to, but none that he'd ever heard sent robot emissaries around to prepare colonies for them. "They sound like a wonderful people. Does their race have a name?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was the tiniest of hopes the answer might be Altean, but it was very tiny indeed.

"They are known as Takskarin." Well, good thing he hadn't gotten his hopes up. "Our name, Sela, means 'helpers' in their tongue." Beeps skittered closer, several of its lights blinking, and something began to glow brightly in its chest. A moment later, a holographic image appeared: a sort of canine-centaur creature in silver plate.

Blinking, Sven looked between the image of the Takskarin and the Sela in front of him. He could, with only a little imagination, see the resemblance… though of course the Makers looked much more formidable.

Glancing over, Vince personally thought they looked _terrifying_, but nobody had asked him.

"Do you know when they are to arrive?" Sven had never heard of such creatures, but was certainly interested. It felt like if they were anything the Alliance had encountered, they would at least have _heard_ of them.

Beeps gave a low whirr and blinked its no-lights. "We do not know. It has been… many orbits now since we departed. At the dawn of each new orbit we send them a communication, and prepare the celebration for their arrival." Its tone brightened. "In time they will arrive! But we must have this world suitable again."

…Oh. Oh dear. Wondering just how long an orbit was, and definitely _not_ about to ask that out loud, the navigator nodded his understanding. "Well, I hope we'll be able to assist you with that. You've been working with the Vex-Cha until they arrive?"

It blinked an affirmative. "They are very interested in the Selsandin, and we have regular harvests to export since the Makers have not yet come. The arrangement is helpful."

Speaking of being helpful, Vince and Cam had nearly finished rewiring the emitter, complete with a variable-frequency setting so they wouldn't have to keep cracking it open. It was good work, Vince thought. There was just one small problem. "We're still going to have to figure out the knockout frequency."

Cam nodded slowly. "And to do that, we'll need… lab, uh, bugs."

"Yeah…" The engineer sighed. "I wasn't looking forward to bringing up that part. Hey Sven?"

"Yes?" He turned, Beeps giving a curious whirr next to him.

"You might wanna get a weapon, cause we're gonna need the… uh, the bugs. Beeps, is there a way to get their attention?"

"…Delightful." Sven headed up the ramp to get his axe. Flynn followed him in, going after his rifle; maybe _he_ couldn't leave the ship, but his ammunition was under no such restrictions.

Beeps circled the modified pylon, several lights flashing. "The original training frequencies will attract the Selsandin. I have some of the old devices." It scurried back into the supply shed again, returning with another generator box. "I can perform the installation, if that is what you require."

"Yeah, if you don't mind doing that while we're finishing this up?"

Blinking its yes-lights, the little robot went over to the next closest pylon… and uprooted the very large metal pole without the slightest apparent effort. Vince and Cam both stared, wide-eyed, as Beeps started hooking up the new box, then looked at each other and shrugged.

"Robots…"

"True that."

They got back to work.

* * *

With Hunk having been forced to turn his music off, the walk to the Sela city—Beeps had called it Zykstre—was quiet and creepy. The wooded area surrounding the spaceport plateau was dead silent. Not a bird, not a rustle of leaves, not even a single insect buzzing about…

All things considered, the lack of insects was probably a good thing.

Every so often Lance or Daniel would rev their mopeds a little, just to break the silence. The only other sound was the team's footsteps, and the slight scraping of the cargo sled Hunk was dragging along behind him. Not even he was going to lug a rocket launcher and a dozen extra rockets without some help.

The road they were following was wide and still mostly smooth, cut straight through the forest with the canopies of trees hanging overhead. In some areas, the trees lining the road seemed to be much more uniformly arranged, and the undergrowth seemed similarly regimented. The inescapable conclusion was that the Sela, programmed as they were not to kill, had _transplanted_ everything from the land they wanted to clear.

No wonder they couldn't deal with rabid bugs.

Another downward grade, with the trees thinning out, indicated they must be getting close. According to Beeps, the Sela built their cities on lower ground when possible. The hill wasn't steep, but as the vegetation faded away completely, they found themselves overlooking…

Well…

"Fuck."

It was a city… a shining, pristine city, built of pyramidal structures linked by crystalline bridges that threw rainbows in all directions. Almost certainly it had never been lived in, but the Sela had clearly been keeping it spotless at one time. It was still spotless… partly.

The other part was encrusted with massive swaths and tendrils of rough, grayish matter. In some areas the masses were open, revealing a hive-like structure, and if they watched carefully they could see things wriggling around inside.

Jace, not surprisingly, was the first to find his voice. "So it's not that we _shouldn't_ have been planning for a sci-fi movie. We just planned for the fucking wrong one."

"More Alien than I, Robot," Lance agreed, shuddering. They pushed forward again, which didn't make the sight before them even a little less disturbing.

"This might give me nightmares," Keith mumbled. If _anything_ was going to accomplish that, the infested city was it.

A pair of wasplike creatures rose up from behind a building, seemingly flying some kind of patrol. It was the team's first look at the Selsandin, and they were every bit as terrifying as advertised: red with bold black triangle patterns covering thick chitinous shells, sharp pincers, and foot-long stingers with visible venom channels. They flew on six shimmery wings, and were really quite graceful… though nobody was admiring their flight.

"Damn."

"Well fuck."

"What do you think happens if we get stung?" Daniel asked, staring at the bugs until they vanished from sight again.

Lance gave him a look. "We _won't_ get stung."

"Good plan."

Ignoring them, Pidge programmed a scout path into the drone and released it. "Going to try to get a look at the lab coordinates." The camera feed came up on his datapad, and Keith watched over his shoulder. The drone made it over about a dozen buildings before a flash of red and a set of serrated mandibles filled the screen; a second later the feed went dark. "…Well that wasn't optimal."

"Fucking…" Lance raised his sniper rifle, taking aim and shooting the bug off the drone fairly easily. Both plummeted out of sight behind one of the buildings.

Keith made a face. "Flynn is not going to be happy."

"You kiddin'? He'll get to either fix it or build a new one, he'll love it." Hunk glanced at his ammo sled, now very glad he'd brought the extra rockets… they were probably going to need all of them. "Guess we're doin' this the old-fashioned way, yeah?"

"Looks that way." Keith sighed. "Okay, stick together and keep your eyes open. Let's move."

"I'll try to retrieve the drone." Pidge pulled his hood up and disappeared before the commander could object; that was exactly the _opposite_ of sticking together.

"Be careful…" He sighed. "At least he's invisible."

"Ninja's gonna ninja," Daniel observed sagely. He'd have kind of liked to move faster himself, but given that he was _not_ a ninja, it seemed like a bad idea. Seeing the drone brought down out of freaking midair made his wheels seem that much less protective.

Similar thoughts were running through Lance's head, with the upshot that for once in his life he didn't want to speed. He was covering the left flank of the formation, keeping his eyes straight ahead. They were coming up on a hive structure, hanging from a bridge several stories overhead… he was fully expecting a bug ambush as they passed beneath it, but it seemed to be empty. Crumbled bits of hive littered the street as they moved through.

_Gross_.

Jace had taken up the rear guard. "You know, this wouldn't be half as bad if it weren't for the fucking _buzzing_." As they moved deeper into the city the hum was becoming constant, louder, and more ominous by the second.

"Feels like I've got spiders running up and down my neck." Lance shuddered hard enough to nearly tip his bike over. "All the fucking heebie-jeebies."

"The only known cure for the 'heebie-jeebies' is a big-ass can of bug spray," the medic informed him, then eyed his rifle and reconsidered. "Or weapons, I guess." High-velocity, high-density metal or plasma bug spray ought to do the trick. He hoped.

"Sniper rifle definitely helps…"

Keith turned to glower at both of them. "Shut. Up."

Blink. "Why?" Things were still pretty clear in the outskirts. They hadn't even passed by another hive, though a few were visible down side streets.

"Let's just get there, okay?" Their commander kept his own voice as low as possible. Maybe the Selsandin hadn't taken exception to their presence _yet_, but there was no sense tempting fate.

Another couple of blocks passed silently, but a new hive was coming up. This one outright blocked the street. As they shifted a block over and crept past the buzzing mass, the drone returned; it seemed to be flying, though its engine was clearly not running and the main rotor was just as clearly half broken. It 'landed' on Hunk's cargo sled, and was briefly obscured by a ripple in the air.

"…Thanks, ninja?"

"That better not be an invisible bug." The joke got Lance a sharp elbow in the ribs from Keith, nearly knocking his moped over again. "Oops, sorry, shutting up. Maybe."

"I'll scout ahead myself," Pidge's voice murmured from empty space, and Keith shook his head. The ninja would indeed ninja. He thought he remembered Flynn saying something about admirable but unwanted initiative; now _that_ part made sense.

No sense yelling after him, so…

"…Uh, is it getting louder?"

Yes. Yes, the buzzing was getting louder. And not the kind of slow, steady increase they'd been hearing as they moved further into the city. It was coming closer, and fast.

Daniel fell in closer as the team prepped their weapons. "That's almost as creepy as the fucking robots."

"It's fucking creepier than the robots." Lance was almost certain he'd seen movement off to their left. "I think we've got company."

"I thought Beeps was cute." Hunk was absolutely not readying his rocket launcher; in these tight quarters he'd blow them all up. But he _had_ brought his service pistol along for once, and turned to help Daniel cover the right flank.

Suddenly bugs came rushing at them from _everywhere_.

"Do these fucking things have tactics?" Jace narrowed his eyes, squeezing off several plasma bolts at a pair of wasps coming in from behind. "Totally got company!"

"Did the obnoxiously loud buzzing clue you guys in?" Daniel snorted, taking aim at a swarm from a side street.

"Fuck that, Fangs over there did," Lance shot back, firing on an incoming bug with particularly large mandibles. Next to him, Keith was taking careful aim and downing the bugs one bulging compound eye at a time. He remembered Bokar, may as well shoot for the soft targets first.

Hunk took a few halfhearted shots at the bugs incoming on his and Daniel's side. His service pistol was a nice gun, but it was awfully disappointing compared to his usual ordnance. "Pew pew pew!"

As befitting its disappointing status, the gun only put holes in the bugs rather than disintegrating them. Daniel had put some holes of his own in them as well, and couldn't help a laugh as they tumbled to the ground, oozing. "That's kind of awesome."

"…Eww, dude."

"Gah… these things aren't awesome, they're awful." Lance had swapped to his own pistols as the range tightened up. "I think I'm getting a phobia."

"Don't," Jace recommended, backing up a little more. "I'm not a fucking psychologist."

"Like I'd go to you."

_"Nobody_ on this ship is qualified, caralho…"

Buzzing from above cut them off. A bug was swooping down on them, its huge stinger bared, silhouetted to a blinding degree by the sun.

As the team's guns went up, the bug went down, plummeting from the sky like a rock. But nobody had actually _shot_ it yet. It splattered on the street just in front of them, and Pidge appeared crouched on top of it. "I can't leave you people alone for five minutes."

That was a Flynn line if Lance had ever heard one… which was both amusing and kind of weird. "We didn't start it, your friend Bugsy did."

Both Daniel and Hunk snickered.

Keith dropped one more bug and looked around; Jace narrowed his eyes, watching for any flicker of movement behind them, and finally relaxed. Slightly. "I think we're clear in the rear." Then he realized what he'd just said and made a face. "On our six, I mean."

Even the boss snorted at that. "Let's get out of here before more show up."

"No protest here." Daniel kicked his moped back into gear, leaving a trail of bug guts behind.

Once they'd put a couple of structures between themselves and the carnage, Pidge offered, "If we do some weaving on the way, I found a straight shot to the lab, give or take half a mile. The lab itself is compromised." He indicated another hive structure hanging in the distance, just in case what he meant by 'compromised' wasn't clear.

"Straight shot sounds good." Lance followed his gesture and grimaced. "Hive is a bit of a catch."

"A rocket could probably blow the hive and the door—"

"Probably?" Hunk repeated, offended.

"—but it would also draw attention. We'd have to get in quickly."

It was the best they were likely to get, really. Keith nodded. "Lead the way, Stoker."

Pidge moved up to the front of the group, leading them down an alley. "There were some other hive structures on the route, but they all seemed quiet. Maybe they're busy fighting each other."

"Cool, cool," Jace grumbled, "they're having their own private bug war and we're gonna get their attention. This is fucking great."

"Maybe they'll stay mad at each other?" Lance suggested.

"Maybe if you could all be _quiet,"_ Keith hissed, "we might sneak past without them noticing us."

That shut them up for a few more turns; long enough for them to get jumped by another couple of bugs that really just seemed to be passing by. Maybe there was something to the idea that they were more interested in their existing bug war. "I wonder if they eat each other?" Daniel mused. From what Beeps had said, it seemed likely. Maybe they didn't recognize humans as food.

Keith eyed him impatiently. "Are you volunteering to go look?"

"I mean, I can if you want."

"No one is gonna go peek to see if they eat each other!" Lance snapped. And by 'no one' he mostly meant 'not Daniel', and the overwhelming swiftness of that protective reflex startled him a little. He tried to shake it off.

"Seriously," Jace agreed, "give 'em some fucking privacy."

"They look kinda gamey anyway," Hunk said lightly, wrinkling his nose. Even he wouldn't have wanted to try making these things appetizing.

Pidge led them through several more turns, avoiding as many of the large hives as possible. Though really, it wasn't the hives that seemed to be the biggest danger—whatever else the Selsandin might be prioritizing right now, they definitely seemed more interested in marauding through the city streets than tending to their own little buglings.

One of the hives they passed had a large hole in it, and a few wriggling larvae had spilled onto the street. They were making high-pitched shrieky noises and seemed to be nothing but large mouths attached to squirming worm bodies. A couple of them tried to lunge at the team; they got splattered with extreme prejudice.

"Holy fuck, those are even creepier than the adults!"

A very loud buzzing immediately rose up from their left. "Uh, maybe they're lookin' after their bug babies after all…"

"Run!"

They sprinted down the next few streets, and didn't stop until the unmistakable sounds of bug-versus-bug combat echoed behind them. "Fuck this place."

"I mean, it's really a great city." Lance looked up at one of the nearest bridges, which was free of hive junk and casting colorful light over them. "If you take away the giant bugs."

"That's a kinda big condition, bro…"

"We're almost there," Pidge murmured, silencing the banter. "Stay alert."

The side street they were on gave way to what must have been a main drag at one point. It was a solid three times as wide as the other streets, and almost completely overrun with bug housing. They could see swarms of the Selsandin battling on the ground, and others jousting in midair… it would've been cool if it weren't so terrifying. As it was, they darted across the road as quickly as they could, hoping to avoid attention.

Nobody even breathed until they were in the dubious shelter of the next alley. Another block, and they reached another seemingly main street, though not as impressive as the last one… to their right, the way was blocked by a very large structure of some sort. On their left was a long stretch of clear pavement, leading to another quite large building; this one was half embedded in hive structure.

"…That's the lab?"

"Yessir."

"Great." A few bugs were already visible, and no matter how preoccupied they were with each other right now, Keith felt pretty confident an _explosion_ would change their priorities. But he didn't have any other ideas.

Daniel frowned. The street _was_ clear, and Pidge had said they'd need to get in fast… he was ready to go _fast_. "What if me and Lance ride in right behind Hunk's rocket?" he suggested. "That way we'll be able to get in right after it blows. And, you know, before bug armageddon kills us all."

That sounded… way better than Daniel's usual plans, really. Lance nodded. "I'm all for it."

"…You two are volunteering to be bait?" Jace muttered.

"No, to be _heroic_."

"We're doing you a service."

"You're welcome."

The medic rolled his eyes; Keith frowned and crossed his arms, considering the plan. "That leaves you isolated, and us sitting ducks for whatever attention it draws."

"Maybe not, boss." Hunk was using the zoom on his rocket launcher to study the exact layout of the door. "This'll punch through that hive, but it only leaves so big a hole. If they've got a big swarm of bugs chasin' em through a kinda narrow opening, that's a big swarm of bugs we can pick off pretty easy from behind."

…He made a fair point there. Keith's frown deepened. "It's still risky… but it's the best we've got. You two had better be careful and come back in one piece."

Lance snorted. "Trust me, I like being in one piece." He hadn't exactly promised to be careful, but the boss should know better than that.

"Yeah, who's going to question your authority if I'm eaten?" Daniel smirked.

Like there was ever any shortage of people ready to do that; Keith glared. "I'm sure you've been a terrible influence on your roommate."

The gunner scowled back. "Well according to him you put him there to be a good influence on me, so really it's your fault." He was still more than a little bitter about that.

Thankfully, Pidge chose that moment to interrupt. "I think this plan makes it our job to keep them in one piece, sir." He looked between Keith, Hunk, and Jace, then at his own needler pistol and his recently-returned knife. He would _not_ be helping pick off any bugs from half a mile away. "I'll cover the rear guard so the rest of you can focus downrange."

"Okay." Keith took one more moment to try to think of anything else they could do that _wasn't_ this, but nothing was presenting itself. "Do it."

Hunk armed his rocket and took aim, fighting down a shudder. That hive stuff really was _freaky_. "Okay listen up," he announced as he locked his target, "I don't know how fast those alien mopeds actually go, so uh… just make sure you're at least twenty feet back when this thing blows, or it'll suck."

"Explorer Team planning at its finest," Jace muttered, drawing a few snickers. He wasn't wrong.

The two with the wheels leaned forward, ready to bolt. "You got it."

"Easy as cake."

"Three, two, one, BOOMS AWAY!" Hunk squeezed the trigger, flame blossomed, and a rocket _whooshed_ down the street. Immediately he flushed coolant through the tube and pulled another rocket off the sled to load up. No doubt they were going to need it.

He needn't have worried about the alien moped speed. Lance and Daniel shot off in the rocket's wake, making decent time—the vehicles did have some unexpected kick—but certainly not enough to keep up with an actual _rocket_. They were close enough to feel some heat as the rocket smashed into the hive and exploded, but nothing dangerous.

Well, nothing dangerous but a massive swarm of bugs suddenly moving in from _everywhere_.

"Awesome!" Grinning, Daniel took aim at the huge hole in the building, Lance right beside him. The shockwave had agitated the bugs, but also seemed to have dazed them; they were approaching, but slowly and with wavering flight.

Behind them, the rear guard had run forward a bit—or more accurately, Jace and Keith had run forward a bit. Hunk was not doing a whole lot of running, given that he was hauling a rocket launcher and an ammo sled. He was doing even less of it when Pidge opted to jump onto the sled to cover him.

"Fuck." Jace dropped to one knee as the bugs appeared, taking aim and firing plasma bolts into the mess. Next to him, Keith opened fire as well; Hunk reached them and started setting up for another rocket launch.

Smirking as the swarm around them dissolved into confusion, Lance took a couple of potshots with one pistol and steered the moped straight into the building. "Yeeeehaw!"

Daniel laughed. "You really do like your whole space cowboy thing, huh?"

"Fuck yeah!" He pulled off to the left, just in time to hear another explosion from outside; it took out enough bugs that the buzzing became audibly quieter. "Okay, let's check this place out." They both hopped off the mopeds, leaning them against a wall and starting to explore.

It did seem to be a lab, or at least, the wide hallways were studded with cluttered desks and long-dead video screens. He could see jacks in the walls that looked like a Sela could have plugged into them once; several of them were encrusted with hive matter now. A low buzzing permeated the place. "That's… not coming from outside, is it?" Daniel asked quietly.

"I don't think so. Ugh, fucking _bugs_." Lance was eyeing some sort of large podium, and headed over to it. "Be careful."

"Will do." Daniel started heading there other direction. Before they'd left, Beeps had showed them what a Sela mainframe and data cube looked like; the lab was full of cool lab stuff, but so far he wasn't seeing anything like what they were actually looking for.

The podium Lance was investigating had equipment integrated with it… equipment that looked oddly familiar. "Is this a karaoke machine?" he muttered, picking up what seemed to be a microphone. He was pretty damn certain it wasn't really a karaoke machine, but the resemblance was uncanny. "Weird." Tapping the device he got a slight crackle of feedback—that seemed like something he didn't want right now—he set it aside and moved on.

For a few more minutes they wandered the lab, checking out some side rooms. Nothing. Or at least, nothing useful. Once Lance stumbled across what looked like a small terminal, but there were no data cubes to be found… he sighed.

Buzzing answered.

"Oh, fuck…"

Three of the Selsandin came swooping in, buzzing angrily, with pincers clicking and stingers bared. Daniel stepped out of the room he'd been checking just in time to walk right into their path; eyes widening, he turned to run. "Shit!"

"Move!" Lance took aim, bringing one down, but they were _fast_. And really, what the fuck did he mean move? "Shoot them!" he corrected, managing to put a bullet through another one's wing. It dropped, turning on Daniel; Lance fired another shot right through its abdomen.

Shoot them. Of _course_ shoot them. Daniel skidded to a stop and fumbled for his rifle, taking a shot at the remaining bug. Or at least, what they'd _thought_ was the one remaining bug. Preoccupied with the first three, neither had noticed a fourth swooping in from an empty elevator shaft, until it grabbed Daniel from behind and zoomed down another hallway.

"Aaaah! Lance!"

"SHIT SHIT SHIT…" Lance ran after them, but the buzzing was fading too quickly. "Fuck…" He heard another explosion from outside and stopped, shaking his head. Running after the damn thing wasn't going to help. The building was big, the bugs were fast… he needed to be smarter. Maybe the others would be here in time to come up with a plan. Maybe not…

His eyes fell on the podium again, and he blinked. What had Beeps said? Noise could stun them. Noise could also piss them off…

He grinned slightly despite his panic. _Karaoke!_

Running back to where they'd come in, the thought occurred to him that he was possibly being stupid. No, he was _definitely_ being stupid. But with no way of tracking the bugs, desperate measures were a thing. He grabbed the microphone, poking the machine, trying to get it to come on. "Mic check, bzzz bzzz, bzzz bzzz." The microphone hissed and crackled, amplifying the sound, but the machine itself remained quiet. Okay, whatever speakers were in this place weren't going to help, but it was something.

Buzzing, oddly, hadn't gotten him any attention. He hadn't considered that. What did he do if he couldn't find the right noises to piss them off?

_Well, pick the most infuriating noise you can think of and go from there._

What had gotten him in the most trouble on karaoke nights? Sighing, he lifted the microphone. There was only one option.

"We're no strangers to love, you know the rules, and so do I…"

Daniel had gone through all five stages of bug captivity—panic, denial, panic, more panic, and _fuck no_—within the span of about two minutes. In that time he thought he'd gone through two elevator shafts, a dozen hallways, and one mutilated conveyor belt. Through it all, the bug had been dangling him by one arm… his right shoulder was hurting like fuck, and he'd had enough of this.

Twisting and getting his rifle into his left hand, he pumped the bug's thorax full of searing plasma. With a clicking screech it dropped him; he landed hard on his ass. "Ow…" The bug itself landed next to him a moment later, with a gushy sort of squelch. "…That's nasty."

Standing and shaking his arm out, he looked around and grimaced. Now the only problem was… where the fuck was he?

Lance was wondering that too. "A full commitment's what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't get this from any other guy…"

The rear guard had just reached the entrance. At some point, even rabid Selsandin noticed that explosions were bad… that or they just couldn't stay focused on any one enemy. The swarm had thinned a bit, and several of them were fighting amongst themselves again.

Hunk was setting up shop in the doorway, ready to make any bugs trying to follow them in go _boom_, when they first registered the other noise in the lab.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand…"

"…Que porra?"

Keith blinked, following Jace's gaze away from the door, looking for the source of the voice. "Are you kidding me?" He stared for a moment longer, then shrugged and set his datapad to record. They'd have something to laugh about if they lived through this…

"Never give give you up! Never gonna let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Pidge had taken a few steps towards the podium; his initial plan had been to just ask what the hell was going on, but he'd frozen in confusion. Jace stepped up and pushed him aside. "Move it, ninjerk, I'm gonna shoot him."

"Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye! Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!"

The ninja shoved the medic right back. "Back off, doctor, I'm going to kill this one myself."

As if to underscore that neither of them were _really_ going to need to murder their pilot, loud angry buzzing was starting to come from all directions. Lance took that as a sign his strategy was working, but there was one problem… "Fuck, what's the next line?" Like anyone knew that. "Fuck it. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…" He started moving towards the elevator where he'd lost Daniel, one hand on one of his pistols, still singing at the top of his lungs.

Daniel had been wandering about half blindly; he hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to exactly which turns the bug was taking. He'd been way more worried about getting _eaten_. It seemed like the wrong priority now, but… he frowned slightly. There was a distant noise drifting through the lab that was definitely _not_ a bug. "Is that…?" Keeping his gun at the ready, he started running towards the sound.

Hunk was humming along with Lance, but he was also very aware that louder, grumpier humming was coming closer. Turning away from where he'd set up the rocket launcher he drew his pistol again, waiting.

"Never gonna run around and desert you…"

With a series of snapping hisses, bugs appeared from nearly every corridor around them, all zeroing in on Lance.

"…Fuck."

"Oh hell."

Ducking and squeezing off several shots at the incoming bugs, Lance kept right on with the karaoke. "Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye…" _Totally about to die…_

A bolt of glowing plasma arced over his head, knocking one bug to the floor. "So I survive bug kidnapping only to get killed by your bad singing, is that it?" Daniel's tone was excessively snarky even for Daniel.

A huge grin spread over Lance's face. "Hey, got you back, didn't it—duck!" Returning the favor, he downed a bug that was swooping in on the kid's back.

Daniel dropped to the ground and reopened fire. "Not again, motherfuckers!"

The team closed ranks, blasting anything large and buzzy until things settled down a bit. Keith looked at their advance pair and raised an eyebrow. "Did you find the data?"

"Or have you fuckers just been in here goofing off?" Jace added irritably.

Lance scowled at him. "We got a bit sidetracked. Did find a karaoke machine."

"If by sidetracked you mean bugnapped," Daniel corrected.

"Yeah, that. You good?"

"I'm good. No bites or stings." He returned to his moped. "Not leaving this again."

"Good call." Lance returned to his as well, wincing as he trailed though a few dead bugs. "Ugh." He dropped the microphone as he mounted back up; Hunk shot him a reproachful look.

"Dude! No reason to waste a perfectly good mic." He picked it up and put it on the sled. "Okay, now what?"

Keith sighed. "We have to find that data. Come on."

* * *

The pylons were ready… probably. Hopefully. Beeps had set up the attractor very near the emitter they'd modified. Cam was standing behind it with one hand on his pistol, the other on his datapad, definitely not terrified. Of _course_ not. Sven was standing a little ways ahead of the beacons, holding a vicious-looking battle axe in a stance Vince felt was _way_ too casual. Flynn was crouched atop the boarding ramp with his rifle.

It was as good as they were likely to get… Vince took a long breath. Time to see if they'd at least fixed the enraging issue. "Beeps, call them in." _Please work, please work, don't let bugs murder us…_

Beeps blinked an affirmative, activated the beacon, and scurried back to hide behind Vince.

…_Is a robot hiding behind me?_

After a minute, they started to hear noises in the distance. A loud hum, some faint skittering sounds… Vince yelped, not even waiting to actually see them before he flipped their modified beacon on. Moments later, the first of the bugs appeared.

"Der'mo…" Cam dialed in the low frequency range, staring at the bugs. Ugly bugs. _Big_ ugly bugs. This was going to suck.

Sven made an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace, tightening his grip on his axe. "This should be fun."

"Cevete…" Flynn had not been prepared for these things, and barely kept his trigger discipline. Frequencies first, _then_ bullets.

"On the plus side, they're not cockroaches." Cam tried to keep his tone even as he finished the frequency input. "Negative, evil wasps…" He felt something like a tuning fork smacking him in the chest as the low-frequency waves fired up. "Okay, buggies, let's see what you can do."

The bugs didn't seem to care one bit about the emitters, and continued to approach without so much as a pause. Flynn opened fire; Sven began hacking at the nearest bugs, and was at least gratified to learn their carapaces weren't axe-resistant.

Beeps peeked out from behind Vince, beeping and whirring in panic. "It is not working!"

"F sharp isn't working," Cam agreed. "Let's try F…" The pylon's frequency dropped, and the bugs swiftly changed their own tune. They didn't _flee_, exactly. But they did start wandering around in something of a daze, with only the few closest to Sven making a lethargic attempt at attacking. It didn't go terribly well for them.

"That's getting somewhere."

"Yeah, it is. Maybe E?" They were nearing the lowest note on the lowest octave they had, it'd _better_ work… he dialed it in, and several of the bugs started wandering off. It wasn't exactly a mass retreat, but it was something. "Okay, let's try the ultrasonic." He activated the second frequency.

The bugs didn't like that one at _all_. The second it activated they stopped wandering and rushed the pylon, buzzing and hissing. "Uh, do something else!"

"Working on it!" Maybe the same note as the low frequency would work—they were a _lot_ of octaves higher now, but a start was a start. "Here's another E." Pitching the frequency higher only made the bugs madder, if anything.

"Try something louder," Vince suggested. "Or softer? I don't know, it's making them really mad, maybe the opposite would work?"

Cam blinked. The _opposite?_ "There are only twelve notes!" Though he'd seen a circular arrangement of them before. Why not? "Okay bugs, have an A flat!" That one seemed to settle them down a little, though they were still approaching.

Sven sliced through yet another large angry bug, grimacing as something squishy splashed onto his cheek. He was losing ground. "While this _is_ semi-enjoyable, if you gentlemen could hurry this up I'd be very grateful."

"A flat is not working…" Vince flailed for ideas. "Try B sharp!"

"B sharp?" Cam repeated, blinking and looking away from the datapad. "That's called C!"

"Gentlemen!"

"Well _try it anyway!"_ Vince squeezed his eyes shut in a panic.

Shaking his head slightly, Cam dialed for a C. "Here goes…"

From the top of the ramp, Flynn was sighting one of the swarming bugs as they closed in on the pylons. As he squeezed the trigger, the bug he was targeting dropped. So did the three bugs behind it. "…Faex." Lowering the rifle, he found himself staring at a whole bunch of unconscious giant wasp things.

Beeps whirred cheerfully, rushing up beside Sven and poking one of the fallen bugs. "You have succeeded!"

Forcing his eyes open one at a time, Vince took a step back from sheer surprise. "Oh wow…"

"Yes." Sven wasn't looking at the unconscious bugs. He was looking at the dead ones. Or, somewhat more to the point, the nasty greenish innards of the dead ones that had splattered all over him. "How does this always happen?"

"At least you didn't get struck by lightning," Flynn offered, and Vince shot him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Must be another murder vine fable," Cam muttered. "Anyway, at least we know what knocks them out now? It won't be hard to set the other pylons up with the right frequencies."

"Yeah, we've got this. Guess we can turn this one off for now?" Vince reached up and flipped the pylon control switch… and immediately, at least a dozen of the bugs twitched and jumped up, making extremely angry bug noises. "Holy crap!"

Beeps gave a howling whirr of panic, jumping onto Sven's back and wrapping its limbs around him. The Viking dropped back into a combat stance, though he was certain his passenger wasn't going to help anything. "Turn it back on. _Turn it back on!"_

"Got it!" Cam fumbled and flipped the switch back on; the bugs went right back down.

"…Okay, so uh, can't turn it off after all."

"Yeah." Cam was panting slightly, eyes wide. "Definitely needs to stay on."

Sven straightened, lowering his axe, fighting down a visceral urge to hack at the creepy robot. That would not be diplomatic. Once it was certain all the bugs were motionless again, Beeps detached itself from Sven and gave a small whirr of embarrassment.

It was all Vince could do not to laugh, now that he was confident bugs weren't about to slaughter them all. "Okay… so we just need to modify the others. And maybe boost the output some? Is that a thing?" He eyed the space between the pylons and the bugs. "The range isn't great."

"We should be able to increase the volume," Cam confirmed. "That'll boost the effective range."

"And the power requirements," Flynn pointed out. "Does this… camp have the ability to run that many high-powered emitters continuously?" Most of the spaceport seemed out of commission, and he didn't see anything in the safe zone that looked like a sufficient generator. Then again, this was a tech base that had produced self-aware terraforming robots, so they couldn't rule anything out.

Vince and Cam exchanged looks and groaned. "Yeah, that's going to be a problem." The ultrasonic frequency had increased the beacon's power draw already.

Skittering up to the pylon, Beeps wrapped a hand around the power cable and was quiet for a few moments. "The generator can support two, maybe three, of the modified pylons. But that is with their current range."

"We need more power."

"A lot more power."

Flynn shifted. "We _can_ arrange that."

"How?"

"He would say that," Cam muttered, "he's like the Commander but with more grease."

"Ew." Blinking, Vince looked at the grease covering his own hands. "…And hey!"

Flynn snorted. "Holgersson, please smack him for me."

Sven obligingly gave Cam a whack on the back of his head, depositing some bug juices in his pale hair. The comms officer spun on him, glaring. "Ugh, you got your bug guts on me!"

The navigator shook his head and _tsked_ lightly. "You were so respectful before rooming with Brennan."

"Yeah, he's a bad influence."

That could be said of a few people around here. "If I am able to incorporate _Jace's_ influence positively, you should be able to do the same, don't you think?"

"Is that what you call it?" Flynn asked innocently; Sven arched an eyebrow and slung his axe over his shoulder.

"Yes."

"…I'm gonna start rewiring the other beacons," Vince announced, suddenly wanting to be as far from this discussion as possible.

Cam looked between the chief and the Viking, then took off after Vince. "Hey, wait for me!"

Staring at Sven with more than a little concern, Flynn scooted back up the ramp a little bit. "Okay, not arguing with _that."_ He eyed the robot, which was whirring in confusion again. "So… Beeps? Let's see what we can do about this power situation."

It would be a temporary solution, no doubt. But they _did_ have a spaceship that wasn't doing anything with its engines just now.

* * *

About half an hour and a couple more ambushes later, things in the lab started to look different. There were rooms full of what seemed to be large cages, and desiccated Selsandin that didn't seem to have died violently. What may have been a few Sela limbs were scattered over the floor, but otherwise there was hardly any sign of the city's current state.

"This must be where the experiments were," Pidge whispered. It was all that made sense, based on what Beeps had said about the original disease. "The data should be around here, kir sa tye?"

"I think you're right." Keith looked around. "Let's see if we can find that computer."

The group split up, checking the rooms off the large central area. Somehow, the dead bugs here seemed even creepier; they were withered and scarred, curled up in what looked like pain. It was easy to see why the Sela had been so concerned about the original disease. It seemed clearer and clearer that the rabid bugs didn't like coming here… everything was coated in a thin layer of dust.

"Think I've got it." Hunk pushed a desk aside, catching sight of some glinting machinery. It was large and cylindrical, with several hatches and access ports dotting its surface; it looked exactly like the image Beeps had provided for them. Approaching it, the big engineer poked a couple of the ports until one unlatched. The cubical form of a Sela data drive was sitting there. "Got it!" Just to be sure, he gave it a couple of extra pokes. That did not result in any more data cubes, though it did result in some bug guts. "Eww."

"Good. Let's head back, then." Keith made a face. "I want a shower."

Jace snickered. "Thought the Viking stayed behind." Though really, he wanted a damn shower too… and he was pretty sure they were all going to need the heavy-duty one in the sick bay, just to be safe.

As the team turned back in the direction they'd come from, a loud buzzing greeted them. "Um."

"Uh oh."

"We… may want to use the other exit."

Keith muttered a few Japanese curses and nodded. "Go!"

They _went_. Daniel and Lance took the lead, taking the corners as fast as the mopeds would allow, finding a wide open corridor with a large door at the end. "This way!"

"At least they warn us they're coming," Daniel commented as they raced for the door.

"I think it's more of a threat…"

The door flatly refused to open until the others arrived, at which point Hunk forced the issue with a pretty solid tackle. They all piled into the next room, slamming the door shut behind them; Lance crashed into Jace in the melee.

"Watch where you drive that fucking thing!"

"It was a sharp corner." He looked around where they'd ended up and blinked. There was no sign of bugs in here… it appeared to be some sort of garage. Dusty equipment was scattered around, and one whole wall was taken up by a large bay door.

Pidge approached that door, found the release, and attempted to crack it open; it didn't budge. Frowning, he tried a second time, then tapped the metal. It didn't sound hollow… and a moment after he tapped it, something tapped it from the other side. Violently. The shriek of a Selsandin larva became audible for a moment, and he stepped back.

At the same time, Keith had found a couple of metal rods to barricade the door they'd come through, and not a moment too soon. The tip of a stinger punched through the tiny gap between its hinges; the buzzing faded a bit, as the bugs seemingly abandoned flight for just trying to break down the door.

"…Oh, that ain't good."

"We're stuck, aren't we?"

"It looks like."

Next time, Keith decided—if there was a next time—they were going to _fully research_ whatever bounty they took as a minor side job. "There has to be some way to get out of here and get back to the ship… preferably fast."

"Think we can just wait them out?"

That was the opposite of fast, though it wasn't a bad idea… if it would work. "Do we want to bet on that?" If waiting didn't work, it would only put them in a more desperate position later.

Hunk had stepped away from the door and was looking around the garage. The _garage_. He didn't recognize most of these tools, but some were easy enough to puzzle out… and there was plenty of scrap metal. A grin spread over his face as he looked from the garage's contents to what they'd brought with them. "I think I've got a better idea, boss…"

Everyone turned to him. Hunk having ideas was often terrifying, though it was also frequently awesome—there was a lot of overlap. "Like what?"

"…I'm gonna need the sled and those mopeds. Pidge, need you to turn that drone's EMP projector into a loudspeaker." He pulled out his own datapad, brought up a playlist, and handed it to Lance. "Find us some music the bugs don't like. Just fast forward until they sound less angry, yeah?"

Arching an eyebrow, Lance hit play; the A-team theme started blaring through the garage, and he snorted. The bugs didn't like that one, though… or at least the stinger that dented the door seemed to imply they didn't.

The other three exchanged looks. They could all see where this was going. "What do you want us to do?"

"Uh, good question. Watch the door?" The big guy grinned sheepishly. "At least until I need ya for something else." He started collecting scrap and fasteners from the garage floor.

The music switched to something by Typical Hamster, and the bugs started buzzing angrily again. Jace snorted, taking up a position next to Keith and Daniel with his rifle at the ready. This should be… something.

Hunk's masterpiece took shape quickly. The mopeds and sled made up the frame, reinforced and expanded a bit with thick metal plates. He couldn't find any spare wheels in the garage—seemed like an oversight—but he did find a sort of mechanical crane arm with simple enough controls. One by one he called the others over for extra manpower… by the time it was finished, nobody was left watching the door at all.

On the plus side, they had a rocket-powered moped-sled crush car with metal blast shields, a loudspeaker drone, and a giant hammer on the front.

"Unfuckingbelievable," Jace muttered under his breath as he circled the thing; Pidge nodded in silent agreement.

Having run the datapad through everything from 18th century classical remixes to 25th century disco metal, Lance had finally found something the bugs didn't seem to care much for. He hooked the datapad up to the drone as Hunk strapped the last spare rocket on the back. "I think we're good."

"Heck yeah we are." Grin. "All aboard, my peeps! We're uh, gonna have to blow that garage door. You may wanna cover your ears."

One thing the crush car had certainly not had room for was actual seats; they piled on haphazardly behind the main blast shield. Daniel was grinning madly. "You're kind of awesome, you know that?"

"Kinda?" Hunk winked. "Gotta try harder next time." Situating himself in the area that would have been the driver's seat, had there been one, he looked back and waited for everyone to have their ears covered. Then he flipped the music on, aimed the rocket launcher, and _KABOOM_.

Four of the other rockets, strapped to the back, fired off like afterburners, and they went blasting out through the hole in the door and the hive beyond. Most of the team was hanging on for dear life, taking whatever shots they could at the bugs; the car's hammer was smacking them left and right as the music blasted, Hunk singing along at full volume.

"CUZ WE GOT A GREAT BIG CONVOY, ROCKIN' THROUGH THE NIGHT!"

"Haha!"

"Yeeeehaw!"

"Explorer Teams…"

Crouched at the back, Jace fired on whatever Selsandin were crazy or angry enough to try to follow them. It wasn't a whole lot, but it was enough. "More like we've got a great _bug_ convoy…"

"AIN'T SHE A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT!"

Lance and Daniel snickered.

Pidge was in the center of the car, clinging to the data cube and minding the speaker, since he wouldn't be much use shooting at things. He was noticing a small problem, though. Their chosen 'sonic weapon' was indeed causing many of the insects to flee, but… "Sir, we're driving them ahead of us."

That had not escaped Keith's attention, either. "Not much we can do for it right now. Let's just hope Starr and Hayes got those beacons figured out."

As the car reached the outskirts of the city, the ground started sloping up again. The little moped engines probably couldn't haul this beast back to the safe zone with any speed; Hunk had been ready for that. Turning them onto the straight forest road, he triggered two more rockets, grabbing the microphone as the car surged forward. "I SAYS LET THEM TRUCKERS ROLL, 10-4!"

If there hadn't been so many bugs to shoot, someone might have smacked him. Then again, by this point even Jace was laughing. It was too damn crazy… and it was _working_.

Totally their thing.

Back at the safe zone, Team No-Guns was just putting the finishing touches on the sonic barrier. They'd managed to put a couple of makeshift batteries together, charging them from the ship's engines. It would keep a dozen beacons going for an hour or so once the _Bolt_ itself was disconnected; plenty of time for Beeps to clear the area.

Connecting the last wire, Vince's ears perked up slightly. Was he hearing music? "We're set…" He looked up at Flynn, who was still at the top of the boarding ramp—not leaving the ship!—and staring out at the horizon with a disbelieving look on his face.

"…Turn it on. Now."

Vince blinked, flipped the beacons on, then ran up the ramp to see what was going on. Cam followed him; Sven remained on the ground. Beeps was hiding behind him again, and by now he'd just accepted that he was the robot's preferred shield.

From the top of the ramp, they could see the source of the music. And quite a lot of buzzing. A wave of enraged bugs was charging towards them, followed by the kind of frankenvehicle that only one person could have possibly dreamed up.

Getting up the slope to the spaceport called for the last pair of 'afterburners'. Hunk hit them without missing a beat. "COME ON AND JOIN OUR CONVOY, AIN'T NOTHIN' GONNA GET IN OUR WAY!"

"I feel like maybe I should be more surprised," Vince said, shaking his head in bemusement.

Sven shook his head also. "I don't."

"Well…" Cam looked at his pistol, looked at the wave of bugs, and grimaced. "Let's hope this works."

"Believe me, I'm hoping." As they watched, the swarm charged the pylons, mandibles snapping fiercely… and as they came within about twenty feet of the beacons, the ones in the lead stopped, their wings fluttering in confusion. The ones behind them tumbled right over their comrades and into the knockout zone, and row by row, the bugs went down like a heap of rabid dominoes.

Vince's eyes lit up. "It worked!" He and Cam exchanged high-fives.

Hunk burst into laughter. "WE GONNA ROLL THIS TRUCKIN' CONVOY, ACROSS THE USA!" As he belted out the line, the car hit the pile of unconscious bugs with the last of its rocket-boosted speed and _jumped_. They sailed a good forty feet through the air; over the bugs, between two pylons, over Sven and Beeps, landing on the pavement with a _thud…_ and disintegrating.

"Yeeeehaw!"

"That was _awesome!"_

"Owww…" Hunk had landed squarely on his backside with a tire beneath him, but he laughed as he looked around at the mess. "That was _totally_ worth it!"

"…What the actual fucking fuck just happened?" Jace asked, shaking his head slightly.

"I believe we made it back safely," Pidge offered, retrieving the drone from where it had landed.

Groaning slightly, Keith rolled to his feet and looked at the others. Vince and Cam were grinning, Sven had one eyebrow raised to the heavens, and Flynn was holding up his datapad; he'd written a 9.5 on it. He snorted. "Thought you couldn't leave the ship?"

"Haven't set foot off the structure of the ship, thank you."

Beeps scurried up to them, whirring and squealing. "Brave hunters, are you well? Do you require repairs? We have some supplies for treating organics."

"Uh-uh," Jace objected. "I'll take care of the medic-ing, Beepy. Last time you guys tried to treat _organics_ you gave them rabies."

The Sela gave a slightly chagrined whirr. "I cannot dispute that logic." Daniel snorted.

Sven approached, a wry smile on his face. "Glad you guys got back safely."

"Yeah, us too."

"That's a word for it." Jace tried to stand and walk over to Sven, but ended up falling over again. "Porra…" Lance laughed, but offered a hand to help him up; the medic didn't even try to yank him over, regaining his feet and snickering. "Not gonna let me down, huh?"

Smirk. "Never."

"I love this job," Hunk chuckled, helping Daniel to his feet and looking over the debris. It hadn't been his most durable construction, but it had sure been one of the most _fun_.

Pidge approached their handler, holding out the data cube. "Can you copy this? We were supposed to leave you a copy." Beeps blinked an affirmative, opening a slot in its chest and depositing the drive inside. After several long whirrs, it removed the cube and handed it back.

That had seemed a little anticlimactic, really. "Is that it?" Lance asked.

"It is all I am aware of," Beeps confirmed. "I will take this data and the defensive frequencies back to the Central Mainframe. You have many thanks from the Sela, brave hunters… once we have cured the Selsandin, perhaps you can return and see the true beauty of our planet." Its lights twinkled cheerfully. "Perhaps the Makers will have arrived by then."

"It is a beautiful city," Lance acknowledged, smiling at the robot; that didn't seem nearly so weird anymore.

"Really is," Hunk agreed. "Wouldn't mind seein' it once it's over its allergies." Jace looked at him, got the joke, and groaned; Pidge looked at him, didn't get the joke, and shrugged. He grinned. "It's got hives!"

Keith rolled his eyes. "Let's get…" He was about to say _off this planet_, but that would be kind of rude, even if the robots _weren't_ programmed to be offended. "…this data to the Vex-Cha, then." He looked at the power cables linking the _Bolt_ to the pylons. "Um, are we going to be able to take off?"

Beeps blinked a yes. "Your others have set up some batteries. The barrier will last long enough once power is disconnected for your vessel to prepare and launch." It paused. "Will you be able to sterilize your hull? We would not wish you to carry traces of the disease to the Vex-Cha."

"The shield contour will do that," Flynn answered before Keith could ask.

"And we can decontaminate the data cube no problem," Jace agreed.

"Excellent!" The robot beeped happily. "Go then, brave hunters. Safe travels among the stars."

As they filed up the boarding ramp, Lance looked back out at the fallen bugs and shuddered. He was not at all disappointed to be leaving. "I need a shower."

"As do I," Sven agreed. He was still covered in dead bug.

"We all do." Keith shook his head as the airlock cycled shut behind them. Somehow, he couldn't help the sneaking certainty his crazy crew would be fighting over the showers sometime soon. But then… who could blame them?

* * *

It took a bit of time before Allura felt she was ready to address the Council… to sit up straight and say the words with confidence, without her voice breaking. But it had to be done. Taking Coran's arm for support, she headed to the main chamber where the Council was waiting. In better times, the advisory body had met in a ceremonial chamber, nobles speaking of refined festivities. Now it was a ragged collection of elders and military officers, just trying to keep things together.

It was Larmina's first time being present for a Council meeting; she'd avoided them like the plague before, but her aunt needed support now. Giving a small smile as Larmina offered a chair for her to sit, Allura waited for the room to become quiet before she relayed what she had learned.

"As you are aware by now… a message was given to me, with dreaded news." She closed her eyes. "It is with terrible sorrow I must inform you all that my Father was attacked at the Valley of Zohar. I have seen his spirit… he is dead."

Though she hadn't been speaking loudly, those civilians nearest where the advisors were huddled could hear the words, and the gasps. Word raced through the main chamber in the space of a few moments; by the time Allura had recovered enough to continue, cries of sorrow and moans of fear filled the cavern.

Noting this, she found it in herself to speak a bit more clearly. "My only comfort is that his body was not claimed by the Drules. I have been reassured that he is safe from them, secured in a place where he can be recovered."

The news rippled through the cave as quickly as her first words, and she could hear the crowd calming somewhat. Still in mourning, but holding some hope.

Captain Randel signaled to two of his guards to secure the area; the people had heard what they needed to, but the Council needed to be able to speak with some privacy as well. Once they had gently moved the crowds back, Elder Ollar spoke. He was in charge of medical matters for the shelter, including the proper treatment of the dead. "Do you know where he lies now, Your Majesty?"

Allura nodded. "Deep within the largest den of the gryphons."

A few of the council exchanged confused looks. "You said he could be recovered. How can we retrieve his body if it lies with the gryphons?" The enigmatic beasts usually avoided people, but they were known to fiercely protect their own lairs.

"There is a secret tunnel that leads to the largest of the dens," Allura explained. "It was built long ago to study them in their habitat." None of that statement was inaccurate, though she may have omitted certain details. "I believe, since I was directed to his location, he might have succeeded in his task and fallen while on his way back… the answers he looked for may still be on his person." She sat up a little straighter, her expression warning that she would not hear protests. "I wish to go and retrieve him as soon as possible."

The Council protested anyway, of course. Captain Randel, as the head of castle security, was accustomed to telling royalty _no_ for their own good; he managed to silence the others and speak. "Princess, I understand wanting to get your father back yourself, but under the circumstances we simply cannot let you do so. Perhaps we can have a group go retrieve him for you."

"I understand that it might seem improper," Allura answered calmly. "But I believe that one person may be able to sneak past the gryphons. Only I know the exact spot my father was left at, so it must fall to me to reclaim him."

"Your Highness, if I may," Captain Sariel spoke up a bit nervously. She had a place at the Council, since the militia had been doing so much of the hunting and scouting, but she _wasn't_ accustomed to speaking to royalty. "My people have been searching the wilderness since the attack. They know the land well, and have become well-practiced at avoiding the enemy. I know we lack the prestige of the Golden Knights, but any of us would willingly accompany you."

Larmina perked up. "I'll go!" She made the offer a bit too eagerly.

For the moment Allura ignored her, instead considering Sariel's offer. There was merit to it. "That would be helpful, as some of the way is above ground. But I will go into the lair alone."

Coran frowned. He had confidence in the militia for what they were, but they simply weren't trained as true combat troops. And with King Alfor gone… letting his daughter put herself at such risk so soon seemed very wrong. "Princess, I must insist that if you are going, I go as well."

Allura grimaced slightly. To be sure, she'd expected pushback, but she'd hoped at least Coran might back her. "Lord Coran, I think I can manage this."

"Of that I have no doubt," Coran acknowledged. "But for my own peace of mind I must insist on my presence."

Opening her mouth to argue again, Allura paused. She had lost her father, but Coran had also lost a dear friend… perhaps it _was_ as much for his peace of mind as anything that he asked. She sighed; she couldn't quite bring herself to refuse. "Very well Coran, you can join me."

Feeling at least somewhat reassured, Coran gave a small bow. "Thank you, Princess."

Slightly irritated now, Larmina gave Allura's shoulder a small tap. "I'll go," she repeated more insistently.

This time her aunt turned to her, shaking her head slightly. "Larmina, I believe that if I'm leaving the shelter, you should be here looking over things in my absence."

…Well she hadn't seen _that_ coming. Standing stunned, Larmina only managed to sputter, "Me?!"

Allura nodded. "It may seem like much to ask, but I do believe in you," she said softly.

Quietly curious as to the reasons Larmina was even here, Sariel figured to plead her honorary militia member's case. "Larmina has been a great help to us for some time, Your Highness. She would be a valuable asset in the field."

High Priest Teynn, one of the scant few of the pre-war Council to have survived the Drule attack, coughed loudly. "That is _Lady _Larmina, Captain," he corrected in a haughty tone.

Blushing slightly at the slight faux pas on her part, Allura stepped in. "My apologies, Captain. I've not had the chance to properly introduce Lady Larmina, given the circumstances."

Sariel nodded her understanding, a bit—no, perhaps more than a _bit_ embarrassed. "Ah, I see. Apologies, my Lady…"

"Please don't," Larmina mumbled. If the militia started calling her _my Lady_, she really wasn't sure she could handle it.

This decided breach of etiquette caused a moment of awkward confusion amongst most of the council. Larmina was wanting to hide behind something; she wasn't used to this. Usually she was being told she wasn't worthy of her title, not having stuffy Golden Priests insist on it…

Whispering so only Allura could hear, she suggested, "Can't Coran stay here and watch the tunnels? He's _old…_ you know, in a good way."

Allura bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to scold her or giggle at the assessment. "Sorry," she whispered back, "but it must be you." Her father was dead and her brother was missing. Larmina might be the highest heir left beneath her, improper parentage and all… there was no _choice_ but to prepare her now. Just in case.

Whether or not Larmina had realized any of that herself was impossible to say. Either way, she wasn't having it. "Please don't," she repeated, much more pleading than resigned.

Allura didn't say anything else, but offered her best _you can do it_ look. To which Larmina responded with a very clear _you and your mice can… do something not nice_ kind of look. Which she ignored, though she was sure the mice wouldn't have appreciated it either.

The High Priest spoke again, his tone no less haughty than before. "If the Princess insists on venturing out so soon after her father's death, Lord Coran is surely the most appropriate protector… aside from the Radiant Warrior, of course. We shall invoke the Golden Blessings for her success." Giving a mocking look towards Larmina, he added the kind of potshot she was much more used to. "And if you wish the Lady to hold sway here while you are gone, Your Highness, _we_ will certainly ensure she commits no misstep."

_That's more like it._ Larmina turned her attention to the High Priest, eyes narrowing slightly. She wasn't going to sit here and listen to Allura's leadership being implicitly questioned by some shiny-shirted jackass, and she sure as the five hells wasn't going to back down from a challenge. "Know what, Auntie? I think I can handle this."

Teynn looked stunned, as if at the mere use of the word "Auntie" were a grave scandal in itself. But Allura was not fazed. Raising an eyebrow at the High Priest, she kept her own tone cool and commanding. "I would hope you will aid my niece if she requests it, High Priest Teynn. I know Lady Larmina, and I expect great things of her, as the heir to the House of Altair."

The High Priest _humphed_, barely concealing his displeasure. "Of course, Your Highness. Will you permit one of the Golden Acolytes to accompany you? The King's body will require the proper blessings to begin as swiftly as possible."

Allura gave a slight nod of agreement. "Once I bring his body out from the gryphon's den."

Bowing his head in acceptance, the High Priest still gave Larmina an annoyed look. She returned it with interest.

"Then it is decided," Allura declared, cutting through the tension. "I'll only need a few to come with me, as I do not wish to stand out."

"I know just the few to accompany you," Sariel answered before turning to Teynn. "High Priest, if you will send your acolyte to me, we will provide appropriate camouflage." He didn't seem overly appreciative of the offer, but nodded.

Looking towards Sariel, the princess nodded far more gratefully. "Thank you, Captain. I wish to be able to head out as soon as possible. And I wish to thank the rest of you for your understanding in this extremely trying time. I hope that once my father has been laid properly to rest, we will continue to fight back against the Drules."

"I will ensure we are ready to receive the body…" Elder Ollar spoke with a mournful voice. For a moment it seemed he had more to say, but then he simply bowed his head respectfully, ready to attend to his new task.

As Allura dismissed the council, Larmina found herself still annoyed. She was used to being dismissed by others, but it didn't mean she had to play along with it. Let Auntie go hang out with the gryphons, then. If the High Priest's reaction to the thought of her being in charge had accomplished anything, it had made her ready to kick butt at being in charge. She could do that.

…She hoped.

* * *

_Disclaimers:_  
_The song Convoy belongs to CW McCall and has been returned unharmed._  
_The song Never Gonna Give You Up, well... we didn't do anything worse with it than the rest of the internet has already done!_


	26. Lions

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 25_  
Lions

* * *

Pidge arrived to the bay early. Flynn kind of hated when he did that; not having to keep an eye on him was so _nice_. But rather than going to the console and making a nuisance of himself he walked straight up to his commander, datapad in hand. "Sir, I've done the best I can with the crystal data."

…That didn't sound like a declaration of success, but it wasn't a report of failure, either. "Did you get anywhere?"

"Yessir. Lack of context and processing power were obstacles. But there is some new information." He seemed a little uneasy as he said that; Flynn eyed him, but he didn't offer anything more.

That was the report's job, he supposed. "Okay, let's see it." He accepted the datapad and sat back on the workbench, starting on the report summary. It was stilted and clinical, pretty much what he'd expect from Pidge, and…

…And…

He read it. And read it again. And then scrolled down the rest of the report, skimming it, trying to figure out if something had been lost in translation. Or maybe the ninja had acquired a sense of humor, or was just trying to make certain he actually read it. But no, everything there backed it up entirely.

_But that doesn't make any sense. It doesn't begin to make any sense. It's ridiculous._

"Pidge…" He kept his tone delicate; he wasn't at all trying to be insulting. It was just too far out of the field. "What's your confidence in this decryption?"

"Statistically insignificant uncertainty, sir. I checked it against the Alliance's report to be sure. They missed some minor points but the overall concept is the same."

"…You're much too damned _cavalier_ about telling me that," Flynn grumbled, then paused as the other implication of that sank in. If he'd checked their report… he scanned the summary again, making sure the words hadn't changed to something more reasonable. No such luck. "What you listed in the overview, the major points. The Alliance knew this? All of it?"

"Yessir."

_Okay. Then this is what we have._ He closed his eyes for a moment. "What do you make of it?"

Pause. "It isn't my job to have an opinion, sir."

That earned him a glare. "Don't even begin with that, Pidge. I asked you for an opinion so now it's your job. Talk."

He seemed a little bit taken aback by that, but then nodded. "Yessir. There's no way of knowing if this information is really even what the Galra are searching for, so the effort they've put into the search doesn't speak to its credibility. The Alliance has only seen fit to dispatch an Explorer Team, so their commitment doesn't speak to its credibility either. Plenty of civilizations pour enormous resources into religion regardless of proof, so the temple you found the data in likewise doesn't speak to credibility."

Flynn had winced at the religion point, but fortunately the ninja hadn't noticed. "Solid logic. Conclusion?"

Now he paused, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "Truthfully, sir, I don't think the specifics change the nature of the mission. We're still hunting a pseudo-mythical planet, based on minimal evidence, to recover a weapon that may or may not still exist. The details of that weapon are a distraction. Not relevant… albeit useful for confirmation if we find it."

Most of that lined up with what Flynn had concluded, and the rest of it was very Baltan. "Alright. Thank you." He stood and handed the datapad back. "You sent me a copy?"

"Yessir."

"Okay. If I tell you to take this shift off, will you consider that a reward or a punishment?"

Pidge looked at him blankly. "Why would you reward me for doing my job?"

Oh, he'd walked right into this. Flynn met his gaze and smirked. "I believe you just told me it _isn't_ your job to have opinions." The ninja blanched. "…Also you just matched a whole intel task force's productivity by yourself. Take a break if you want."

He nodded, then shook his head, then sighed. "Honestly I'd rather not, sir."

Well, it had been worth a try. "Okay. You have the bay, then." That wasn't something he'd generally leave the ninja with, but nobody else was scheduled to be on shift for another four hours… and he was pretty sure they'd all be elsewhere before that happened. "I need to go talk to Kogane."

Pidge saluted and retreated to his console; Flynn grabbed his own datapad and headed out. This wasn't going to go poorly at all.

* * *

Flynn had been right about one thing, at least. Not half an hour later the team had been summoned to a conference room, and Keith was pacing around it in agitation. Every so often he shot his second another look of exasperation, which his second just as regularly ignored.

Really, Pidge had gotten the decryption done at the perfect time. Kogane wouldn't put him on restriction _again…_ probably.

Keith wasn't sure whether he wanted to or not, if he were being honest. He still couldn't quite believe what his second and the ninja had done—though the more he thought about it, he wasn't sure _why_ he was surprised—but what was he really going to do about it? Report Flynn for copying the crystal? Turn Pidge in for hacking the AML? Certainly not.

What it came down to was that now they had more information than before… information intel had not seen fit to give them. They were the ones chasing legends out here; they did what they had to do.

_We're all we have_.

The team filed in slowly, looking more or less confused—Pidge less, Lance and Sven more. Hunk set a large plate of donuts on the table as they gathered around. It all seemed unusually _normal_.

Once everyone had settled in, Keith stopped pacing. "Alright. We have new information. Stoker, I think I'll let you lead this."

Lance paused in the middle of a bite of donut. _Ninja's gonna what now?_ Glancing around at the others he saw similar looks of surprise; at least he apparently wasn't missing anything.

Nobody looked more confused than Pidge himself. "Sir? I sent the report…"

"That wasn't a suggestion, Stoker."

Blinking, the ninja drew back slightly. It was logical, he supposed; he knew the material best. But giving briefings was even less his job than having opinions was, and he certainly hadn't come prepared to deliver one… Flynn caught his eye, silently offering to intervene, but he waved it off and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"…Voltron is a weapon made up of five individual components that work in concert. The components are mechanical cats."

That hadn't been nearly what he'd wanted, but he supposed—based on the shocked looks, and Hunk dropping his donut—it got the point across well enough.

"Huh?"

"Fucking what now?"

"How'd…?"

"House cats?"

The last question was Vince, and it seemed a bit more concrete than the others, so he opted to address that one first. "More like lions—the Alliance's translation says lions, anyway. It's about as close as anything."

Keith cleared his throat. "The less they know about your methods here the better, Mr. Stoker."

"Sir, you asked me to deliver a briefing." It seemed like they were well past worrying about propriety, given this whole discussion centered on a _very illegal copy of a classified mission resource_. Besides, he didn't _have_ to explain exactly how he'd gotten the Alliance's report.

Sven spoke up before that could go any further, in any case. "Voltron is made up of five robot lions?" He just wanted to clarify that he was understanding correctly. Surely he couldn't be understanding correctly.

"Five robot lions that work together somehow," Pidge confirmed, shrugging and starting to hook his datapad up to the conference room's systems. "I can start at the beginning?"

Pausing, Keith found himself going through rather similar logic. He _had_ asked for a briefing. There was no point trying to protect his team from reality. They were all in this together no matter what… he nodded slowly. "Proceed."

"I have questions," Lance mumbled as the ninja brought up a file. The room's projector sprang to life, displaying what looked like some sort of floor plan: five parallel corridors leading to one large pentagonal room. His jaw dropped. "A LOT OF FUCKING QUESTIONS!"

"Is that…?"

"…Put that the fuck away, I never want to see it again."

Cam and Daniel exchanged confused glances; for once it was only Cam who spoke. "What is that, exactly?" It wasn't that Daniel had nothing to say… more that he had so much he wanted to ask at once that he'd briefly forgotten how words worked.

Pidge himself was a bit surprised by the reactions. "It's a kind of blueprint," he explained hesitantly. "It was on the crystal. Intel was wrong, most of the data was audio, not visual—this is one of the only images I could find, it's where most of the translation context came from."

_On the crystal?_ Hunk looked over at Flynn, realizing just what had happened here, and he couldn't help a hint of a grin.

For his own part, Flynn was looking anywhere but at Hunk; he leaned forward a little. "That's the temple, Pidge."

"Of _hell_," Lance agreed.

"It's… oh!" The ninja looked back at the blueprint and nodded. "That makes sense."

"Ninjerk," Jace muttered, "there is not one fucking sliver of this that makes _sense_."

Looking around at how twitchy all of the team's veterans suddenly looked—even Keith had a shiver run through him—Daniel finally found words. "Is this the temple with the never-explained murder vines?"

"Yeah, _that one_," the medic acknowledged, glaring at the blueprint.

Zooming in on the main room, Pidge pulled up images from each side; etchings of large cats, most with manes, though they didn't look at all mechanical. What they _did_ look like was the carvings that had actually been there, though much sharper and cleaner. "There are five of these robot lions, and each correlates to one sector of the temple. It seems to back up what the Terinians said about the colors of the 'beasts', kir sa tye?"

"Yeah." Cam, as the one who'd translated those reports, nodded. "Some of that information was a bit contradictory, but all of this seems to fit."

"It would make sense." Keith exhaled slowly. "Those colors, and the cat statues we had to use to escape."

"Well, if these robocats are half as nasty as their temple was, I sure ain't gonna mess with 'em," Hunk declared. It drew a couple nods of agreement.

Lance was still staring at the blueprint. Perhaps more specifically, the red sector of the temple. "So wait." He could feel the warmth of the metal in his fingertips again, an almost impossibly clear memory. "One of these things is a fucking red lion?"

"Apparently." Pidge shrugged helplessly. "Red, black, blue, yellow, and green. Lions." It might be a little bit of a jump to say it so simply, but not _that_ much of one.

"We're looking for a robotic rainbow." Daniel thought that over for a few moments and shrugged. It was weird, for sure, but weird was pretty on-brand for them.

"So it's not just one weapon?" Vince was slowly coming to terms with what he was hearing.

"It is and it isn't? They're all part of a single weapon system. I think."

"Yeah, sure." Lance shrugged too, though quite a bit more dramatically. "Five robot lions work together and go RAWR, we're Voltron? Why not."

"That's fucking ridiculous even for us," Jace muttered. Nobody could really argue the point.

In the following moment of quiet, Hunk looked back over at Pidge. "So uh, didn't happen to find anything more about where these cats _are_, didja?"

The ninja shook his head. "Altea was mentioned, but that's all. I think there were references to other planets, but they weren't used the same way. Context was unclear."

Other planets sounded _much_ more important than that brush-off; Keith eyed him. "What were these references like, exactly?"

"The word…" He paused a few moments, trying to wrap his tongue around the alien sound, then made a face and gave up. "…the word I'm pretty sure is 'planet' is used in reference to both Altea and Sorthal, within a certain grammatical framework. The other times the base word comes up, it doesn't seem to be linked to any name. Intel didn't catch that point, but I can't see how it helps us."

Keith didn't either, but Lance's head had snapped up again. "Wait, intel knew the rest of this?"

"Most of it."

"The lions, though?"

"Yes."

Their pilot stared, really _wanting_ to go off about that, and yet… he slumped back in his chair and shook his head. "Almost don't blame them for leaving that detail out."

Hunk shifted a little. "Beats blurry finger painting, yeah?"

"We wouldn't have gotten to the blurry finger painting," Jace snorted, "we'd have laughed Colonel Hawkins out of the fucking room."

"Yeah probably." Lance smirked. "But hey, we know what your artwork was now!"

"I draw better cats than that, fuck right off."

"Awww, you draw kitty cats?"

For a fraction of a second, Jace was absolutely going to lunge across the table and punch him in the mouth. Sven knew that look and reacted instantly, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back; it seemed like an overreaction even for Jace, but he did calm quickly. Lance noticed none of it. His mouth was working a little bit on autopilot as his brain tried to grasp what they'd just learned.

The problem was, after all they'd seen so far… he was pretty sure he was buying it.

"Settle down," Keith ordered, scowling between the two of them, then he leaned over an empty chair and frowned. "So we know more about what we're looking for, but no new leads on where to find it. Was there anything else, Stoker?"

Pidge shook his head. "Just fragments, sir. Nothing I could make any sense of."

"Alright. Thank you." He looked over the rest of the team. "Thoughts?" Really he had a pretty good idea of what kind of thoughts they might have, but may as well have the discussion.

Flynn frowned. "Would've thought a set of rainbow robot lions would be a bit… conspicuous."

"Yeah." Vince nodded. "Robot lions seems like the kinda thing people would remember."

"Seems to back up the weapon not being active anymore." Keith was almost positive about that point. If there were a weapon made out of metal cats roaming the galaxy in modern times, they _would_ have heard of it.

Cam looked at the blueprint again, eyebrows furrowing. "Why lions?"

"Why not lions?" Hunk grinned.

"Lions are pretty cool," Daniel agreed.

"I'm not saying they're not…" Their comms officer shrugged. "Just, why shape these weapons like animals? According to the Terinians, they _fly_. Most races use fairly standard ship shapes for a reason, don't they?"

"Who cares? Lions are cooler."

"Maybe they're a race that… honors lions somehow?"

"Lions are pretty fierce." Vince was frowning too. "Though I kind of thought they were an Earth thing."

"We have maned cats on Balto," Pidge offered. "They're called shinchaska, but they get translated into English as lions. This is probably similar."

"Really?" Vince turned to him. "Awesome, what do they look like?" _And why can't that be my nickname?_

Reclaiming his datapad—he was pretty sure they'd all seen plenty of the blueprint by now—Pidge typed a few commands in and pushed it over to his roommate. "These." The screen showed two sleek leonine creatures, one very dark, the other ghostly silver. They were clearly not Earth lions, but it was just as clear why they would be translated that way.

They were pretty badass, regardless; Vince grinned slightly. "Yeah, Baltan lions are pretty fierce too. Maybe it's a universal thing?"

"Convergent evolution is a thing all over the galaxy," Jace pointed out. "Forget Baltan lions, look at Baltan _Baltans_."

That was a pretty good point too.

Lance was overwhelmed enough without getting any further into discussions about alien biology. "So the temple, that was for the lions then? Or for Voltron?"

"They're the same thing." Pidge hesitated. "Kind of."

Great. "My head hurts."

"Not as much as it hurt when we were _in_ the temple, I hope," Flynn muttered.

"Nooo. In the temple I was nearly flat on my ass."

"You were all pretty assed there," Jace snorted, and Hunk made a face.

"Ain't wrong…"

Lance glared at the medic. "Yeah, how did you end up the least affected?"

"I had to carry you through a murder garden!" Jace glared right back. "You just had to sit there and _point!"_

"While _poisoned!"_

"That's fucking _IT!"_ Daniel erupted, nearly jumping out of his chair. "It's been months of murder vines this, garden of murder that, now there's _poisoning?_ I want the fucking story!" He crossed his arms and swept a mixed glare and pout around the table.

For a moment the room went silent. Nobody really wanted to answer that question, or they'd have done it a long time ago. Cam spoke up hesitantly when nobody was in any hurry to respond. "I think Daniel has the right idea. Might be best if we had the full story. In case we run into another of these temples, you know?"

"Logical," Pidge agreed, eyeing Keith. He was still just a _little_ resentful about having the briefing sprung on him. "The Commander should tell us."

Flynn snickered, and Lance leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "Yeah, Keith, tell them."

Sighing, Keith nodded slowly. There wasn't really any arguing the logic. Pulling out his own datapad, he brought up the report and projected their own representation of the temple. It looked pretty similar to the blueprint, though a much rougher sketch. "We were sent to Sorthal to investigate a site the Galra had on their list. We found this temple. Investigated the entryway." He pointed to the small room at the beginning. "Someone hit some sort of trigger in the floor, and we all fell into different corridors."

The kids exchanged glances. Daniel was pretty sure this sounded way more interesting than all the libraries they'd been to; Vince felt it sounded more _something_ than the libraries, at least. Pidge and Cam just watched, curious.

Keith pointed to the middle corridor, which had a few simple lightning bolts drawn on it along with the rather whimsical label of **BZZZZT**. "Sven and Flynn fell into some sort of… electrical gauntlet."

"With actual lightning," Sven clarified.

"And a floor that tried to kill us," Flynn added.

Nodding, Keith pointed to the next corridor, which was labeled both **FUCK THIS**—he had redacted that particular note from his teammates before submitting the report—and **VINES**. "Lance and Jace fell into a room infested with some sort of semi-sentient vines that were attacking them."

"Poisonous sentient vines," Lance muttered.

"Fucking angry thorny ones," Jace agreed.

Lance winked at him. "Left you alone, must've thought you were family." The medic just snickered.

Their commander cleared his throat slightly; he knew what would happen if he let those two get going _again_. "Hunk and I fell into some sort of cave where we had to reassemble a seal underneath a rising pool of ice water. The pieces were on the ceiling." He pointed to the corridor labeled with a couple of simple snowflakes and a very large **BRRRRRR**.

Daniel's eyes widened slightly. "Shit." That was all _way_ more hardcore than a bunch of boring libraries. Maybe even more than the one with the Guardian.

"After making it through the corridors, Flynn and Sven had electrical burns. Lance was poisoned and wounded from the vines. I had severe hypothermia…"

"I had kindathermia," Hunk added.

"It was not fucking fun."

"It was a fucking mess."

"And then," Flynn indicated the temple's main room, "we took the crystal and the ceiling tried to kill us too."

"Which was just lovely." Lance made a face.

Pidge was looking between the original members of the team, silently reassessing his opinions on their capabilities. Though to be fair, he'd already decided they had more going for them than the other humans he'd met. Daniel was also impressed, grinning slightly. "Sounds like one of those really old Indiana Jones movies."

"It was," Lance agreed, pointedly ignoring the _really old_ jab. No way was he giving the kid the pleasure when _murder vines_ were up for discussion.

"Totally was." Hunk winced. "It looks way more fun when Indy does it, though "

"Yeah, if I didn't have actual scars I'd remember it a lot more fondly."

Shaking his head, Keith shut down the projection. "I'll leave out the illegal departure from the planet…"

Sven groaned slightly at the reminder of what his beloved teammates had done, and the paperwork it had likely created. "I would like to restate that I had _nothing_ to do with that."

"Yeah, for sure. It was really just a couple of these assholes who got us chased off the planet by sticking an inspector in a box…" Jace rolled his eyes. "You kids missed _all_ the fun."

"I dunno, between the mafia and the bugs—"

"Wait, _that's_ the cat in the box?!"

"—I'd say they're havin' plenty of fun!" Hunk didn't even miss a beat at Cam's outburst, but he did grin that much wider.

"The mafia was pretty fun," Daniel agreed; Lance glowered at him, while Cam stared a hole in the table.

"No it was not!"

"I mean, up until the point Cam got shot it was pretty fun…" That got a balled-up napkin tossed at him; he caught it and threw it back.

"Yeah, sure. Let's just be glad flirting with a mafia king went better than flirting with the damn cat."

Cam blinked, forgetting to keep scowling at Daniel. "You flirted with the cat in the box?"

"It wasn't _in_ the box at the time."

That wasn't exactly what he'd been going for. "And failed?" If the cat had ended up in a box it sounded like he'd definitely failed; Cam suddenly, _finally_, found himself feeling a bit better about the Dradin disaster.

Lance was visibly disgruntled as he answered. "Never try to flirt with a cat on Sorthal, trust me. I've fucking _never_ had that happen." Pidge eyed him, briefly wondering if he should mention that Baltans were also feline and generally unmoved by human flirting… no, it didn't seem quite relevant.

Leaning back in his own chair, Flynn looked nowhere in particular and shook his head. "Honestly, robot lions is great. It means all of the ridiculous things we've just discussed are no longer the craziest part of this mission." Lance looked at him and laughed; he couldn't help it.

"No kidding." Jace frowned. "And now we're what? Going to look for information on robot lions in a bug library? We are _completely_ fucking on brand here, boys."

"So it would seem." Keith looked around the room. This was what Explorer Teams were for, and they all knew it… but if they couldn't laugh about it, what _could_ they do? "Alright. You're all dismissed to commiserate on your own time."

Watching them go, shaking his head slightly, he looked down at his hands. _Robot lions._ The feel of the black metal was crackling through his fingers. _A black lion_. It felt like something was still missing from the equation… the lightning, the water, the vines? Every answer they got just raised new questions, whether it was about Altea or Voltron itself. And he couldn't help but remember the tests they'd done on the metal… _magical robot lions?_

He wasn't sure if that sounded more crazy, or less.

_This is way above my pay grade. All of our pay grades. But here we are_. He nodded slowly. _And we won't fail_.

* * *

The trip above ground went about as well as one could hope, in Allura's opinion. Drule patrols were moving nearby, perhaps in search of her father's body. Thankfully, the trees along their path were not the kind to shed leaves; they still provided plenty of cover, and the small team moved quickly and quietly. As they reached the mountain side, they waited for the morning fog to add an extra layer of cover before moving along the rocks to reach a small cave covered in brush.

Even though she had protested, Allura was feeling a bit relieved to have some company on this trip. She may be risking exposing an ancient secret, but if her father had truly succeeded it may not be a secret for much longer… in any case, she felt certain having to carry his body the whole way back to the shelters would be emotionally taxing, even if not physically. As well as the few soldiers Sariel had chosen, and Coran, she had brought a simple sled that she could use to drag her father from his resting spot.

Even once they were all in the cave, there was an almost unearthly hush as they moved through, zigzagging their way to an access tunnel. The tunnel itself was hidden by a secret door, but Allura knew exactly where to look. Placing a hand on the main latch, she looked back to her small entourage and spoke quietly. "I will need you to wait here. Once I pass through this door, the path will lead straight to the gryphons' lair, and they can startle easily. If you stay here, you should be able to avoid being heard."

"Princess, are you absolutely certain that you must do this alone?" Coran asked, a worried look on his face. He knew what answer he would receive; it was far from the first time he'd asked. But he felt he had to try one last time nonetheless.

Allura nodded as she flipped a few hidden switches, allowing the main latch to unlock. A gust of wind filled the passage they were in as the door slowly opened. When the door finished moving, the air became still once more; a few faint screeches of gryphons could be heard in the distance.

Coran helped move the sled into the newly revealed passageway. He didn't retreat after doing so. Still feeling a bit like she was betraying an ancient trust, Allura looked at the old advisor and shook her head. "Please, Coran, I need you to wait over there."

Standing in the doorway, he gave her a stern look. "Your Majesty, I will stand here and go no farther."

She knew that look; it meant that she was being given as much leeway as she was going to get. She would have to trust in her father's old friend to honor her wishes, and not follow. Sighing as she went to take the sled, she gave a small nod to the guards, then produced a small light and began to make her way up through the tunnel.

As he watched the princess vanish around a bend, Coran stood at the entrance to the tunnel and took in the surroundings. It was a rather large tunnel, allowing the sled to pass through easily; it seemed like much more than was needed just to sneak in and observe the gryphons. It made him wonder as to the true purpose of these passages… perhaps, if Allura found what she was hoping for, he would have the answer in time.

* * *

Larmina had no interest in playing the highly visible overseer—which was probably just as well, really. It wouldn't have worked. Very few of the people in the castle shelter knew who the bastard heir of the Seven Isles was, and those who _did_ know would consider it reason not to take her seriously. The Council had made that clear enough. So she'd opted to stick to her previous story… wandering the caves, asking people how they were doing and what they needed, as if it were simply the militia checking up on everyone. She was doing her duty, whether they knew the details or not.

It suited her fine. Though the fact that Hanso and Allendar had been flanking her the whole time made her feel a little more like some stuffy noble with bouncers than she'd have preferred. Whether they were actually playing bodyguard, or just looking for an opening to start grilling her, she didn't know… and if she had her way, it wouldn't matter.

A young boy nestled into his sleeping father's arms had been watching them as they made the rounds. As Larmina and the others approached he motioned for quiet, then hissed "Shhhhh!" so loudly his father startled. It was all she could do to suppress a laugh; the kid was cute. Kneeling, she nodded to him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Hey there. How are you and your dad doing? I mean, I know it su—uh, it's hard here. But we're trying to improve things. Can we help?"

The boy nodded. "Daddy is scared," he declared in the kind of grave voice only a toddler could really wield. "We gotses enough food an' good blankies an' stuff but he's still scared."

They'd heard that plenty on their rounds. Everyone was scared. Who could blame them? Glancing bank at Hanso and Allendar for help, she tried the same reassurance they'd been giving the others. "There's a lot to be afraid of," she agreed gently. "But the militia can still protect us."

"Isn't that," the boy protested, wide-eyed. "He's afraid cuz the Golden Gods haven't saved us yet. What if they don't?"

…Oh. Now that was a problem they could _not_ help with. Not least because the thought had occurred to Larmina more than a few times herself. She glanced back at the others again, though she doubted either of them had any more theological insight than she did; both shrugged in response. Finally, after flailing a bit, she tapped the golden markings on the boy's cheeks. "Their priests are still with us, so the Golden Gods must still be with us also. Right?"

"The Golden Ones always work in strange ways," Allendar agreed. "And we're still protected here."

It seemed to mollify the boy, who nodded and said nothing more. But he wasn't the only one. As they continued through the cave, a handful of others had similar sentiments. Wondering why they had been forsaken, what they had to do to regain the Golden Ones' favor. Considering her own invocations of the gods before and since the attack, Larmina was thoroughly uncomfortable by the time they finished. And she was only going to get less comfortable, considering what she had to do next…

She put it off as long as possible. Some people needed new blankets or clothing; others required medication. Illness still ran rampant through the caves. They'd made notes of what was needed, to be delivered to those on the Council who were in charge of resource acquisition. After delivering those, checking in with Captain Sariel, chatting with a couple of the elders, and doing everything else she could think of to _not_ deliver her last report, she sighed and beckoned for her companions to follow. "Okay, let's go tell the shiny shirt that he's got some issues."

High Priest Teynn did not look any happier to see her than she was to see him; as they approached, he bowed his head about as slightly as he could get away with. "Lady Larmina… should you not have a more impressive guard? You are the highest noble in the caves, after all."

The fact that she hadn't asked for a guard at all notwithstanding, Larmina wasn't about to put up with this nonsense towards her friends. "I'm sorry," she said icily, "are the people who keep you fed and clothed down here not _impressive_ enough? Maybe next time I'll bring you on my rounds instead. It's only taken a few hours, I'm sure you aren't doing anything else important."

He scowled. "I am only too happy to walk among the flock, Lady Larmina. I do so often."

"I said with _me_." She scowled right back. "Neither of us really wants that, but believe me, I'm _way_ too used to people like you to care."

Eyeing her for another moment, he diplomatically retreated. "I am merely concerned that things are done properly… very well. What can I assist you with?"

"It isn't me you need to assist. The people are frightened, and they're noticing the silence of the gods. Maybe you ought to reassure them some?"

"Perhaps they should pray more and doubt less," the High Priest snorted, though he looked a bit uneasy. "The Golden Gods are rightfully unforgiving towards the unfaithful. If we have not learned from the _last_ time this planet was permitted to fall under attack from the stars…"

Larmina's eyes narrowed. The War of Golden Revival… it had been centuries since that near-mythical conflict. She hadn't been much more interested in listening to those history lectures than any others, but she'd _thought_ she had the general sense of it. "Permitted? Wasn't the whole point there that the Golden Gods _couldn't_ do anything to stop it?"

The look Teynn gave her was a strange mix of contempt, disgust, and pity; she wasn't sure which annoyed her the most, and decided they all did so equally. "Hmph. I would expect a Daughter of Arus to know better, but then, given _your_ standing…"

Though the High Priest trailed off there, it wasn't entirely voluntary. It had much more to do with the fact that Hanso and Allendar had both put their hands on their swords and looked quite ready to use them.

"I would expect the High Priest of the Golden Gods not to insult nobility of any standing," Allendar said coolly.

"Yes." Hanso smirked nastily. "The Honored Mother would be appalled at your disrespect towards the Lady, don't you think? Even us _peasants_ know the Golden Ones demand respect for royal blood."

Blinking, Larmina found herself blushing furiously. Part of her was gratified to have someone stand up for her. Part of her, well… "Okay, you two, you're embarrassing me."

"…Sorry."

"But are we embarrassing _him?"_

By that point the High Priest was completely off balance. The fact of being threatened, and _shamed_, by two militia peasants and an illegitimate noble was so absurd as to be briefly unrecoverable. "Of… of course. My apologies, my Lady." He forced the words out through gritted teeth. "Shall I educate you on the truth, then?"

Much as she didn't want to agree to that, it felt like that information might actually be useful to have. "Go ahead."

Teynn crossed his arms. "The War of Golden Revival began when the Usurpers held sway over Arus, yes. Since the false gods were weak, they could not prevent the invasion from the void. Arus would have been destroyed, had the Golden Ones not broken free of their prisons to reclaim what was theirs."

That all sounded familiar enough; Larmina nodded. "And they punished all the disloyal Arusians for following the Usurpers, but they did save them from the attackers."

"That is a childish simplification."

She blinked. So did Hanso and Allendar, who looked unsure whether they were being insulted or not. They probably were, but she waved them off anyway; it was a pretty tame insult, all things considered. "Okay. Simplification of what?"

"The Golden Ones looked upon those they had once uplifted, those who had turned on them for the Usurpers, and found them faithless and flawed." The High Priest looked downright nervous for a moment. "They rained fire over the world, seeking to purify it… but before they could finish purging the failed creation, the great beasts of the ancient plains intervened."

_The great beasts of…_ Larmina blinked again. "You mean the lions?"

"Yes. They offered themselves as a sacrifice, that the Arusian people would be spared. The Golden Gods accepted that bargain. And so lions no longer prowl the plains, annihilated in Golden Fire. And our people—the very castle of the High King—have held the beasts in honor ever since." His eyes narrowed slightly. "But it seems over the centuries we have forgotten why the gods permit us to honor that sacrifice. It was a _warning_, children. If we are faithless again, there are no lions left to save us!"

* * *

As she made her way to the end of the tunnel, Allura had to fight back numerous unpleasant thoughts of what state her father might actually be in. It was causing tension to build, even though she knew this location was safe. It became all the more dreadful as she came within sight of the den; she could see Black Lion's silhouette in the dim emergency lighting, looking somehow fearsome in the shadows. Usually the main lights would kick on automatically as the shuttle arrived. Coming in from a different access point left her seeing things in, quite literally, a new light.

It wasn't just the sight that sent a shiver through her, of course. This was now her task. The time of dreams, of just imagining Black taking to the sky, was over. She must carry on the work… she must find the way to wake him up.

Finally reaching the entry platform, she looked for a switch and found one that added only a little more light. It was good enough, she figured. There seemed to be no good reason to turn all of the lights on, and any slim risk of increasing discovery was a risk she refused to take. Steeling herself, she looked around.

Just as her father told her, he was laying by the lion's front paws. Her fears about the condition of the body proved thankfully unfounded; she could see the fatal wound, but it was surprisingly clean. The gryphons had carefully positioned his legs and arms so he was neatly laying on his back. It almost seemed as if he was just resting.

Looking towards the crevice between Black's hidden den and the gryphon lair that masked it, she saw a small gryphon peering at her. Giving it a slight bow in thanks, she smiled when it returned her bow and, with a small bob of its beak into the air, ducked back away from view.

Turning, she inhaled slowly and focused on her true reason for being here. Her father's body had been well protected. Now this, too, fell to her. Carefully she moved him onto the sled she had brought, fighting her emotions for a few moments longer. Only once she had him secured did it feel right to take a moment alone with him. As she laid her head near his chest, she felt a slight shock that startled her for a moment. The faintest glimmer of hope that it might be a heartbeat… no. She had bumped the pendant he wore. Frowning, she noted that one of the shots which had taken him had also damaged the ribbon of the pendant. He'd believed this to be crucial, somehow. It needed to be secured.

Slipping it off the damaged ribbon, she felt along the edges of the pendant. There were tiny cracks there, just enough to see some other item hidden inside of it. Light that seeped in seemed to dance along its edges, sparking and crackling. Eyes widening, she tried to pry the pendant open more. Almost immediately she felt an overpowering urge to stop—as though invisible hands had been placed over hers. For a moment she tried to fight the sensation, but then thought better of it, placing the pendant in her lap.

Taking a deep breath and trying to shake the odd feeling, she looked up into the face of Black Lion, gazing down at her and her father. The golden eyes were as dim as ever, the noble face silent and grim. It felt as if they were united in sorrowful mourning. Lowering her eyes again, she tried to gather herself.

"_Oh royal cub…"_

Allura's head snapped up. The sound was deep, like a rolling thunder across the plains. Deeper than her father's voice. It had not been in her ears so much as her mind, shooting through her bones like a sudden downburst, coming from somewhere far away and yet feeling so close.

"_How I wish… I could do… so much more…"_

It was Black. She could feel it, she _knew_. The beautiful rich voice echoing in her mind was Black Lion… it could be no one else. Standing up, she moved over to the sleeping lion to touch his chin, stroking the smooth lines of his mouth and jaw. "Lion of Storms," she whispered, "is that your voice?"

"…_Daughter of Arus…"_ Black's voice slowly rose in volume, as though it were just as shocked as she was. _"You… hear…?"_

"Yes… oh yes." Allura rested her cheek against the cool steel, shivering with awe. "I can hear you. Oh Lion of Storms, please say you are waking up…"

"_Oh royal cub…"_ The voice still sounded distant, struggling, filled with a mix of joy and sorrow. "_I wish I could say so… the chains of sleep are still tight. But what joy it brings me… to be able to be heard once more… if my voice can be heard, there is hope…"_

"Is there something more that I can do to help you wake fully?" she asked excitedly, looking up into the great lion's dimmed eyes. "Whatever it is, tell me, please! I shall do it, seek it out, whatever it is. I promise."

"_I… cannot say…"_ The voice was fading again, and she could feel its frustration. "_But be sure… I am with you… now…"_ A deep rumble of thunder echoed around her, a low growl, and the great lion seemed to fall back into sleep.

Tears fell from Allura's eyes as she looked between the lion and the sled. Her father had come close to waking them up… so _close_. But there was some joy in her tears. As her father and the lion had said, there was hope… and suddenly that hope seemed very real. Black Lion was starting to wake. She had heard his voice. For what felt like a very long time, though it may only have been a couple of minutes, she stood before the lion in silence. If only he could speak again… but there was nothing.

Remembering her father's warning of hardship as well, Allura finally nodded. She couldn't stay here. Not now. Her people needed her, and there was much to do. But as she turned back to the sled, she could still hear the echoes of the thunder, and it strengthened her for what would come next. She tucked the pendant into her pocket and gave her father a small kiss on his forehead. Then, grabbing one end of the sled, she slowly made her way back down the tunnel.

As she reached Coran and the team, she passed her father's body off to the soldiers with some relief, though also some pain. Now that she was here, in a rough tunnel without the great lion's presence, the reality felt more stark. Looking away for a moment, she buried her face into Coran's chest.

He gave her a firm hug, letting her sob softly for a few moments, before patting her shoulder to signal that it was time to go. They had to head back to the shelter as soon as they could. Nodding, the princess followed the guards, clinging to the memory of the voice as darkness seemed to press in around them.

_Be sure… I am with you now._

* * *

_*Sorry about last week, real life happens, and such. But on the bright side, we're officially across the halfway point of On the Hunt!_


	27. No Longer Alone

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 26_  
No Longer Alone

* * *

As it turned out, Onygrine was one of the Vex-Cha Confederacy's administrative hubs. Hence the archives and the bounty return. And the remarkably efficient spaceport operations—or perhaps that was a common Vex-Cha characteristic—either way, the _Bolt_ was directed through a tight and orderly traffic pattern onto a crowded stretch of tarmac, with ships arranged via some sort of adaptable grid system that ensured the minimum possible wasted space. It gave the overall impression of a bustling hive, which certainly wasn't inappropriate. The fact that the adjoining city was named Settlement 6 didn't hurt the sense of stark efficiency, either.

Onygrine wasn't the planet's _real_ name, of course; that was something to the effect of _Nneeklzznn_. It had come by its Common name after transliteration through half a dozen other alien languages. Such games of linguistic telephone were not at all uncommon. Earth's name in Ak-Kila was something along the lines of _Rrkkst_, and where _exactly_ the k sound had come from remained an open question.

Leaving Flynn, Hunk, and Pidge to figure out if they could actually even get refueled here, Keith led the rest of the team to seek out the Hunters' Hall. Once they delivered the bounty they could see about the archives, whatever exactly that would involve.

_This ought to be… interesting._

Not everyone on this trip was coming along entirely willingly. "I know I signed onto this unit to learn things," Cam muttered, "but this mission has had _way_ too many libraries." He wanted to wander the streets and see the local culture, not be stuck poring over another round of probably useless information. But he was the only person on the team who could understand Ak-Kila, and many Vex-Cha—including the Cha-Akor, the second primary race—were physically incapable of speaking Common. His presence was not optional.

Jace snorted. He wasn't all that interested in libraries himself, but he'd wanted off the ship. And really, compared to some of their other stops, this was perfect. "You'd rather have killer bugs?"

"Hell no."

"Libraries beat bugs," Vince agreed. He thought libraries beat a lot of things, really.

"Anything beats fucking killer bugs," Lance grumbled. It felt like the 'killer' part might be important to clarify; they were on this planet to spend a lot of time with bugs, but hopefully these would be friendlier.

Daniel smirked at him. "I prefer the bugs to your singing."

That got him an immediate glare. "I was saving your life!"

"I saved my own life! The only thing your singing did was give me a headache."

Even Keith couldn't help a grin. "Did I ever send that footage to Kleid?"

"Yes, you did, I can still hear him laughing," their pilot answered before turning his attention back to Daniel. "I helped you find your way back, you'd probably still be wandering around Bugmageddon otherwise."

"And we can take you back if you liked it so much," Jace offered.

After taking a few moments to try to find a counter-argument, Daniel supposed he had to concede that point. "Okay yeah, it did. Just…" Even talking about it was threatening to get the song stuck in his head. Again. It had been hanging around since Selech. "Why did it have to be _that_ song?"

"I wanted to annoy the bugs. And it _worked_."

"Yeah, sure." Jace snorted. "You bugged them."

"Damn right I fucking bugged them!"

Shaking his head, Keith led them to the edge of the spaceport complex. "So, are you all just going to bicker or can we focus on what we came here for?"

"I came here to bicker," Lance said quickly.

"I came to be bored here instead of on the ship," Daniel chimed in, "may as well bicker."

"Passes the time," Jace agreed. "Unless you've got a faster way for us to get there?"

That, Keith supposed, he didn't. So he sighed and continued on.

Once they got onto the main streets, the bickering pretty much evaporated anyway. Suddenly there was a whole lot to _see_. Vex-Cha architecture made extensive use of domes and interlaced flying buttresses; the streets were actually heavily reinforced walkways suspended over the arches. Every so often, usually at intersections, they could see heavy vehicles moving through the supply roads beneath the arches.

The actual people of Onygrine were, well… bug people. Three races seemed to dominate the population: the towering iridescent Vexakila, the dragonfly-esque native Klizeni, and slim, drab creatures with folded wings that Cam identified as the Cha-Akor. They'd gone a couple of blocks before they first saw a Cha-Akor unfurl its wings, and suddenly they weren't so drab at all—they were not unlike giant butterflies.

Watching a blue-violet Cha-Akor flutter its wings in the sun, Vince very nearly walked right into one of the walkway supports; Sven grabbed him at the last second, shaking his head. The engineer grinned sheepishly in thanks. "The butterflies are pretty."

Sven had to agree with that, truthfully. It turned out giant insects _could_ be beautiful when they weren't diseased and trying to kill you. Next to him, Lance was _trying_ to appreciate the locals, but he still felt creepy. He blamed the Selsandin. _Fucking rabid wasps_.

Being Earthlings among insects got them several curious looks, though little more than passing glances. Given its status as a bounty hub, the inhabitants of Settlement 6 were probably pretty used to aliens. Every so often they did pass something fleshy or furry. After half an hour or so of walking, as they neared a particularly large silver-domed structure, they started to see a few more aliens clustering in the streets. That seemed like a good sign.

"I think that's the one," Keith confirmed, indicating the silver building. Finding how to actually enter it took a little bit of doing; ultimately they ended up following a burly lizard that almost had to be a bounty hunter, considering the large and slightly bloody container it was dragging with its tail. Sure enough, that got them in… a little unnerved, but in.

The Hunters' Hall was every bit as impressive on the inside. There were high alcoves holding statues of Vex-Cha and even a few aliens, all in warlike stances. Tiny slits in the dome filled the hall with dappled sunlight, mixing with blacklight illumination from fixtures on the floor, causing the soft gradients and mosaics on the walls to glow in places. It was busy, though not inordinately crowded… which was fortunate, considering the whole group froze and looked around for a solid thirty seconds taking the place in.

A large counter stood along the far wall, segmented into a couple dozen semi-cubicles staffed by various insectoids. That seemed like where they needed to go. Approaching the first empty spot brought them to a pearly white Cha-Akor, which greeted them with a series of clicks.

And that was where Cam came in. "Starr?" The comms officer stepped forward and clicked a reply, then waited a moment; Keith slowly raised an eyebrow. "…Translation?"

He blushed. "They said hello. I said hi back."

"Always a good conversation starter," Lance agreed. "I like to add a wink."

Daniel nudged him. "As much as he needs the pointers, we really _don't_ need him to try flirting again."

Glaring, Cam stuck his tongue out at them, then turned back to the Cha-Akor, which had been waiting patiently. Seeing it had his attention again, it flicked one antenna and gave a swift series of clicks. "How may I aid you? Or have you come to aid us?"

"We're here to deliver on a bounty." Cam was being very careful with his own Ak-Kila, and the… clerk? seemed to find it serviceable. "As payment, we want to look into your archives."

"Most excellent. Present the bounty listing and the proof of completion."

Nodding, he produced the bounty listing from Gliskor, then turned back to Keith. "Sir, the cube?"

"Do butterflies even wink?" Vince asked quietly.

Lance eyed the Cha-Akor's huge compound eyes and considered that for a moment. "Good point." As Keith stepped forward and set the data cube on the counter, he couldn't help arching an eyebrow. "I feel like I'm at a bank."

"You probably aren't far off," Cam commented, looking around again.

"Many Earthlings have expressed that," the Cha-Akor agreed. "We do strive for efficiency here."

Eyes widening, the comms officer fought down a mortified blush; he was so flustered he clicked again, even though he was pretty certain he'd just learned he didn't need to. "My apologies, I didn't realize you understood Common. I hope they haven't offended you…"

That earned an amused flutter of the clerk's antennae. "Hunters of all kinds come through here, and many have never seen a Cha-Akor. No offense is taken." Cam nodded his understanding; he supposed taking offense easily _would_ make the clerk's job a lot harder. It took the cube in its spindly fingers. "Please wait a few moments." Turning, it set the cube into some kind of device behind the counter. After watching a screen beside it for a minute, it unfurled its orange-gold wings in satisfaction.

Fortunately there was nothing for Vince to run into; he was immediately transfixed by another alien. The butterfly wings were even cooler than Glis tail typing had been.

Folding its wings again, the Cha-Akor turned back to them and placed a small, circular object on the counter. Cam straightened a little as it clicked an explanation. "This is a voucher to refuel your vessel at our spaceport. They are granted to all those who hunt for us. Now, your other desire is to access our archives?"

"Yes, please." He clicked it again; if he'd had to come do the communications, may as well not half-ass it.

"It would be simplest if I summoned one of our archivists here to speak with you. Is that acceptable?"

Was that acceptable? Cam didn't see why not. It would at least be a start. "Of course."

Giving an odd sort of multi-jointed bow, the Cha-Akor typed a few things into its console and stepped out from behind the counter. "Come, I will lead you somewhere quieter."

That was definitely acceptable. Cam turned and motioned to the others. "It's summoning an archivist for us. We need to follow." He took the disc from the counter, handing it to Keith. "We also get a voucher for refueling, sir."

"Handy," Lance said appreciatively. He was starting to feel _slightly_ less creepy crawly here.

Keith nodded, accepting the voucher and turning to follow the butterfly. "Good work, Starr."

"Just doing my job, sir." He turned away before the commander could see his huge grin; he may have been preening at the praise. Just a little. Okay, just a little more than a little.

Of course, turning away from Keith meant Daniel could see him. "Just doing my job, sir," his roommate mimicked, wrinkling his nose. "Blech." It earned him a brief glare, but not even Daniel was going to ruin Cam's good mood right now.

According to the signs, they were being led to the private negotiation rooms. It did seem like the sort of thing a bounty hunting facility would need. The room the clerk ultimately led them to was sparsely furnished, but roomy and not really uncomfortable. Vex-Cha just didn't seem to make much use of furniture. "The archivist KR7 will arrive in some three breezes… roughly ten of your minutes." It gave its rippling bow again.

"Thank you." Cam bowed back, then looked at the others as the clerk departed. "We have about ten minutes before the archivist… uh, KR7… gets here."

Jace dropped onto a bench; it bounced slightly. "Gotta say, this is not what I expected when I said I'd come with you guys to the library." Of course, the last library he'd been to hadn't been what he'd expected either…

"Not all libraries require bloodletting," Keith pointed out, apparently thinking of the same thing.

Sven nodded. "Most don't."

"Fair point." Lance dropped onto the bench next to Jace; it bounced again, nearly sending the medic flying, and he snickered. The others found seats too, except for Keith, who started pacing. Daniel eyed the commander for a moment, then brought up a game on his datapad. _Someone_ here obviously needed to relax to balance it out.

After almost exactly ten minutes, a new Cha-Akor appeared. Or at least, it looked a lot like a Cha-Akor… except it appeared to be wearing some sort of heavy electronic chestplate, connected to several wires and lights looping through its carapace. Its green and white wings were partially visible, with wires and metal plates accentuating their patterns. When it spoke, it spoke in Common—though its mouth parts clearly weren't moving, and the voice was synthetic and muted. "You are the Earthlings who wished to access the Archives?"

Lance was the first to recover, looking it up and down. "Huh. Butterborg." Daniel and Vince both snickered; Jace gave the pilot a smack on the shoulder, though he wasn't exactly _not_ laughing himself.

"Um." Not even Keith had been prepared for cyborg butterflies. "Yes, that's us." He was suddenly _much_ too flustered to have any idea where to begin.

KR7 did not seem at all surprised by their reactions. "Have you encountered a Cha-Delar before? I suspect you have not."

"No," the commander confirmed a little too quickly. "No we haven't."

"Wonder what gave that away," Lance muttered. Vince had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep down more laughter; this was surely not the time for giggles. Daniel on the other hand was very certain this _was_ the time for giggles, though he at least had the decency to hide behind Cam.

The archivist tilted its head at Lance, as if trying to determine whether he _actually_ wondered that or not. It seemed to decide not. "We are directly linked to the archives. Ask me your questions, and I will answer with the fullness of our knowledge."

"Huh." Lance was intrigued. "Be like talking to the computer from Star Trek—ow!" Jace had smacked him again.

Keith shook his head, wishing he could have Jace deliver an extra smack for him. So far KR7 seemed unconcerned by the commentary—maybe _butterfly cyborgs_ got this a lot—but he'd really rather they not push their luck. They did that enough as it was. "Thank you." He stepped in front of the others and gathered his thoughts. "We're bounty hunters, looking for any information we can find about a planet known as Altea. We've been tracking a criminal searching for a mythical weapon hidden there. Do you have any records of an Altea?"

"Altea." KR7 was silent for a few moments. "Yes, we know of it. Altean traders occasionally come to the great market on Chakuru."

Nearly every jaw in the room dropped. "Fucking _what?"_

"You have contact with Alteans?!"

"Yes. But they have not been seen in some time… it has been seventy-four revolutions." It paused another moment, tilting its head. "Five hundred and sixty-two Earthling years."

"…Aaand there's the catch."

"That's disappointing." A few nods answered Vince as the team came down from the initial shock. Even Sven's excited eyebrow raise gave way to a more typical one.

"But guys, it _existed_." Lance wasn't willing to concede defeat yet. This was still the most concrete information they'd been given; it sure as hell beat rumors and myths and vague references to ancient wars.

The archivist cocked its head in the other direction, mild surprise entering its usually flat tone. "Was there a question of that?"

"You'd be surprised," Keith mumbled. "Would you happen to have a location on it? Coordinates, or even a general idea?"

"There is no concrete location data. But we believe it to be in the directions you call 'spinward' or 'rimward' from Chakuru." It raised one spindly limb, and a projector sprang to life. It showed Vex-Cha space, with the planet Chakuru highlighted; it was one of their two capitals, and more or less marked the Confederacy's spinward-rimward corner. "The Alteans never requested a cargo clearance to pass through our space. As you can see, they likely would have required it if they came from other directions."

Sven was staring at the map, fascinated. He'd only seen Vex-Cha map projections a few times in the Academy. Half of him was almost giddy at being able to look this one over; the other half was equally excited to have another piece to the puzzle. Between this and what they'd been told on Gliskor, Altea's possible locations were narrowing down nicely. It was almost enough to make him forget how much he'd prefer a library where he actually got to read things. "Would it be possible to get a copy of that?"

Turning to him, KR7 made a gesture that was probably an attempt at a nod. "I will produce a data disk at the completion of our discussion."

"Produce?" Lance snickered, and promptly got a Viking elbow to the ribs. "OW!"

"Shh. We're in a library, for heaven's sake. Keep your voice down." Out of the corner of his eye, Sven saw Jace giving him a look of appreciation. He could actually hear the medic's _I like it when you're an asshole_ in the back of his mind, and resolved to be more diplomatic for the rest of this. Probably.

"I'm not shouting," Lance grumbled, rubbing his ribs.

"Was pretty loud though," Daniel said with a smirk; the pilot glared.

Considering all they'd been told so far, Vince felt like bickering was the last thing they needed to be spending time on. And he was eager to learn more. "Is there anything else you can tell us about Altea, or the Alteans? Or other places we could look?"

Again the archivist fell silent. A few tiny LEDs chased along its antennae as it did so; maybe that was how it accessed the archives. "There are two known vestiges of Altea which you might find of interest."

"Really?"

"What might those… vestiges be?" Keith was pacing again, though this time it was excitement rather than the usual agitation.

"On our world of Zandrek there is a museum called the Repository of Riches." KR7 projected the map again, with a new planet highlighted. "It has a prized relic in its collection which is claimed to be from Altea."

An actual relic? Cam tried to gasp and give an excited cry at once, which resulted in an incredibly undignified squeak. He covered it with a cough, or at least tried to. "And the other?"

Another dot appeared on the projection. It was hard to tell, the way the map was scaled, but it seemed very far from Vex-Cha territory; it might not even have been in the Interior Expanse. "A distant, uninhabited planet we catalog as 9-XRL. There is wreckage there which matches several parameters of an Altean spacecraft. The site was well scavenged even when our explorers located it, but perhaps there will be something of use to you."

"A ship?" Lance repeated. "An Altean _ship?_ Butterborg, you just made my day."

"Oh we have to go there, right?" Cam blushed again, but there was no point pretending not to be excited. Even Daniel was paying full attention now.

"We better! That sounds _awesome_."

Jace shook his head slightly. _All the bullshit we've gone through so far, and Butterborg just _hands _it to us. Porra._ "Remind me why we didn't just start here?"

Now it was Lance's turn to smack him. "Because our _fugitive_ didn't, dude."

"…Oh yeah, that's right." Blinking, he looked back at KR7 and tried to cover. "Uh, any chance anyone else has been asking around about Altea lately?"

"Way to save it," Lance hissed under his breath, punching him in the shoulder.

"Couldn't have done it without you, caralho." Jace returned the punch.

"Okay know what, next person to hit me gets rickrolled."

"Everyone's being so fucking _violent_ today," Daniel mumbled to Cam, readying the wanted poster in case it was needed.

It wasn't going to be; KR7 had been searching the data while they argued. "The records have been accessed recently." That got a few surprised looks, given the reality of their fugitive, but it continued. "I have no way of knowing if that access was targeted, or routine records re-indexing."

_Huh_. Score one for Vex-Cha efficiency helping their cover, Vince supposed. Though they probably shouldn't let it go quite that easily. "Do you know who it was?"

"That I cannot tell."

Keith had stopped pacing again, a shiver of excitement running up his spine. "What else can you tell us?" Having finally found a real record of this planet, wringing every drop of information possible just seemed prudent.

"There are mostly market records and observations," KR7 offered, antennae flashing again. "The primary products of the Altean merchants were derivative of a crop called the juniberi. Flowers, fruit, and textiles made from its petal fibers. Occasionally seeds, though no attempts to transplant them to any Confederacy worlds were successful."

"Juniberies," Daniel repeated, shrugging. "Sounds tasty."

It was somewhat interesting information, maybe—Vince looked interested at least—but not too likely to help them. Unless they stumbled across juniberies somewhere, Lance supposed. "So they were what, gardeners?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Unique agricultural products are a common commodity in the great market." The archivist still seemed to be searching the data. "Altean trading vessels were noted as swift and graceful for their size. We know them to have carried light armaments, as with any trading vessel. We have no records of ever observing an Altean warship."

If Altean warships were _rainbow cats_ it seemed like something the Vex-Cha would remember. Hawkins had told them to keep the weapon's name quiet if possible, but Lance was pretty ready to abandon that here. Could they really afford _not_ to try following that lead? He nudged Keith, who was standing pretty much right in front of him, and gave him a pointed look.

The boss got what he was getting at… sort of. "Maybe this weapon our fugitive is searching for made warships unnecessary?"

KR7 considered that. "It is possible. Their file holds no indications they ever spoke of war or enemies, though such topics are not commonly discussed at the great market."

Scowling, Lance nudged Keith a little harder and coughed. "V word!" All it got him was a glare.

"Now who's fucking up the mission?" Jace muttered.

"It's worth a shot."

Daniel rolled his eyes; he agreed with Lance. It _was_ worth a shot. And if someone was going to fuck up the mission, it might as well be him. "Anything in there about a Voltron?"

"Daniel!"

"What?" He put his hands up defensively as everyone gaped at him, as if he didn't know _precisely_ what. "What'd I do?"

"That works." Lance was the only person not staring at him in shock; he just gave a thumbs-up. Which, unlike certain hero worshipping fanboys that he may or may not be sitting next to, Daniel was certainly _not_ going to preen about.

Cam eyed his roommate and snorted. He was totally preening.

Once again, KR7 had ignored pretty much everything going on around it. Vince was starting to wonder if it, like Beeps, was mechanical enough to not be programmed to take offense. Either way, it had been searching. "We do have records of a Voltron. Another race, called the Galra, spoke of it at times."

Lance's head snapped up. "You know those fuckers?!" Jace edged away from him slightly; Daniel followed his example.

"They often came to the great market to trade craftworks and weaponry." The archivist was as unfazed by Lance's outburst as anything else. It was the only one, really. "Although, they have also been absent for many revolutions."

"You aren't missing a fucking _thing_ there," their pilot snarled. "Fuckers."

For the first time, KR7 seemed bothered. "I have only given the requested information. There was no intention to upset you."

The only person who hadn't at least edged away from Lance was Sven, who true to form was keeping his composure—mostly—he was doing his best, anyway. "Can you tell us anything else about Voltron?"

Vince had not _edged_ away either, technically; he had retreated post haste and was now sitting on a different bench altogether. "Any other records, maybe?"

This time the archivist paused for what seemed like an unusually long time. The lights on its antennae danced quickly, them dimmed; it fluttered its wings in what seemed to be agitation. "Those records are missing."

Keith blinked. "Wait, what?" Somehow, with all the revelations they'd had here, that was the most surprising statement yet.

"I do not know." Now KR7 was definitely agitated. "I have not encountered this before."

"Galra," Lance growled venomously. "Bet you those fucking purple pigs deleted them somehow."

"Easy, Lance." At Keith's words, Lance nodded and tried to calm a little—though really he thought he was handling this pretty well, by his standards. Next to him, Daniel did not agree at all. He was adding the Galra to his mental list of Lance no-no topics, right below Bokar.

Vince leaned forward a little, wanting to get the discussion back on track. "Nothing's been deleted before?"

"Not without being replaced and updated. These archives serve our entire domain; we would never intentionally abandon knowledge." It paused again. "The files seem to have become corrupted."

That was something. "Could we possibly get a copy of the corrupted files also?" Keith asked. "We might have someone able to restore them." That was without question a long shot, but if Pidge had been able to decrypt the alien crystal he surely might have a _little_ hope with a Vex-Cha format.

KR7 hesitated again. "No. The Queen Docent refuses permission. The corrupted files must not be touched until we have investigated."

…Oh. Keith sighed. He supposed it was reasonable. "We understand."

"I am sorry." The synthetic voice did sound like it might actually be sorry. "But her word is final."

"It's okay, Butter… uh, KR7." Vince grimaced. _Eeesh, Vince_. So much for trying to be reassuring.

"What you've given us is already incredibly helpful," Keith agreed. "If we can get copies of the other information, we'd appreciate it."

"Of course." There was a soft whirring and clicking sound, and the archivist pulled a disk from a slot on its chestplate. "This holds the data accessed during our discussion. And if you wish to leave contact information for either you or your employer, I can request that the Queen Docent relay anything of use that may come from our investigation."

Vince stared eagerly at the disk; it held actual _useful information_. It almost seemed too good to be true. Sven was equally eager—in fact, to his own surprise, he was feeling impatient to leave. He wanted to get back to the ship. There were alien maps to interpret, routes to plan and solidify, and he was ready to get _to_ it.

Of all people, Jace nudged him to calm him down; he could recognize their navigator's impatience when he saw it. "Easy, Viking." Blinking, Sven scolded himself and settled a bit. They did seem to be wrapping things up here.

Keith was considering the question of contact information. The ploy they'd used with Manset was hardly viable here… then again, unlike an independent smuggler, the Vex-Cha had actual diplomatic channels they could utilize. "If you could relay such a message to Colonel James Hawkins of the Alliance, he'll see that it gets to us."

There were a couple of faint beeps as KR7 recorded that. "I shall do so. Hopefully the information you have will help you until then."

"I think it will. Thank you." Keith turned back to the others. "Let's head back so we can get the ship refueled." He'd sent a message about the voucher while they were waiting for the archivist, but hadn't checked for a response. Flynn was probably pretty annoyed with him by now.

Hopping up off the bench, Jace patted Sven on the head and smirked. "C'mon Viking, you'll have your nav charts soon enough." Sven rolled his eyes, but couldn't argue the point. He really did want his charts. Grinning at the exchange, Vince joined the two of them, still giving Lance a wide berth.

Standing up was about when Lance finally noticed everyone else had backed off. Sighing, he shrugged it off; he _was_ still angry, and he had good reason to be. As Cam and Daniel headed out, he trailed behind them, KR7 bringing up the rear.

"Earthling," the archivist commented abruptly, "if it was not clear, I was quite amused by the 'Butterborg' nickname."

…No, that certainly had not been clear, and it actually shocked Lance into calming slightly. Not least because it still didn't sound even remotely amused. "Um, good! Glad it didn't _bug_ you." Turning, he almost automatically shot the Cha-Delar a wink. After a moment's hesitation, the light panels on one of KR7's eyes dimmed briefly.

Despite his foul mood, Lance laughed. Apparently some butterflies winked after all.

* * *

Once they were back on the streets of Settlement 6, Keith paused and looked back at the Hunters' Hall with a thoughtful frown. He'd stopped a bit abruptly; Sven and Jace bumped into him, then Vince and Cam bumped into them, and Lance ran into all of them. In fact, the only person who didn't end up in the pileup was Daniel… somehow… despite the fact that he was playing a game on his datapad while walking.

"Why are we standing?" Lance asked, frowning too.

"Yeah, the Viking is experiencing map withdrawal."

Sven rolled his eyes as Jace grinned. "I am not." It was immediately clear nobody believed him, and he decided not to bother arguing the point. It would only be a losing battle.

"Something's just bothering me." Keith spoke slowly, feeling his way. "It's too convenient. Every reference to Voltron is corrupted?"

"Wonder how that could've happened," Lance snorted.

The commander shot him an irritated look. "I know, but if them, why? We know we aren't the only ones searching. Do they know _they_ aren't the only ones searching? And why only Voltron, but not Altea?"

"Maybe they don't know about Altea," Jace suggested. "It was on the crystal we yanked from under their noses."

"Maybe." Keith shook his head. "And then there's the Vex-Cha knowing the Galra at all—trading with them, even?" Hawkins had definitely not made it sound like they did much in the way of peaceful exchange. "I keep thinking about the Drules on Dradin…"

Cam winced at that. He would prefer not to think about the Drules on Dradin ever again. "You think they're more common around here?" He looked around. "But… KR7 said they haven't been seen for a long time. I mean, look around—we're the oddballs here. They would definitely stick out too."

Eyeing a passing bug-person that looked something like a humanoid spider—complete with wispy vestigial limbs trailing from its shoulders and waist—Jace arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Is _anything_ really weird enough to stand out around here?"

"Uh, no?" Vince followed his gaze. The spider was way creepier than the butterflies.

"Any non-insectoid being seems to be fairly odd on this planet," Sven countered. Which wasn't wrong, though as they'd seen, the Hunters' Hall _did_ attract all types.

Nodding, Keith turned and started leading the group back to the spaceport. He was still uneasy, but there wasn't much to be done about it right now. They could speculate all day; they'd be no closer to knowing the answers.

"They're probably sneaky motherfuckers anyway," Lance snorted, not ready to let it go. "Whatever, the point is the fucking Galra obviously corrupted the files! Would they even need to land to do it?"

Not knowing the details of the Vex-Cha archive system, nor of Galra tech in general, Vince couldn't answer that with any certainty. But he had a pretty strong suspicion. "They'd probably have to?" He really wasn't sure he should even be getting Lance's attention right now. Their pilot sounded ready to kill. He may actually _not_ have gotten his attention; he was busy cursing under his breath.

Jace eyed the young engineer and shook his head slightly. "Forget it, he's rolling…" As he spoke, a huge Vexakila crossed in front of them, and he briefly contemplated the fact that any one of the giant jewel-bugs could just as easily be some furry purple fucker in a bug suit. Theoretically. Okay, _probably_ not, but still. A little healthy paranoia in a place like this had never hurt anyone… much.

Between the healthy paranoia and the fact that the Vex-Cha really were _interesting_, he suddenly found himself staring at what looked damn near identical to a Selsandin, except most of its chitin was blue instead of red. It noticed him watching him and waved a wing, clicking something that sounded as upbeat as clicking could get. _Porra…_ he tossed a weak salute and looked away, blinking. That had been _freaky_.

Vince was also looking around, still trying to take in everything at once. The fascinating aliens around them would have been giving him a serious case of the shinies even if they _weren't_ literally shiny. Behind him, Sven was alternating between watching their surroundings and watching their electrical engineer, a small grin on his face. Cam was just trailing quietly, trying not to get himself in trouble. And Daniel, well… his datapad games weren't going to play themselves.

He was _not_ watching where he was going. Nor was a scraggly little wren-like alien coming down an intersecting street, its head turning nearly a full 180 degrees as it tried to read a sign. One moment Daniel was running a virtual car off the road; the next he was running smack into something quite solid.

Looking up, he caught sight of a beak and feathers and jumped back with a screech, dropping his datapad. "Mother of _fuck!"_ His mood was not improved in the least when the wren screeched too, catching his datapad before it could hit the ground and dusting it off with its feathers. Cawing frantic apologies in broken Common, it held the device out to him.

Daniel backed away and promptly ran into someone else. This time it was just Lance—the noise had been enough to snap him out of his Galra-induced fog of rage. "Whoa, kid, it's fine."

Fine. Yeah. Sure. It was fine. Staring at the bird, Daniel tried to calm down. _Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, fuck! You're panicking._

"You alright?" Cam asked, patting his shoulder and moving up to address the alien—someone had to handle this. "Sorry about him. He's uh, wound kind of tight."

"Many sorries also, very careless, very sorries!" It offered Cam the datapad instead.

Daniel was trying to get things back under control. The little wren alien had such a cute, downy, innocent face—exactly the kind of face he saw in his worst bird _nightmares_. Lance squeezed his other shoulder as he tried to back up further. "Breathe, kid."

"I am breathing!" He watched Cam accept the datapad, and the wren apologized a few more times before rushing off. "Why the fuck is there a _bird_ on a bug planet?"

"Why the fuck are there panicky monkeys on a bug planet?" Jace retorted, looking around. The commotion had drawn a bit of a crowd; he waved them off, wishing he knew how to click _what the fuck are you looking at_. "You can all buzz off, it's just some boring ornithophobia."

"Probably visiting, just like us." Lance grinned. "Maybe it's a bounty hunter too." It hadn't really looked suited for bounty hunting, but then again, the 686 had Vince.

"Oh, great. That's what the universe needs, a bird bounty hunter." Daniel was finally getting his composure back as the alien vanished into the crowds. "When did my life turn into a really bad Sesame Street knockoff?"

That got a laugh. "You're just lucky, kid."

Flipping Lance off, Daniel finally noticed the onlookers, and felt his face going bright red. "Can I have my datapad back? Please?" He needed to hide behind it now.

"It said it was sorry. Several times." Cam handed the datapad back. "Maybe watch where you're going?"

"Yeah… maybe."

Keith and Sven had been standing back a bit to keep the crowds—first traffic and then gawkers—at bay, letting Daniel have some space to recover. With things seeming to have settled, the onlookers were dispersing, though Jace was still trying to hurry them along. "I said _move it_, people, we've got a hysterical monkey coming through."

"I'M NOT HYSTE—" Daniel blinked. That wouldn't even have convinced _him_. "…Whatever."

Shaking his head, Keith found a gap opening up in the crowd and headed in that direction. "Come on, let's get back."

"Yeah, let's."

"That would be best."

Noting their gunner was still flushed bright red, Cam stepped up next to him and patted his arm. "You're going to be okay, Daniel."

He was trying to be nice. Daniel knew he was trying to be nice. Part of him probably even appreciated the effort. Most of him, though, would have been much happier forgetting that had happened and never speaking of it again; it made him more than a little snippy. "I'm not a fucking _child."_

Lance and Jace exchanged looks, trying desperately not to laugh. Even Keith bit down a small snort of amusement.

Being on the receiving end, Cam didn't find it so funny; he stepped back, a little wounded. "Fine. Be that way."

_Well fuck_. Now Daniel found himself feeling guilty, an outcome he would have thought was impossible. "Sorry," he mumbled, and buried his face in his datapad again. This time he was at least trying to keep one eye on what was in front of him.

The whole group was being a bit more vigilant now. As he glanced around the streets, Jace caught sight of another of the blue Selsandin things. Even knowing it was irrational, he instinctively watched it as they passed by… which led to him catching sight of something behind them that seemed very out of place. It wasn't any sort of Vex-Cha. It was a humanoid in a bulky black coat and hood, with round eyes and mouth markings that glowed a deep purple. Maybe it was just because of their surroundings, but it made him think of someone who'd never actually seen a bug trying to dress up as a bug.

More to the point, it was distinctive. And it had definitely been in the crowd Daniel had attracted earlier.

He started making a point of staring at passing bugs, which wasn't really too out of character; he'd been doing that anyway. Every couple minutes he would catch a glimpse of glowy purple bugface again. It was walking casually, yet it seemed to be matching their pace too perfectly. Maybe it was just going back to the spaceport, and just happened to walk at the same speed as a band of wandering humans. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

As they stepped from the city's walkways to the crowded lower streets bordering the spaceport, the group paused for a few moments to get their bearings. Glowy bugface behind them stopped too. _Okay. Healthy paranoia it is_. "Can we pick it up? We're not gonna make it back by six." That precise phrasing had a very precise meaning: he'd picked up someone following them, currently in the six o'clock position.

Of course, nearly the second he said it, he remembered the rest of his team was a bunch of tin can jockeys who'd probably never taken urban theater training. Keith was the first to prove it. "I didn't realize Kleid put a curfew on us…?"

"Dude, what do you mean six? It's like eight?"

"Yeah. 7:38 Garrison Standard, to be exact."

Sven eyed his confused teammates, then Jace, and checked the time himself. Sure enough, it was well past six. Something was up… he only became more certain of that when Jace sighed in exasperation. "Guess my watch is off." Sven had never once known the medic to actually wear a watch. Something about it getting in the way if he had to do anything serious. "Anyway, can we pick it up? Who knows what we're missing."

As a code phrase, that meant he didn't know where their tail was, which was not at all accurate. But it was an attempt… though he wasn't too sure why he was trying it again.

Sure enough, all it got him was more confusion. "Are you being weirder than usual?" Lance asked.

Cam leaned over and whispered in Vince's ear, since he was still giving Daniel a little distance. "Doc must have some hot date in sick bay, huh?"

Rather than laughing, the engineer gave him a slightly horrified look. "…I _don't_ want to know."

Only Sven seemed to have picked up that something was _wrong_. Though what, he wasn't clear on. "Are you alright?"

Shaking his head, Jace took another look around. The area around the spaceport was full of shops catering to offworlders; they weren't too far from some kind of corner cafe, and its patrons looked to be almost exclusively non-insectoid. There was even a large sign proudly advertising that it accepted alcreds and other alien currency. Perfect. "Maybe a little dehydrated. C'mon, let's go get a drink."

Daniel, who really wanted to get back to the ship so he could hide in his room and sulk, gave him a weird look. "I thought we _had_ to get back to the ship?" The medic smacked him on the back of the head. "Ow! Why is everyone so fucking abusive today?"

Lance eyed him. He could guess what was on the kid's mind. "I'll let you order a beer, kid."

Immediately his eyes lit up. "I guess a drink sounds okay."

Though he had no real idea what was going on, Keith couldn't help noticing that their medic hadn't cursed once in this whole sequence. That was enough to have him suspecting something was up, too. "Alright. Let's get a drink." He led them over to the cafe, though it was Jace who picked out the table—far from the street, next to a crowd of very loud, fuzzy creatures that he couldn't identify.

As they sat, the medic glowered around the table and hissed beneath the racket next to them. "Don't you fuckers know basic codewords?"

Sven raised an eyebrow; now _that_ sounded more like Jace. "What?"

"No, I didn't go to spy school," Lance snorted. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"We're being followed."

"…What?"

"Oh."

"Fuck."

Nothing triggered the urge to look around quite as quickly as the words _we're being followed_; Lance and Daniel were both visibly fighting it down. Cam suppressed it as best he could and lowered his voice. "How do you know?"

"Eyes," the medic retorted; Lance laughed.

Keith crossed his arms on the table, nodding slowly. "Do you see them now?"

"No." He could see most of the cafe from the seat he'd chosen, and their tail had definitely not come in for a drink. "Where's the ninja when we need him?"

"Is it Galra?" Lance asked darkly.

"Can't tell. They're big and humanoid and they've got a glowing face." Considering the size and builds of the Galra they'd seen on Kithran, he lowered his voice a little further. "Wouldn't bet against it."

Nodding, Lance barely fought down the urge to grab his gun. Daniel noticed his fingers twitching. _Uh oh…_

"Glowing face?" Vince repeated. All it got him was a shrug, which he supposed was fair. A glowing face was a glowing face. Then something moved next to him and he jumped; it turned out to be a large blue Klizeni bearing a tray of water. He'd momentarily forgotten where they actually were.

Cam stepped in smoothly, clicking a thanks and requesting some beers. "Anyone want anything other than beer?"

"Order something to munch on," Keith instructed, frowning slightly.

_That_ ought to be interesting. Asking what they had to eat got him a list of things the Klizeni claimed were Earthling food, though none of them sounded exactly familiar… after a moment's thought he put in an order for 'crispy potato legs' and hoped he wouldn't regret it.

Sipping his water—he actually had been kind of thirsty—Jace turned his attention to Keith and lowered his voice even more. "Boss, unless I'm wrong and this guy's not there when we leave, they kinda trained us to _ambush_ a tail, not shake it. Don't suppose any of you people who don't know urban theater code know urban theater stealth?"

"I took one semester of musical theater," Lance offered; the medic gave him a look of disbelief.

"Failed it, right?"

"Hooked up with the director." He'd accomplished _exactly_ what he'd intended to. "Anyway, I know how to shoot."

"I can't shoot," Sven said matter of factly, "but I'm adept at stabbing."

"I can be sneaky if I have to." Keith frowned. "It's not my preference, and I'm better at tracking than being tracked."

Vince stared at his water, trying to think of any helpful skills he might have for this situation. "I'm… underprepared."

Though Daniel probably had at least something that could help here, he was way more interested in Jace's original phrasing. "I dunno, I kind of want to see Doc shake his tail."

Lance snorted so hard water went up his nose. "Ow, fuck."

"You want to see him _what?"_ Cam demanded.

Smirk. "You heard me."

"I'd rather not have."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," Jace fired back.

"Not that kind of doctor," Keith mumbled into his glass, "just one that hires hookers…"

"Boss, if you don't _stop_ insulting the honor of my hookers…" Jace waved his glass threateningly. "But if you _must_ know, I'm not the one doing the tail shaking in those situations."

"You… have hookers?" Cam asked in a voice that was more of a squeak than anything. There were a _lot_ of mental images running through his head, and not a single one he actually wanted.

"Dude, where have you been?" Daniel snorted, then grinned as he saw their server approaching. The bickering and innuendo had righted his world from the earlier embarrassment; the beer would just be the cherry on top.

'Crispy potato legs' turned out to be french fries. Perfect golden french fries sprinkled with salt and just a hint of seasoning. Vince immediately started to stress munch; the preceding conversation had him convinced it was by far the safest option. Lance grabbed a beer and was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't half bad. He wondered if bugs did microbrewing.

Taking another long drink of his water, Jace waited for the Klizeni to be well out of earshot before leaning forward again. "Speaking of hooks, are we saying the ambush is plan A?"

"Is it?" Lance thought an ambush sounded like a wonderful idea, especially if it resulted in him getting to punch a Galra in the face. Preferably with bullets.

"Well I'm pretty sure we don't want to lead them back to the ship…"

"No."

"No, that would be a bad idea."

"…so if we're gonna get them _off_ our tail, think we just established which option's gonna work best."

"Probably." Keith took a french fry and looked around with his best _just a tourist_ expression. But he was carefully taking in every inch of their surroundings. "We're going to be at a disadvantage, not knowing the lay of the land."

Jace nodded, considering tactics. This was going to be quick and dirty—they didn't have the information or the training to do it any other way. "We just need somewhere quiet… and we need to be a bunch of idiots not watching what we're doing." He smirked. "Half of that won't be hard."

"Find an alley out back?"

"Enclosed area would be better." Frown. "It's a fucking spaceport, it can't be that hard to find a warehouse or something."

Cam snagged Daniel's datapad and found a link into the spaceport's information channel. "There's a big general-purpose hangar about halfway between here and the _Bolt…_"

"Hey!" Daniel glowered as the game he'd been about half paying attention to disappeared. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to just snatch things?"

What very few lessons Cam had ever learned from his _parents_ were neither helpful nor relevant here; Gran might not have approved, in fairness. "We needed information," he said defensively, "and you weren't using it for anything productive."

"You could've been a normal person and, oh I don't know, _asked_ me for it?"

"That would've been the polite thing to do," Sven agreed absently, then nearly choked on his water as he realized he'd just agreed with _Daniel_ on manners.

"This is kind of an emergency, isn't it?" Cam protested.

Daniel snorted. "Yes, and if you'd used your manners we would've saved all the time this lecture has taken up."

"Oh, like we were saving time talking about Doc shaking his tail?"

"Starr. Brennan." Keith felt a headache coming on. "Please?"

"Kogane. Please?" Daniel matched his tone perfectly. "We're having a conversation. _Rude_."

This time it was beer Lance snorted up his nose. Staring at Daniel in disbelief, Keith opted for the day's other main form of behavioral modification and smacked both kids on the back of the head. "That's enough, boys."

"Owww… sorry sir."

"Ow… wait, I'm not saying sorry! It was rude."

"I mean, you're the expert on that, I'll buy it." Jace leaned back in his chair. There was still no sign of glowy bugface, not that he'd expected there to be. The slim possibility remained that they weren't actually being followed at all—that it had all been a coincidence, and they'd just had beer and fries and learned an important lesson about operational codes for no reason.

He was certainly _not_ going to count on that.

"So what exactly is the plan?" Sven asked once he was confident all the tomfoolery had settled down.

Keith frowned. "We're going to nonchalantly walk out of here and head for that hangar…" He looked at Jace.

"Glowy bugface follows us—or doesn't—and jumps us because we've left ourselves vulnerable—or doesn't—and if they just keep following us, we turn around and wing them with a to-go cup and draw a lot of guns." Shrug. "We'll get to a result we want some way or another."

It was as good a plan as any, the commander supposed. "Everyone got that?"

"Yep."

"Yes sir."

"Yeehaw." Lance sounded more edgy than gleeful this time; he was really hoping this would come down to guns.

When he'd signed on for military engineering, this was definitely _not_ what Vince had been anticipating. Looking around at his teammates and considering Hunk's absence, he resolved to hide behind Sven if needed. It had worked for Beeps.

Their server returned after another couple of minutes. Jace ordered a soda to go, something nice and acidic. As they paid the Klizeni, it offered a farewell in rough but understandable Common. "Have a pleasant and safe stay on Onygrine, Earthlings."

Lance's Galra face reflexively gave way to a charming smile and a wink. "Thank you."

"Hey," Cam objected as they prepared to head out, "no flirting on the mission, remember?"

_Was I?_ Shrugging, he clapped the kid on the shoulder. "That's just for you."

Daniel was scowling as they headed out. _All my hard work to keep his stupid flirting secret for nothing._ His scowl deepened as Cam draped an arm across his shoulders—though he didn't protest, he _had_ been a dick earlier.

"Come on, bud. Let's get you back to the ship."

"What the fuck are you doing?" he muttered. It was kind of hard to walk like this.

"Just looking out for you." Cam pulled him a little tighter, which was exactly the _opposite_ of what he'd been wanting. In a display of remarkable new restraint, he shot his roommate a look that clearly said if he didn't _let go right now_ he was going to be a dick again; Cam did not appreciate the warning one bit, patting his arm. "Relax, bud. I'll make you some toast when we get back."

"Oh get _off_ me," Daniel grumbled, lightly shoving him away.

"Hey!" Cam stumbled and nearly fell over. "I know you feel bad, but take it easy!" Coming closer again, but wisely not touching this time, he hissed, "I'm trying to keep up appearances, would you play along?"

Keep up what appearances? For a moment he was extremely confused as well as irritated, then suddenly it hit him. "…Dude, chill, I've been blessed by the healing powers of bickering and beer. Just keep an eye out for _birds_ if you want to look out for me."

"Oh." Cam looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "Okay then."

Speaking of keeping up appearances… Lance fell in beside Jace. "Anything?"

"Get behind me and say something dickish so I have to look back at you," the medic murmured back. He hadn't gotten an excuse to look behind them yet—most of the foot traffic was going their way, and the few side streets they'd passed so far had been closed off.

Nodding, Lance slowed his pace until he was walking next to Vince… who was slinking behind Sven, much to the navigator's bemusement. He gave it another moment before calling out. "Hey, assface!"

Jace looked back at him and snorted. "Talking to yourself again?" _There._ Glowy bugface was surprisingly well camouflaged among the crowd's riot of shimmering colors, but for a split second he'd seen it… it wasn't even doing anything to avoid their notice, though that made some sense. On these crowded streets, trying to duck away would be the more suspicious move.

Smirking, Lance watched the medic carefully, trying to sense if he'd seen anything. "I mean, you answered." So far there was no indication.

"Because I don't think you should talk that way about yourself."

"You? Think?"

"Damn fucking right I do."

"I don't buy it."

"You're entitled to your wrong opinion."

Daniel eyed them, frowning slightly. This felt like a sad imitation of their usual bickering, somehow… he really preferred the real thing. Hopefully he and Cam hadn't sounded so _inauthentic_.

"Turn around, dude, I'm tired of seeing your face."

There was the opening. "Yeah well, I don't wanna see yours either… but whoever's behind you has to see your ass so I'm definitely better off."

"My ass is spectacular! You smoking the meds meant for the patients again?"

Vince grimaced and moved a little closer to Sven; he was certain this exchange meant they were in fact being followed. Sven himself had come to the same conclusion, though he was preoccupied rolling his eyes at Lance's snark. So far, the plan was working perfectly…

Almost too perfectly, Jace mused as they stepped around some kind of minor streetfight. A few humanoids were yelling about an attempted theft. The conflict had spilled into an intersection, leaving only one path clear. Fortunately, like the blocked streets earlier, the one path was the one they needed to take. "Smoking is only for terminal cases. You wanna fucking arrange one?"

"Doc, I wouldn't ever want to be terminal around you."

"I wouldn't want you to be either!" Which was actually true for several reasons, so he decided to add a little extra hostility. "Motherfucker." Lance gave him a weird look, and he shrugged almost imperceptibly.

They were very close to the hangar now, and there was some sort of commotion on the path that led around it. It looked like a luggage cart breakdown. Keith frowned slightly… it also seemed convenient, but he'd take the stroke of luck. "How about a shortcut through this hangar? Says it's open."

"If it'll get us back faster, fucking perfect."

"I'm all for it." Lance felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up almost the moment they stepped inside. Hopefully that meant their trap was going to work.

Every one of Jace's instincts was screaming that they should _not_ be here. The hangar was cavernous and almost empty, filled with the echoes of distant clanging and heavy-duty ventilation fans. Had they not already known they were being tracked, it was the sort of place he'd have insisted they bail on _muito rápido._ As it was…

He really wished the ninjerk were here. No doubt their tail would be smart enough to stick to the shadows now, and no way in hell would they be able to hear anything. They needed a bottleneck… a large pile of crates caught his eye, and he grinned. It looked like the maintenance workers had made themselves a narrow tunnel through the storage area as a shortcut. Perfect.

"Those boxes," he whispered beneath the noise of the fans. "Go through, double back." It would be _possible_ for their tail to get around the boxes and wait on the other side, but not likely; it would require moving through a lot of empty space.

Nodding, the team filed into the passage, walking nearly to the end before halting and turning back. This was either going to be a spectacular victory or a spectacular embarrassment… Jace crept forward until he was very close to where they'd entered, and waited. One minute passed. Two. Three? It already felt like they'd been there forever…

A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the passage, and he grinned. "Boo, bitch." One hand on his sidearm, he used the other to chuck his drink right into Glowy Bugface's glowy bug face.

He didn't say anything else. Not like the team needed infantry training to know what came next.

In the space of about two seconds, their tail stepped back, trying without much success to wipe the sticky liquid from its mask. In those two seconds, it had six pistols aimed at it—excepting Sven, who had his knife out instead, and Vince, who was firmly behind the Viking. But Lance had two guns to make up for it.

"…Oh." It did _not_ sound appropriately concerned.

"You've got something on your face," Daniel pointed out, smirking.

Keith stepped forward, keeping his sidearm steady. "You want to tell us why you're following us?"

"…Of course I will tell you." It removed its compromised mask, revealing a face with glowing gold eyes, large catlike ears, and short blue-violet fur. "Vrenkat se, Alliance creatures."

It was precisely what they'd expected, but most of the team was still startled to have it confirmed. Sven narrowed his eyes, wishing he'd improved his firearm skills some more; Jace took a couple of steps back.

"Uh oh," Daniel whispered, drawing a sharp breath and shooting Lance a wary look. Their pilot had actually managed not to open fire, somehow.

The Galra looked them over. "You may as well lower your weapons. They do not frighten me." His Common was flawless, and his voice was low and almost soothing—though under the circumstances, it wasn't doing a damn thing to calm anyone down.

"Oh yeah. Totally putting our weapons down."

"That's not fucking happening."

Their former tail seemed taken aback by that, for some reason. Then he blinked and chuckled slightly. "Ah, I see. You are under the misapprehension that you have _me_ trapped. Very well." He shrugged. "Tell me of your interest in Voltron, and you will be permitted to retain that illusion."

"Fucking entitled pig," Lance growled, not nearly as quietly as he'd thought—though really he didn't care.

"Should've brought some fucking needles," Jace agreed quietly.

Keith frowned and stepped past them; he wasn't completely certain he trusted Lance not to shoot, and they really _couldn't_ pass up this chance for information. "What is Voltron? What do you want with it?"

The Galra gave him a dumbfounded look. "Is your ignorance so profound? I will ask again. What is _your_ interest in Voltron?" His tone dripped with scorn. "A name you know nothing of?"

"And why should we tell you anything? You're in no position to be asking questions here. You're outnumbered." Keith's own eyes were cold as he indicated Lance. "And he has a big thing about not liking Galra."

_Isn't that a fucking understatement_. "You have no idea how lucky you are not to be riddled with holes already."

"I welcome you to try it," the Galra answered simply.

"Don't tempt me."

"Don't tempt him."

Daniel snorted as Lance and Keith spoke in unison, then eyed the Galra and mumbled under his breath. "What _profound_ stupidity."

"This exchange is not going to be productive, I see." Narrowing his eyes, the Galra looked them over again. "You are meddling in affairs that do not concern you, and which your primitive minds cannot grasp."

"But you followed us and tried to interrogate us?" Keith pointed out. "Seems like maybe we're not so primitive as you think."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But you have demonstrated your own ignorance." The Galra frowned, looking to Lance in particular. "We have no quarrel with you, your kind, or your Alliance. You would be best served to forget the name Voltron… it is beyond you."

No quarrel? That was _it_. "I have a quarrel," Lance snarled, and opened fire. Next to him, Daniel startled a bit, but quickly recovered and started shooting as well.

Keith hissed. "Dammit, Lance!" Admittedly that conversation hadn't been going anywhere, but…

None of the shots landed. Seeing Lance's fingers twitch, the Galra sprang aside, the breeze from the bullets ruffling his fur as he reoriented. Drawing a jagged blade, he lunged forward, using the dark metal to block Daniel's plasma shots; in the same smooth motion he dropped a shoulder into Keith's chest and scythed Jace's legs out from under him.

"Porra…"

"Kuso!"

"What the fuck?" Lance kept firing, but the bullets only struck crates as the Galra spun on his heel, lunging at Daniel and punching his knuckles against the grip of his sidearm. Daniel yelped and dropped the gun; the Galra caught it before sheathing both weapons, turning, and lunging for Lance.

If anything was going to piss Lance off even more, this bastard even touching Daniel was it. He hadn't been at all prepared for the lunge, but he squeezed off a few more rounds nonetheless; one clipped him, ripping a new chunk from one tattered purple ear.

"FUCKING…" He was cut off by the Galra grabbing his wrists, then flipping over him; both his arms were wrenched nearly out of their sockets, and a moment later he found himself face first on the floor.

Now carrying Lance's pistols, the Galra jumped to the top of the stacked crates. It was the first time Cam had gotten a clean shot, and he took it; Keith had recovered from the initial attack and opened fire as well. Their target sidestepped with an impatient sigh and took aim with both of Lance's pistols, shooting their guns from their hands.

The whole 'fight' had taken less than thirty seconds.

For a moment, everything was frozen. Jace had gotten his pistol up, but he'd seen enough to not even bother pulling the trigger; he lowered it slightly as the Galra gave him a questioning look. Sven had his knife out, but certainly wasn't going to go climbing up the crates. He really just wanted to check on his team. Vince had managed to get a hand on his own sidearm, but the moment the Galra looked at him he gulped and moved it away again. This was so _not_ his wheelhouse.

The rest of the team was glaring, but they were a bit out of options. Daniel was clutching his hand—_who the fuck punches a hand?_ As if he and his ego weren't bruised enough, his gun was currently strapped to the bad guy's hip. Keith was wishing he'd brought Raiden, he'd show this arrogant ass a thing or two… but he hadn't.

Finally seeming satisfied that they weren't going to attack again, the Galra gave a slight nod. "This is your only warning." He set Lance and Daniel's guns on the crate in front of him. "If we meet again, your only choices will be knowledge or death." With that, he jumped backward off the crates and vanished into the hangar.

_"Your_ death!" Lance yelled after him, getting an odd look from Daniel. He supposed it would have been more convincing if he hadn't still been flat on the floor… he was a little afraid to try to stand, both his arms _had_ nearly been yanked out. But he was furious, and if yelling was his only option then he'd fucking well yell.

Keith looked around, pretty well infuriated himself, then turned to Sven and Vince. "Secure the area. We need time to check the injured."

"Yes sir." Sven nodded. "Come on, Vince." Vince was clearly questioning his suitability for that job, but nodded and stuck close to the Viking. It seemed like the safest bet.

Jace was shaking his head. "There are not enough 'fucks' to accurately describe this situation—okay, let's see where you people got hit." He turned to Lance.

"Check Daniel first."

"No, I'm good."

Even at a distance Daniel's hand did not look good; Jace scowled. "Kid, you can show me the hand now and have the option of flipping your favorite animal, or I can drag you to the sick bay and stab you with some nice sedatives. Your call."

Scowling back, Daniel held his hand out. He was an expert on broken bones, particularly _having_ broken bones, but he really didn't want to believe it was broken; that would mean a cast, which would mean no guns and limited field work, which would mean boredom. "It's really fine. Barely hurts." He gave an odd, pained mix of a groan and a laugh. "I think it's probably just a bruise."

"You know what else 'barely hurts' could be? Nerve damage." Jace took his hand and gave it a few pokes. "Yeah, that's a break. You're sure it doesn't hurt? Because if it hurts that's just a cast, if it doesn't that's tests and shit."

"Kid, just admit you need the cast," Lance seconded.

Daniel was _not_ going to admit he needed a cast. He'd had enough humiliation for one day. "Guess it's gonna be tests."

"Tests it is." Jace shrugged. "Who's next?"

"Dislocated shoulder, I think…" Lance looked at Daniel and shook his head slightly, then looked up at where the Galra had left his guns. He was going to need to _disinfect_ them.

"Who the hell was that?" Keith asked quietly, watching as Jace worked on Lance. "What did he want from _us?"_

"Some Galra motherfucker, and I don't care as long as he didn't fucking get it."

That was all true, Keith supposed. But they couldn't brush it off that easily… he pulled out his datapad and sent a message, then exhaled slowly. Everything about their mission had just changed.

* * *

Two messages had come through to the engineers while the others were gone. One had come in early; a notice that they'd been given a refueling voucher. Which would be helpful eventually, no doubt… the spaceport had a very strict refueling schedule, and the _Bolt_ was very much starting at the bottom.

The second message was much later and much less helpful. **Secure the ship. Prep as much as possible for takeoff. Watch the refueling and don't let anyone else get near. We were being followed.**

If Flynn didn't know better, he'd have said Pidge was happy about it… or at least, the ninja was _immediately_ in his element. "You two watch the hull while I get a security net established. Give me five minutes, then I can monitor on my own."

"Uh, sure… pit boss?" Hunk looked at Flynn, who shrugged. He wasn't really going to argue with it; it wasn't like he had any better ideas.

The security net was ultimately comprised of the ship's sensors, the long-suffering scout drone, and a ninja in a chameleon suit. Flynn left Hunk in charge of the engines while he went to the bridge, running preflight checks and getting a takeoff slot cleared for right after their refueling slot. That seemed like the correct thing to do. He really would have appreciated an actual ETA from Kogane—the refueling voucher would be a good thing to have _before_ the refueling actually happened.

Pidge was in full stealth, pacing a large circle around the Bolt's landing gear. _They were followed? By who?_ It was an academic question, at the moment, but every suspicion had its own implications. All they could really hope right now was that it wasn't the Vex-Cha themselves doing the following… if he had to stab one of the refueling crew, they might be making another of those illegal escapes from a planet sooner rather than later.

Another message finally came in about fifteen minutes after the order to secure. **Almost there. Stay on the ship so you won't be seen if we're being watched**.

"How are we supposed to watch the refueling _and_ stay on the ship?" Hunk asked as Flynn relayed the new order.

"That's what we have a ninja for."

"Yeah, that's true."

Keith and the others had done as much weaving on the way back as they felt was safe; none of the injuries were too urgent, and it wasn't like they needed to pretend they didn't know they were being followed anymore. Of course, they actually _didn't_ know if they were still being followed. Betting against it just seemed like a bad idea.

A pair of hulking Vexakila in a tanker were just arriving to the _Bolt_ as the team returned. Perfect timing. Keith handed them the voucher and stood to the side to watch; he was trying to get as close as he could without looking suspicious when a familiar voice hissed in his ear.

"Stop acting weird, sir, I'll keep an eye on it."

…Okay, so there was an invisible ninja on the job. Good to know. Keith watched closely anyway, but not closely enough to be weird. Probably. The Vexakila didn't seem to mind, at least; they departed with a polite farewell.

"Stoker?" he whispered as the tanker rolled away.

"Clear, sir."

He really hadn't expected the Vex-Cha to be in league with the Galra, but you could never be too safe. Especially with what they'd already been through today. "Stay in stealth until we're back aboard."

"You really don't need to tell me that." The ninja's disembodied voice was mildly offended.

"Just making sure." They would have to move as quickly as possible once they were back on the ship—every second of delay was a second when someone could sneak up and stick a tracking beacon somewhere on the huge _Vagrant's_ structure. "Actually, go in ahead of me and tell them to get the engines firing. Have Holgersson take the helm—McClain and Brennan are injured, and I want us rolling the second the airlock is closed."

"Yessir." Pidge was slightly impressed. It hadn't been all that long ago that the commander's entire understanding of covert operations had seemed to come from human spy films. Then again, this probably _could_ have come from spy films—but at least he was applying it correctly. Darting up the ramp, he made his way up to the bridge to relay the orders.

Sven's earlier eagerness to get to his nav charts had not abated, but it had dropped a little in priority. Still… "Keith wants _me_ to do the takeoff?" He'd definitely never done a takeoff roll with anything nearly this large. At least it wasn't shooting, he supposed… nor were they illegally fleeing. It could be worse. Moving over to the helm, he brought the engines up, then watched the airlock indicator.

As it went green, Keith's voice came over the internal comms. "Holgersson, get us moving!"

"On it, sir." Less than twenty seconds after the boarding ramp had come up, the _Bolt_ was safely on the move.

Hopefully it would be good enough… at least for now.

* * *

Miralna wasn't certain how long she'd been traveling. She'd been sticking to shelter as much as possible—caves, tunnels, forests, anything that could keep her out of sight. But it also kept her from seeing the sun, and she had no way to know how much time was passing when she stopped to rest or sleep. She'd been surviving on a few ration scraps scrounged from the battlefield, plus any edible plants she found along the way… the sacred blade was long and heavy, not much use for hunting nimble rolis even if she could wield it at full strength.

That was something she couldn't do, in any case. She was weak from hunger and shock, and reduced to dragging the blade behind her. At one stop she'd made a rough sheath of bark and leaves for it—at this point, she lived only to protect the sword. Letting it be worn down by the stone would be a poor way of fulfilling that duty.

Surely it had been weeks… slumping in a ruined hut in the foothills, she studied the last bite of her battlefield rations. Could she wait a day longer? Stretch this out a few hours more? Closing her eyes a moment, she took a few shallow breaths, trying to decide what to do.

When she opened them, she found herself staring at a marking on the scorched stones. A simple glyph in the old language, one that meant 'peace'. It wasn't uncommon at all on Arus… a blessing invoked by many homes. Of course it might be found in some ruins.

That was what the enemies of Arus were _supposed_ to think.

The sign of peace in a ruined home… Miralna felt adrenaline shoot through her. It was how wilderness entrances to the shelters were marked. Finally, she'd found what she was looking for, and not a moment too soon. A quick search of the structure led her to a broken bit of floor… murmuring an apology to the Radiant Warrior and the sword itself, she slipped the blade between the cracks to pry it up.

Darkness greeted her. _Radiant One,_ _thank you,_ she offered silently, slipping into the tunnel and pulling it closed behind her. With the blade in one hand, drawing a flarestone from her pouch with the other, she began to walk with renewed purpose.

Some ten minutes brought her to a camouflaged door, and a chamber beyond. The few people there jumped, but calmed when they saw the sword. Or perhaps her supply pouch—though she'd shed her armor at Zohar, the pouch was still emblazoned with the sign of the Golden Knights. Either way, they went from wary to welcoming in a matter of moments, and one of them took a few steps forward.

The last of her adrenaline faded, and before she could so much as offer a greeting, she passed out.

* * *

When she woke, Miralna found herself on a rough cot surrounded by people. Two were probably doctors, considering the clean gloves they were wearing—rare commodities at this stage in the occupation. One was probably in charge of resources for the shelter; he handed her a small canteen of water and a piece of bread, which she accepted gratefully. An attempt to thank him out loud resulted in nothing but a raspy squeak from her throat… wincing, she sipped the water. How long had it been since she'd spoken, other than vaguely mumbling to herself?

It had been to a gryphon, she knew that much. Which would probably sound crazy if she tried to explain it.

"Take a moment, honored knight." The speaker was wearing the formal robes of an Elder, threadbare but still recognizable. "What has brought you to us?"

That was a question without a simple answer, no doubt. "Where am I?" Answering a question with a question was poor form, but she could hardly begin to do anything else.

"In the Halonia shelters. I am Elder DeFlor."

Halonia? She _had_ gone a long way. But her goal might still be within reach. "I am Miralna, of the Knights of Light. I must find the Princess or the Prince… I was at Zohar…" Feeling her voice trying to give out again, she took another drink. "The High King has fallen."

That wasn't how she'd have chosen to make that report in most circumstances, but she was still a bit too tired for tact. The gasps that greeted the news made her feel a bit guilty about it… no, it was the truth, and they must know the truth. King Alfor was gone. Denying it would change nothing.

Elder DeFlor, though still clearly shaken, recovered first. "The location of the heirs is not known to us for certain. Reports have placed Princess Allura in the castle shelter…" He paused, giving a significant look to one of his aides. "We may have a lead about Prince Tanner, if you were able to help her…"

That was intriguing. "Her?"

"The royal governess is here," DeFlor explained. "Lady Hys. She was separated from the prince during the initial attack, and traveled here from Falastol in hopes of finding him. The tunnels she used to get here have collapsed… Halonia was a small town, you must understand. We have only a handful of militia in this shelter; we haven't been able to spare anyone to try to escort her back."

Miralna blinked. Traveling from Falastol to Halonia—even through the tunnels, or perhaps _especially_ through the tunnels, the routes were often indirect—was quite a feat. "This Lady Hys must be brave and noble, to have made it so far alone? I would be honored to help her search for her charge." Sheer tried to sit up straight, and was immediately struck with a wave of dizziness; despite her efforts she went right back down, and winced. "…Perhaps… after regaining my strength."

The Elder had startled again when she fell back; now he nodded. "Rest for the moment, honored knight. We will need time to gather supplies for your journey."

She hesitated a moment. "Can this shelter afford that?" They'd heard stories of shelters just barely surviving day by day.

DeFlor nodded. "We have… a small population here, sadly." She flinched at the implications of that. "And Arus needs its prince. If provisioning you and the governess is what we can do to aid our people, we will do so gladly."

Nodding, Miralna relaxed a little. If that was the case… she could hardly refuse the aid, or the charge. "Thank you, Elder. We will succeed… for Arus."

"For Arus."


	28. Making Strides

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 27_  
Making Strides

* * *

Onygrine was on the outskirts of its system. That fortunate bit of celestial cartography meant reaching interstellar space took only a matter of hours—usually it was more on the order of days. With the Galra still lurking, in their minds if not actually in the skies, the 686 was only too happy to escape the astrosphere as quickly as possible. Nobody on the ship was going to breathe easily until they were safely in hyperspace.

By that time, of course, the three who hadn't been present for the fiasco in the hangar had heard all about it. At length. It had taken some work for Vince to make his fellow engineers believe he wasn't exaggerating the story. Fortunately, once he convinced them, they'd had too much work to do to really discuss it further… though Pidge was visibly annoyed to have missed it.

Once the _Bolt_ breached into hyperspace, the team gathered in a briefing room. The engineering crew hadn't been the only ones hard at work. Daniel was wearing a cast and pouting mightily; Lance had an arm in a sling. He wasn't going to pout, though. He was still too pissed off to pout. Mostly.

_Ow…_

Jace leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, frowning. He had scans to look over; he didn't really want to be here reliving that mess. "Okay, so the purple furry dudes are officially after us. That the briefing?" Sven eyed him and shrugged; he'd have put that more eloquently, but there was something to be said for short and direct.

"Fucking purple pigs," Lance growled under his breath. The thought went through Daniel's head for roughly a millisecond that the Galra hadn't looked a thing like a pig—more like some weird cat-lizard hybrid—but even he knew better than to say so.

Keith ignored their pilot's grumbling. "Pretty much. Flynn, did your people find anything suspicious on the ship?"

The chief engineer shook his head. "We did a signal trace before we left atmosphere, before and after bringing the shields up. Another before we breached. No sign we're transmitting anything."

"There are no known comms that can transmit from hyperspace," Sven added. "They should have no way to track us while we're here."

"We were monitoring the ship from the moment you contacted us until you came aboard, sir." Pidge had his arms crossed too. "Nobody came in physical proximity except the Vex-Cha refueling team, and they never touched the hull, only the tanker hookups. Nothing was attached."

Keith nodded, still frowning. "Good."

"Sounds like we're set then, yeah?" Hunk knew it was very unlikely to be that easy… but maybe Big Dumb Hunk didn't know that. He had appearances to keep up, after all.

"No." That hadn't taken long. "We need to be more vigilant from here on out. We may be getting closer, and we've certainly drawn attention. Given what we just experienced, I think we could all use some more combat and range time. And we'll need to have our guard up when we're on the ground." The commander's frown deepened. "I think we have to assume they'll be watching Zandrek."

That seemed reasonable, in Sven's opinion. "An Altean relic does seem like something they'd stake out."

"We may have a bit of an advantage," Flynn pointed out. "Even if they followed you back, there's three of us they haven't seen." Looking between himself and Hunk, he snorted. "You know, the ninja who can turn invisible… and the two most conspicuous people on the ship."

Hunk gave a huge grin. "No problem, I'm awesome at stealth. Just walk like ten feet behind me and nobody'll notice you." He looked over at Cam. "Little dude, you still got that light-up sombrero?"

Smirk. "I do. You want the stuffed flamingo and Vince's granny's shoes?"

"My granny's shoes wouldn't fit on his big toe," the engineer protested.

"Ain't wrong. Could wear 'em as earrings, though."

"I've got an old Russian flag, need a cape?"

"I'm going to have all you fuckers committed," Jace muttered, drawing a couple of laughs—the loudest from Hunk himself.

Noticing Keith's exasperated look, Cam settled down quickly. "We should stay on topic, sorry. You guys are really good at distracting me." Next to him, Daniel rolled his eyes affectionately; leave it to fanboy to _blame_ them for him having fun.

"Like we ever stay on track," Vince mumbled; Hunk just chuckled.

"It's a gift."

Ignoring the banter as always, Pidge leaned forward. "I can still scout without being seen. Probably wisest since we can't confirm they never _saw_ our ship."

"Which means we should presume they did." Keith was going through the possibilities. "And we have to bet that they've already alerted their friends. Stoker can scout, but that's our ace in the hole—it isn't a plan for the rest of us."

"Even if they know our ship and are watching the spaceport, wouldn't we have a short window before they could properly set up surveillance?" Flynn wasn't certain who he was directing that question to. He was certainly not an expert on stealth or surveillance tactics—he just knew landing arrangements could be unpredictable enough for the people _doing_ the landing, never mind anyone trying to spy on them.

"We might have a small window of opportunity. It's an unknown at this point."

"They're sneaky motherfuckers," Lance growled. "We've gotta keep our eyes open no matter what."

"Sneaky," Jace agreed, "but they're no super-ninjas. We did catch the guy on Onygrine with a pretty basic reverse." He paused a moment, making a face. "I mean, it didn't fucking _take_, but we caught him."

Listening to the debate with narrowed eyes, Sven could imagine where this was going. In fact he could imagine several options for where it was going. Every one of them was bad. "The number of interplanetary incidents this team causes is going to triple, at least." Only Jace heard him, and snorted. It probably wasn't wrong.

"Maybe we should land somewhere else?" Lance suggested. Not that they technically had a landing site yet at all—they would get that when they reached the system and could pick up the local charts—but at every planet they'd visited until now, they had always landed at the closest possible site. Because that was _obvious_. It seemed like the obvious first thing to change.

"Assuming the planet has more than one spaceport?" Keith knew as well as Lance that they didn't have the charts yet.

Sven and Cam didn't need the charts to have a pretty good idea. "It almost certainly does. Onygrine had suborbital beacons everywhere."

"The Vex-Cha like multiple small spaceports supporting the main one. Lets them get supplies in faster to where they're needed."

Somehow that did seem appropriately insectlike. Keith looked at Flynn, who shrugged. "Seems like a good idea to me? If we're just running into them now, their surveillance can't be _that_ intensive."

Pidge gave him a mildly condescending look. "Or it's just the first time we've noticed."

"…You don't think it's a good idea, then?"

"It's logical. I'm just saying."

"I'm with the ninja," Lance said darkly. "We can't trust anything about those bastards."

"It's possible." Rubbing his forehead, Keith exhaled slowly and nodded. "We'll need to come up with a plan before we touch down. I do like setting down at a different spaceport first. Even if they're watching, it might help to hide our intentions."

"And gives us that much more time to shake anyone who tries to follow," Jace added; Sven nodded in agreement.

"Be easier to plan past that once we get in range to pick up the charts, yeah?" Hunk was pretty certain he _was_ going to have a role in this, and it wouldn't involve wearing stiletto heels as earrings. "We can pick a port from there."

Keith nodded. "Exactly."

"So until then, range practice? And try to relax since they can't follow us in space?" At that last bit Flynn nudged Vince lightly; he'd been looking more and more distressed as the conversation went along. He didn't look a whole lot _less_ distressed to have been noticed.

"And hand to hand. That Galra was fast."

Flynn sighed, though Sven perked up. "Right. And hand to hand." Lance and Daniel both cursed under their breath; both of those were going to suck in their current condition.

Ignoring the grumbling, Keith dismissed the team and shook his head. It wasn't much of a plan yet, but he was sure they would have more soon… and no doubt he'd regret it when they did.

* * *

It didn't take long at all for Vince, on edge as he was, to nearly blow up an engine status panel—Pidge relentlessly drilling him on every move the Galra had made hadn't helped a bit. Though he was a little impressed with himself; it was only the second time he'd sparked since Jace had made him start wearing the monitor. And the first time had been on the _Farantin_, which he felt he couldn't really be blamed for.

He may also have forgotten to tell Jace about that one… and having been on a different _ship_, the monitor had been transmitting a little sporadically. There was no avoiding it this time. Not that he'd actually heard from the medic yet, but if he wanted answers he was going to have to be proactive sooner or later.

_Why am I doing this to myself?_

Approaching the sick bay, he felt his resolve wavering a bit—or perhaps more accurately, fluctuating. He hit the hatch controls with confidence, but before the door even finished opening he was back to hoping Jace wouldn't be there. No such luck; he was sitting at the desk playing solitaire with real cards, his datapad hooked to a charging port nearby.

_Okay then_. Vince cleared his throat, though not loudly. Jace looked very focused on his game. If he didn't hear, he could always leave and come back later… no, he shouldn't do that…

"I heard the door, you know."

"…Oh."

"So what's up?" Jace was still studying his cards. "You get zappy again?"

Heat crept over Vince's ears. "There was some sparkage, yeah."

"Yeah, I know that too, it transmitted." Putting down the cards he'd been looking at, the medic spun his chair around and shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you'd admit it. I'm already running the data."

_Huh_. Somehow he hadn't expected that, though he wasn't sure why not. "It say anything interesting?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"So far it's said, and I'm quoting, 'beep boop beep boop analysis will be complete in approximately 387 minutes'."

Vince blinked. "So no…?"

That got him an unapologetic shrug. "Like I said before, this isn't a damn diagnostic lab. You wanna come back in 387 minutes, or should I stick you with some needles and shit now just for fun?"

"Um." Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, the engineer gathered his nerve. "I kind of have another unrelated question. I mean, kind of related, but…" _You're going to regret this_.

Jace was almost too surprised to even remember to be himself. "Okay, shoot."

"Well…" He was _so_ going to regret this. "Um, Sven was telling Cam not long ago that he's managed to use your influence positively, and well, I was wondering if you could influence me…" _Oh god, you did not just say that._ He trailed off.

"…Fucking Viking," Jace muttered. "I love it when he's an asshole, I'm so proud…" He could hardly even begin to imagine how that discussion had come about. Shaking his head, he shifted to addressing the actual question, which was easier said than done. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

The heat in Vince's ears was starting to creep down his cheeks and neck as well. "I don't even quite know?"

"Great. I know there's some shit about how to make friends and influence people but I did _not_ take that course."

The engineer eyed him. It did ring very true. "Uh… am I allowed to agree with that?"

Snort. "I'd be concerned if you didn't, you're supposed to be smart."

Also true, he supposed. "It's just, I'm trying this finding zen thing and not having much luck, and well, I don't know… you have anything that might help?"

"You're asking _me_ about zen?" Jace burst into laughter, but then abruptly cut it off. "…Seriously though, why."

"I'm desperate." He shrugged. "And between you and Lance you seemed like the slightly better option."

The medic snickered again. "I mean, _that_ checks out."

Vince was still trying to get his thoughts sorted out, and attempted to clarify. "It's just, uh, there was a suggestion that combat training would be a good idea? For discipline and nerves and stuff. But I didn't find the Commander's sword meditation all that helpful and well, Sven's Viking stuff sounds like torture."

"…Ohhh." To Jace's surprise, that actually did make sense. Conceptually. Maybe. Looking Vince over, he frowned slightly. "So, okay. We could go wrestle on a mat some, if that's really what you think you want? Kinda don't think you'd like that a whole fucking lot either."

Having seen Jace's fighting style during a few mandated sparring sessions, Vince agreed with that wholeheartedly. "No, not really."

"Didn't think so. Don't get me wrong, if you want to learn I'll teach you." There _were_ certainly still elements of Brazilian jiu-jitsu that might help the kid… he smirked. "I've taught a whole bunch of hookers some basics, you can't be _that_ much harder."

Vince stared, trying his best to forget he'd heard that, and failing. "You've _what?"_

"You heard me." For all the grief he got from the team—grief he didn't do much to stave off, admittedly—Jace had a genuinely good relationship with several of the workers around the Garrison. And being able to choke out anyone who tried to mess with them _was_ a useful job skill. It did mean his teaching experience was mostly geared towards quickly disabling an opponent, not what Vince was looking for at all. In fact, the entire concept of dealing with an opponent was not what Vince needed… something else was coming to him. "Anyway, I'm willing, but I might have a better idea."

Another idea? Vince was all for other ideas. "I'll take it, what is it?"

"Based on what you've said about the zapping, it's not that you need to learn how to stay calm when someone's trying to beat the shit out of you—I mean, I bet you could use that too but that's another issue. You need to learn how to stay calm when you're looking at high precision with perfect timing where one wrong move'll set shit on fire." He cocked his head. "You ever cook anything?"

Vince had been nodding along with the description; it did sound much more like what he was after. He hadn't at all anticipated where it was going. "Cooking?" He shrugged. "Well, I steer clear of the kitchen when Mom cooks, cuz she waves the knives around. But I've baked cookies with my Granny Mel."

Jace was not impressed. "Cookies are fine, probably, but fuck that for zen training. I'm gonna teach you to do risotto."

"Risotto?" _Definitely_ hadn't seen that one coming. "Isn't that the thing people never realize they shouldn't cook on cooking shows?"

"…Of course you watch cooking shows." Smirk. "Sure is. You know _why_ they shouldn't cook it?"

Vince couldn't quite figure out if the medic was insulting him, cooking shows, both, or neither. He decided not to worry about it. "It's… persnickety, is the feeling I always got."

"…Perfuckingsnickety?!" That had definitely been an insult. "…I was gonna say because it requires high precision and perfect timing and one wrong move could set shit on fire, but that works too."

"I think I can handle trying this." It seemed to line up surprisingly well, really. "Sounds way better than swinging swords around while you're trying to focus on breathing in and out." Vince found himself grinning; he was actually looking forward to it. Maybe being optimistic for once would help, too.

"Okay. We'll try it, then." Jace checked his datapad. "You still off shift for a bit? Give me ten to finish charging and bring some supplies up from steerage, and I'll meet you in the galley."

"Sounds perfect, thanks!" Starting to leave, Vince paused and turned around again, his grin fading slightly. "Um, Doc? Is it really taking the computer six and a half hours to analyze the zaps?"

Jace shot him a mild scowl. "I told you it's not a fucking diagnostic lab. It's doing its best."

…_That poor computer_. Maybe Vince could help with that later. For now, though, it was time to focus on cooking. It might actually be fun. "Okay, see you in ten minutes."

Flipping a salute, Jace pushed his cards aside and headed for the bottom deck's storage holds. This was going to be _something_.

* * *

Flynn was doing his best to take his own advice and not worry about the Galra. They couldn't do anything more; dwelling on it wouldn't help. The resident ninja did not seem to share that opinion. After interrogating Vince into sparking he hadn't relaxed even a little, and his pacing the bay with a hand on his knife had quickly worn on Flynn's nerves far more than vague threats about furry purple pirates.

"Pidge, I know this is an unconventional order, but would you please think about something else for awhile?!"

To his own surprise, it seemed to have worked… Pidge had settled down, watching the systems while he did a routine casing inspection. It was mindless work, and the engines didn't particularly need it, but it would keep them both occupied…

"What's it like where you're from?"

…Or _that_ could keep them occupied. He turned back to the ninja at the aft console, fighting down the confusion. "Come again?"

Pidge crossed his arms, repeating himself in the exact same tone. "What's it like where you're from?"

_Really_. _That's what he switched to?_ It was almost too odd to take seriously. "What about it?" He turned again, replacing an access panel, and shrugged. "It's a radioactive desert, it's not great."

"Jalekya sa kye." He was probably being called something unpleasant there, but he was used to it. "You _said_ they didn't want you there."

He'd said what now?

It took a moment to come back to him. But he had, hadn't he? On Earth. _Months_ ago. He'd certainly not expected to ever have to explain it, but he was learning no expectation survived contact with the ninja. _Fair enough._ "They didn't."

"Why not?"

That question he'd anticipated, though he'd hoped against it. Finishing up with the access panel, he stepped back and studied Pidge carefully. _Why this?_ Usually he would have brushed it off, but somehow he doubted it would work any better than it had the first time. "Why?"

Pidge glared, and Flynn was suddenly struck with the distinct feeling he was being judged—though on what criteria, he had no idea. "That isn't an answer."

_Kind of the point_. He sighed. What the hell? Maybe it would help. He couldn't see _how_, but if Pidge was trying to accomplish something here, he didn't feel like he could really shut it down. "Alright, fine. Come here." He dropped onto a workbench and patted the seat next to him; the ninja ignored that and sat on the floor in front of him, drawing his knees to his chest. "But you may as well be warned it's going to sound ridiculous."

"Everything on your planet is ridiculous."

_More than you know, but…_ "You're assuming I'm from Earth."

He startled. "You're not? But I thought you were hu—"

"I _am_ human," Flynn interrupted a little more hotly than was probably fair. "There are humans on plenty of other planets, you know."

Pidge tilted his head, and his voice dropped a bit. "Yes. Sorry. Gods forbid you be mistaken for something less than _human_."

…Well _that_ certainly wasn't fair either. "I'm pretty damned certain that's not what I said, Pidge. If you want answers I suggest you not twist my words like that again."

Pidge drew back a moment at that. He looked irritated, though for some reason he couldn't explain Flynn didn't think the irritation was directed at _him, _and his tone was apologetic when he responded. "I… misunderstood."

Maybe that was fair. He had been a bit snippy about it. "Let's get back to the point, shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

Back to the point. Right. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find somewhere to start that wasn't overly pedantic or melodramatic. He'd never actually tried to explain this in any real depth. "I'm from a planet called Dathreil. It _is_ an irradiated desert—most of the surface is just sand or ruins. When it rains you have to run inside before you _melt_."

Pidge's eyes widened, and for half a second he looked a bit ill. "Why even colonize somewhere like that?"

"Wasn't always like that. Best I can tell it was a perfectly lovely desert until the original Drule invasion cut the supply lines… then they ended up with famine and societal collapse and nuclear war." Flynn shook his head slightly. He'd read some of the intel records on that war—enough to know he didn't want to read the rest. "When they ran out of bombs all they had left was one half-habitable continent, four working industrial reactors, and a nasty grudge against the Alliance for not showing up until it was over."

Frowning slightly, Pidge seemed to do some quick math. "That was… a bit over two hundred years ago, kir sa tye? But you're from there?"

"Right. They kicked the Alliance out and set up their own civilization." _For given values of the word._ "I grew up in a 'training camp' with a couple hundred other children who'd been tested for mechanical aptitude, apparently. I barely remember the tests. We were in training to become priests… to tend to the temples of the four gods who provided their energy to civilization."

He waited for the implications to sink in; it didn't take long. Pidge spent a few moments visibly trying to struggle through the illogic. "You worshipped power plants?" he finally asked blankly.

"Essentially."

Another silence. "…Keep going."

Flynn nodded. "The camps were kind of half engineering school, half indoctrination camp. They kept trying to tell us how important it was to serve the gods loyally and not ask any questions." He couldn't help a small, chagrined smile. "I had a lot of questions and didn't know when to shut up."

"Sounds like you."

Immediately he switched to a warning tone. "Pidge…"

"Sorry."

Somehow he doubted the sincerity of the apology, not least because he rarely seemed able to produce the word 'sorry' that quickly when he was _actually_ sorry. "It's alright to have the thought, you know? You just don't always have to say it out loud."

Grumpy Ninja narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to prove exactly how he'd earned the nickname. "Is that something they told you when _you_ couldn't shut up?"

…Ouch. But it told him rather a lot about how Pidge saw the world. "We're going to have to discuss manners again, aren't we?"

"Manners," Pidge muttered, rolling his eyes. "We were talking about your planet worshipping power plants."

Yes, he supposed they had been. "Yes. Anyone who didn't fall in line was labeled a heretic. And every couple of years, the prophets would herd all the heretics onto a ship and tell them they were being sent to the gods to be punished." His own eyes narrowed at the memory. "That's how I ended up on Earth."

"The Alliance stepped in again?"

Now he scowled outright. "In a manner of speaking. They're happy to take a few dozen refugees every so often and explain to them that their gods are a lie. They can't be bothered to do anything else." He hesitated. "That's why I snapped at you earlier. The Alliance has been trying to reclassify Dathreans as a derivative race for years. There's no genetic basis for it, but I guess if we aren't human anymore the brass will sleep better at night about cutting us loose. It's a bit of a sore point."

Something very much like recognition sparked in Pidge's eyes. "I understand."

Well _that_ was the last thing he'd expected. Of course, this whole conversation was the last thing he'd expected. "Do you?"

He didn't take the bait. He never did. Whatever had prompted his defenses, they were _titanium_. "How did you… take that? I mean, going to Earth."

Flynn arched a skeptical eyebrow. He kind of doubted Pidge was really trying to psychoanalyze him, and had no interest in participating either way. "It hit a lot of the older ones harder, I think. They understood what was going on a bit better." He shrugged and shook his head. "I wasn't even halfway through indoctrination, they just decided it wasn't going to work and stuck me on the next shuttle out of their way. I was only ten."

"Ten," the ninja murmured. That probably didn't seem so young to a sixteen year old Baltan, now that he thought about it. Maybe he was searching for the equivalence. He didn't search long. "…The heretics… what did they do to you before they sent you away? How did they treat you?"

Flynn cocked his head. That wasn't exactly the question he'd been anticipating. "Do to us? Not much, honestly, it wasn't so bad once they gave up on beating the heresy out of us. They just kept us quarantined and occasionally reminded us we were going to hell, which… is about the opposite of what actually happened, so that worked out alright."

"Oh." It was impossible to even attempt to read what was going on in the ninja's mind. "It didn't bother you, then?"

Well…

_What does he want? He's not my damned therapist._

_Just answer the question. See where it gets you. He's looking for something…_

"Didn't what bother me?" he sighed. "Being threatened with eternal damnation for being curious? Having everything I'd ever been taught yanked out from under me? Of course it _bothered_ me. But what of it?" Shrug. "It happened. I can't change it, and I'd damn sure rather be here than there. What do I have to complain about?"

For what felt like a very long time, he found himself staring into an intense searching gaze. Then Pidge looked away and nodded. "I see."

_See what? _Asking that wasn't likely to get him much of anywhere, but maybe he could at least try asking something. If he was going to spill all that, he intended to accomplish something with it.

"So when are you going to tell me how _you _got here?"

Immediately the ninja whirled on him again, eyes flashing with anger. "That wasn't part of the deal!"

Of course it wasn't. "There wasn't a deal. I just asked a question."

"You _still_ don't know when to shut up, do you?" he snapped. Almost immediately something like mortification took hold in his eyes. Maybe it was in response to the death glare Flynn had shot him. Maybe it wasn't. "…Sir…"

They were going to cut that off right here and now. "Do _not_ use that against me again, Pidge. Understood?"

"Yessir." He sank back, almost fading into one of the shadows crossing the bay floor. "I, um…"

"You're sorry," he offered irritably when it became clear the word was eluding the ninja again.

"Yeah. That."

They stared at each other for a few more moments. _Why are you like this? What are you looking for?_ "…What are you afraid of?" he asked softly. That had never worked before, but he was going to keep asking until—

"Why do you keep asking me that? What the hells do you care?"

_Oh?_ Two could play that game. "Why do _you_ care?"

That drew him up short. "Komora…?"

"You asked me first." Pidge had started this conversation. That much was unquestionable. "Assuming it wasn't because you like me at all, since you clearly don't, what were you looking for? Did I pass?"

Grumpy Ninja, for once, didn't seem to have a grumpy response at the ready. The answer he finally came up with was completely out of the field. "Why do you think I don't like you?"

…_Well… then…_ he bit back several sarcastic responses that wouldn't have at all improved matters. "I don't think you like anyone, really."

"Nobody likes _me_."

"That's not true," Flynn objected before really thinking about the words. "I like you."

_Oh do you really? Does favoritism actually mean you like him?_

_Maybe I'm getting there_…

"I don't think you do, sir."

_He doesn't make it easy._ "How about you let me be the judge of that?" He tilted his head, studying the young engineer carefully. "I don't understand you any more than you seem to understand us, and I'm occasionally convinced you're _trying_ to get thrown down a drive core, but if I didn't like you I promise you'd _know_."

The ninja seemed to consider that seriously for a minute… or maybe he was considering something else. Finally he nodded once. "You passed."

_Wait, I did?_ Flynn fought back the shock. "Did I?"

Pidge was staring pointedly at the floor. He didn't often make eye contact unless he was either acknowledging orders or threatening murder, but he somehow seemed even more intent on avoiding it than usual right now. "Fine. I'll tell you something."

_Don't jump on that. Do _not _jump on that._ He shifted a little, giving the ninja his full attention, but waiting a beat before speaking. "Okay."

"Shinori are a telepathic race."

That had been in the diplomatic overview; Flynn nodded. "I read that somewhere. It said it's restricted to speaking among your own species?"

"So I'm told." He clenched his fists. "I wouldn't know. _I _am not telepathic. I am _varetya_."

_That_ term hadn't been in the handbook. The way he spat the word made Flynn hesitant to even ask, but he was finally getting answers, damned if he was going to run from them. "Varetya?"

"It means 'defective.' Telepathy is what separates the shinori from animals. If you have the misfortune of being born without it, you're nothing. You're not a real shinori. You're barely even worthy of _living_."

…_There it is._

Suddenly his _less than human _misunderstanding made all too much sense. Quite a lot of things made more sense. Flynn averted his own gaze. "I'm guessing that got you worse than threats about going to hell," he said gently. Inviting more even though he doubted Pidge would respond.

But he did.

"Oh it got that too." The young man seemed to be staring _through_ the floor now. "And it's technically illegal to try to speed the process along, but that doesn't stop everyone."

…_Well_ then. Every implication of that was worse than the last.

For a moment Flynn regretted pressing. What was he supposed to say to that? This was well beyond his mandate and his pay grade. _Trying to fix the ninja. Yes. Because that's clearly as easy as fixing some temperamental drone, isn't it? _Almost as soon as he scolded himself he stopped. It would be easy to snarl at his own misjudgment and retreat… but he didn't surrender so easily. And maybe this wasn't really his job, but…

_As if you really aren't getting attached._

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Pidge gave him an odd look. "What are _you_ apologizing for?"

"That wasn't an apology. That was an expression of sympathy, which I'd imagine you don't want." Flynn eyed him right back. "Deal with it."

Scowl. "Right. Whatever."

He decided to take another chance. Why the hell not? They'd gotten in this deep. "Nobody's going to hurt you here."

It didn't get the glare he expected. "…You can't promise that."

"Granted." He leaned back. "I can promise to kick anyone's ass who does though, and that might not impress _you_ but what matters is what the other people on this ship think, wouldn't you say?"

Pidge's eyes narrowed again. "I don't need your protection, Flynn."

"Who said anything about need?"

That silenced him for a minute, as if he'd never even considered the possibility. "…Why would you bother if I don't need it?"

Shrug. "Because I'm your superior officer and you're a valuable asset to the unit, or because I like you and want you to know you're not alone here. Pick whichever one you like best."

"Oh." His tone had gone neutral again, but his eyes hadn't. A faint glimmer was trying to take hold there, and he blinked it away with a small growl of annoyance. "Whatever you say, sir."

_Was that…?_

_That wasn't._

_That was._

Flynn stared, not quite daring to believe what he'd just seen. For a moment… the deadly ninja was just a lonely kid desperately searching for a connection among aliens he couldn't understand. And much like the proverbial dog chasing a car, he had no idea what to do with it when he found it.

No question he was better off not voicing that insight just now…

"Believe what you want," he said quietly. _As if it's that easy_. "All I can do is tell you the truth."

Pidge considered that. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm… I'm not good at this… people stuff."

"Trust me, I've noticed."

Maybe he hadn't really needed to answer like that, but the ninja didn't seem bothered. "I am trying, sir."

"I know you are." _Has anyone bothered to notice _that _before? _He didn't dare ask that question, though the shock on Pidge's face made it fairly unnecessary anyway. "And I know you'll just glare at me for this, but… you can talk to me, if you want to. Any time. About anything. Okay?"

Grumpy Ninja glared at him. All was right with the universe.

_Not even close._

"…Okay. Whatever. Don't we have an engine casing to work on?"

_It's progress._

Flynn stood, offering him a hand up that he certainly wouldn't take. All either of them could do was their best, wasn't it? Maybe they'd get this ninja sorted out after all…

Pidge took his hand.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Flynn recoiling slightly in surprise, Pidge giving him a look that made it clear he'd be dead if he ever mentioned this again. Then he pulled himself up and returned to the console without a word.

…_Progress_.

* * *

Lance frowned as he attempted for the thousandth time to find a comfortable reading position in his bunk. But shoulder slings just weren't made for comfort, and his shoulder itself still felt sore. He grumbled and swore under his breath at the Galran pig who'd done this to him. If he ever saw him again, he _wouldn't miss_.

Shifting again, he startled at a knock on the door. "Yeah?"

"Lemme in!"

Amusement filled Lance, driving off a brief spike of disappointment that it wasn't Flynn. It may have been the next best thing. "It's not locked."

"I was being polite." Daniel walked in looking very impressed with himself, a bag with his pencil case and markers slung over his shoulder.

"You know how?"

"You heard the knocking!" Daniel jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Feels like a ruse to lull me into a sense of security… what do you want?" He'd barely gotten the words out before the kid took a deep dramatic breath, and Lance raised an eyebrow. This should be good.

"I was really bored because casts _suck_, literally, this thing has sucked the fun out of everything that was awesome about being on this mission. So I got to thinking about how I could make it less suckish, so I did _this_ to it, and it's awesome…" Daniel paused for a brief second to show off his cast, and the _totally awesome_ artwork he'd drawn on it: he'd darkened the cast background and drawn finger bones leading up to where his fingers poked out of the cast. He gave Lance a few moments to admire it, but another second later he was ranting again. "I mean it's awesome, but it still sucks 'cause I still can't do anything cool, _and_ now I have no more space to draw on it anymore. So, I was wondering if I could draw on your sling?" He finished his rant with a hopeful smile.

Lance found himself nodding along with the rant; the truth was, he bored out of his mind as well. As Daniel waved the cast around he checked out what he'd done and was actually impressed. "The cast is looking great, those bones? Badass." He swung his feet to the floor, sitting on the edge of his bed and wincing a bit at the pain in his shoulder. "I've never had a sling drawn on before, but why the fuck not?"

"I know, right?" Daniel took a moment to check that the pilot wasn't giving off the _gonna kill_ vibes he'd been radiating during the mission. It was _possible_ that his wanting to draw on his sling was really an excuse to make sure Lance was Lance again, but there was no way he'd admit to that. And he did seem much more like himself, so the gunner sat down next to him. "Want anything specific?"

"Eh, just make sure it's badass." Lance looked the kid up and down, remembering the flash of extra fear and worry he'd felt when the Galra pig attacked him. He seemed alright, despite the cast. "That healing up?"

Daniel smirked at the sling as an idea formed in his head, then looked up and pouted a little at the question. "Yeah… really don't think I needed a cast. Total overreaction."

"Of course," Lance snorted, going along with him. "Jace is a mother hen, he'd have us in bubble wrap if we let him."

Nodding, Daniel carefully started to draw on Lance's sling, not wanting to jostle him. "Right? I tried to convince him a wrist wrap would've worked just fine, but he wouldn't hear it." Technically he had heard it, and called him names about it, but he hadn't been convinced so he couldn't have been listening all that carefully.

They fell silent for a bit, the only sound in the room the rough scraping of the pencils as Daniel drew. Lance watched him, actually pretty impressed by the kid's talent, but wait… _what the fuck is he drawing?_ "Are those petals?"

"Yes. Don't worry, it's gonna be awesome," Daniel said with a proud smirk. A few moments later it faded. "Are you doing better?"

Lance eyed the drawing, unsure about where Daniel was going with it, but decided to trust him—though he wasn't quite sure _why_. He half heard the question and frowned, a bit confused. "Yeah, it was just a dislocated shoulder."

Daniel mentally groaned; that wasn't what he'd meant at all. "That's good."

"Good? I'm fucking fantastic," Lance laughed, but he caught the look on kid's face and settled down quickly. "Why?"

For a moment Daniel fiddled with his markers in silence. He wasn't _trying_ to stall; thankfully, he was having a hard time remembering the exact colors of Lance's rifle. If stalling just so happened to be the outcome of that, he wasn't complaining. "You were… different back there. Not your normal weird self," he muttered, and immediately wished he'd said that better. Words were not his forte.

For a moment Lance was just confused, before it dawned on him that Daniel was talking about his reaction to the Galra. It wasn't new, of course; he knew his anger and his refusal to hide it tended to throw people—and butterborgs—off. He really didn't care, either. Usually. It was bugging him a bit now that he might have upset the kid, but he wasn't sure what to say, so he stuck to the truth. "Yeah, I just hate those motherfuckers."

That got him a side-eye. "Noticed." The response had been immediate, but it lacked his usual level of snark. "I like it better when you're… weird." Daniel rolled his eyes at himself; he must sound like a teenage girl.

Lance felt instant relief that Daniel didn't ask why he hated the Galra so much. Most people pressed him for a reason, and he would _always_ hate talking about it. The only time it had ever gone well was when he told Flynn… then he smiled a bit. He couldn't help being pleased that the kid liked it when he was weird—maybe they were making progress. Though toward _what_ he was unsure. "Like me weird, huh? Gonna hold you to that next time you yell at me about it."

"As long as you don't ever direct those scary _I'm gonna kill people_ vibes at _me_ you can hold me to whatever the hell you want…" The gunner paused and winced, realizing he totally would've made a sexual innuendo if anyone else had said that, and those weren't mental images he'd wanted at all. _Great, now I'm traumatizing myself._ Trying to back up to whatever had come before he winced again because damn it, he wasn't going to bring up the scary vibes at all. _You dope._

Lance had missed the innuendo—and _that_ was unusual—but he was mentally cursing up a storm, because now the kid had him speechless again and feeling awful that he'd scared him. That wasn't something he wanted, not at all. "I… you're pretty firmly on my no-kill list, kid. I mean, everyone here is. Except Jace, maybe." He rolled his eyes at himself, that hadn't been his best work, but he had to try to lighten the moment somehow. "They deserve it, you don't."

"Cool." It was definitely time to retreat from this topic; Daniel nodded and started focusing more on what he was drawing.

Taking a long breath, Lance did the same. The kid was creating an amazing representation of his rifle on the sling, and he was starting to get a sense of the rest of the drawing as well. "Is that a sunflower…?"

Thrilled with the subject change, Daniel grinned and nodded proudly. "Yeah, it's a gunflower. It shoots seeds."

A _gunflower_. Lance couldn't stop the grin on his own face. It was so bizarre and so perfect all at once. "That's fucking brilliant, you should write a comic or something."

"You think so?" Daniel beamed at the praise—he definitely would have mocked Cam for a similar reaction, but oh well—before smirking as an idea hit him. "Oh I know! I'll write one on the adventures of Lancey-Pants and his magical gunflower."

Lance groaned. "You want on that kill list after all, kid?"

Immediately Daniel's smile vanished. "You know, I don't think it's cool to threaten to put people on your kill list when you have _an actual_ kill list!"

"Fair point," Lance admitted, though he was pretty sure his kill list would always only be one word: Galra.

"But that comic would be awesome…" Daniel nodded to himself; he'd make it and sell it to Hunk. And maybe Flynn. Jace might get a kick out of it too… he'd just have to sell it to everybody to be safe. Because distributing the legend of Lancey-Pants was totally safe. And totally his solemn duty aboard this ship.

"Yeah, you really should make it. You're really talented, kid."

Daniel beamed again and realized he actually had something to do that his fun-sucking cast couldn't suck the fun out of. Putting the finishing touches on the original gunflower, he put his markers away and grinned. "All done. Catch you later, I've got some creative genius to pursue!" With that he took off, leaving the pilot laughing behind him.

* * *

Cam, of course, had immediately wanted to display how seriously he was taking the Galra threat. And he really _did_ enjoy sword practice. So he'd asked the commander for a training session after the briefing, and Keith had been happy to oblige. They'd moved into actual sparring—no more preset routines, though the comms officer was quickly developing some patterns of his own. As the practice swords clacked against each other, Keith nodded in satisfaction. He had definite patterns, but was at least trying to change them up.

Allowing himself to be driven back off the mat, he gave a short bow. "Very good. Let's see your latest kata again."

Cam was grinning. "Yes, sir." He knew the commander was still going easy on him, focusing much more on blocking than countering, but he still felt like he was making good progress. The confirmation would have had him preening again, but he didn't really have the time; stepping back, he took up his starting position and started into the new set of moves.

As he worked through the kata, the gym's main door slid open. Hunk got most of his exercise hauling heavy pieces of metal around, but the boss had called for extra training; he supposed he ought to lift a few weights or something just for the sake of argument. Not that the _Bolt_ had a particularly useful variety of weights, but it was the thought that counted. Or so he'd heard.

He hadn't really been expecting the gym to already be occupied. "Oh uh, hey boss, hey little dude."

Focused as he'd been, Cam had not noticed the door opening. He startled at the voice, losing control and smacking Keith with a wild sword strike. "Oh—oh shit, sorry!"

Wincing, Keith rubbed his arm. He might have a bit of a bruise, but at least they hadn't moved to real swords yet. "It's okay, Cam. Hi, Hunk."

The big man looked a bit distressed. "Bad time?"

"No, we just weren't expecting you, that's all."

"Nobody ever expects me." Grin. "I'm stealthy like a ninja." That got him a couple of raised eyebrows that he largely ignored as he crossed over to the weights. Picking up the heaviest of the dumbbells, he shook his head in slight disappointment and tossed it casually between his hands a few times. Hardly worth it. "Anyway, don't mind me! I'm just here to do the PT thing."

He wasn't the only one. Sven wandered in not too long after, looking around and debating coming back later. No need, really, though. One thing the gym had plenty of was space. He picked a corner for himself and started stretching.

Not wanting to get smacked again, Keith waited for Cam to finish another kata before acknowledging the navigator's presence. "Hey, Sven."

"Yo! Viking!"

"Hello." Sven kept stretching, though he had a slightly nervous eye on Hunk. Their bomb tech was literally juggling a trio of the dumbbells. "That's pretty impressive."

Keith looked over too, and his eyes widened. "How…?"

"Um… how heavy are those?" Cam asked, staring.

Shrug. "Not heavy enough, obviously."

Obviously. Shaking his head, Keith turned back to Cam, who was still fixated on the juggling. "Alright, Starr, shall we continue?"

"I'd love to." He paused. "Unless we want to invite them to join in?"

"I don't do swords," Sven answered immediately, shooting him a skeptical side-eye.

Hunk chuckled lightly. "Little dude, has any sparring session I've been in on around here ever been a good idea?" There was a reason he'd only turned up to lift weights. "I mean, if the boss wants to be all teamwork-y and stuff we could do somethin' for exercise that's actually _fun_."

Anyone on the team saying something like that was dangerous; Hunk being the one to say it was only more so. Keith arched an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

"Totally didn't come here to _think_, boss." He started juggling the other direction. "But this ain't helpin' much, probably. Hoops?"

"That could be fun." Cam grinned. Not that swords weren't fun, but he'd probably had enough for now; he was still embarrassed about hitting the commander, anyway. "Are you any good at basketball, sir?"

Keith shrugged. "I'm okay?" He turned and put the training swords up. Varying their PT routines couldn't hurt, he supposed. "Sven?"

"Sure." Sven had played very little basketball in his life, but he was willing to give it a shot. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he was glad he hadn't said it aloud; at least _someone_ here would have called him on the unintended pun, and he preferred his puns to be intended.

"I'll go get the ball," Cam volunteered, crossing over and opening up the supply closet. It was pretty sparse… he wondered who'd been in charge of stocking it, if anyone. But there was a basketball tucked away behind a couple of extra practice mats.

Hunk put the dumbbells up and went to the holo panel, calling up a couple of baskets. "So, me'n the kid, yeah?"

"That seems fair," Sven agreed.

Bouncing the ball to check the inflation—seemed fine—Cam turned and made a face. "Kid?"

Grin. "That's you."

"That's what Lance calls Daniel! I'm not the kid."

"All you kids are kids." Hunk's grin didn't fade. "But sure, okay. Me'n the Russian?"

Laughing, Cam made an attempt to spin the ball on his finger; it didn't go overly well. Chasing it down as it rolled across the room, he pouted a little bit. Just a little, though. "I'd rather be on the Commander's team."

Sven raised the most unsurprised eyebrow ever; Hunk exchanged looks with him. "Well that ain't gonna be fair. Unless we wanna play somethin' a little more non-contact."

"…Such as?" Keith really didn't care what they played, though he'd like to get to it. Standing around bickering was really _not_ something the team needed any more practice at.

Hunk had still not come here to think, but he was pretty sure he could figure something out. Checking the holo panel again he banished the basketball hoops and looked through the other presets. "How 'bout this?" A large net shimmered into existence. "Shame the Doc can't bring us some sand, but it'll do."

The commander couldn't help a small grin at that. "Badminton?"

That got him a mildly offended look. "Boss, I happen to know Minton. He's actually very good!" Next to him, Sven just shook his head.

"Does Minton slap shuttlecocks?" Cam asked, then blushed as Keith and Sven both shot him disbelieving looks. "…Sorry."

"Phrasing, little dude!" Hunk tried to look disapproving; it didn't really work. "Anyway, I think he just volleys balls." That got him a well-deserved Viking elbow as Cam sputtered and giggled.

"Do we even have a volleyball?"

"Any ball you can volley is a volleyball."

"This was the only ball I saw in the closet." Cam shrugged, bouncing the basketball a couple more times. "It's a little hard, but it'll do."

Keith was very glad nobody was here to make a joke about that. "Well, let's get this on the road then, shall we?"

"Let's!" Cam rolled the ball beneath the net. "Latecomers get to serve first."

Hunk picked up the ball as it rolled by Sven, who was giving their comms officer an offended look. "I was _not_ late. I got here at exactly the time I set."

"Totally true. We don't have any late Vikings around here." Hunk bounced the basketball once, then tossed it into the air and smirked. "For the honor of poor misunderstood Minton!" He smacked the ball across the net.

"Yes," Sven grumbled, watching Cam set it for Keith to return. "Time to defend _that_ person's honor."

"We can defend your honor too, Viking. Multitasking!" Hunk winked. Nodding his appreciation, Sven intercepted the returning ball and popped it up for Hunk to spike. For a few minutes they had a pretty solid game going, though it felt like something was missing… "We need a ball that makes little explosions like Hydran ping-pong balls."

"That could be entertaining."

"I know my next project!"

"I look forward to seeing the end result."

While Hunk and Sven chatted, Keith and Cam were quietly focused on the game. Part of that was tactical; they both knew they didn't really have any hope of winning a war of distraction. Part of it was practical. Hunk spiking a basket-volleyball was a dangerous thing, and neither of them particularly wanted to lose a limb. So far it was paying off, and a few more minutes passed relatively uneventfully.

_That_ couldn't last.

Diving for a spike from Keith, Hunk misjudged and took the ball squarely in the head. "Owwww… oops." As he stood up, his ears were ringing… no, he determined after shaking a few lingering cobwebs out of his skull. That was _not_ his ears ringing. It was something ringing, alright, but not his ears. "Oh that ain't good."

"Oh no…"

"Can we not do _anything_ without a damn alarm going off?"

"No, Keith, we can't. Have you not learned that by—" Sven fell silent as their commander walked out of the gym, ignoring him completely. "—and he's gone."

Hunk gave him a sympathetic look. "He'll figure it out someday, yeah?"

"No. No he won't." Shaking his head in affectionate exasperation, Sven led the others to the source of the ringing. It wasn't hard to find; there was a wispy trail of smoke floating down the corridor.

They found Jace in the galley, holding a couple of unused fire-suppression bombs and frowning at the stove. Vince was cowering in a corner. He was carrying a large pot of something, while something else on the stove had been reduced to a charred wreck. Keith had reached the galley first, and retreated with a cough. "What's going on?"

"Cooking lessons," the medic answered matter-of-factly, flipping the auxiliary air scrubbers on. The main ones weren't really doing the job.

"You need to work on your lesson plan," Sven said dryly.

"Fuck off. There's nothing wrong with my lesson plan. His risotto was perfect." He pointed over at Vince, who waved sheepishly; he wasn't going to be speaking out loud until the smoke dissipated some more. It just seemed safer that way. "…And the galley will recover."

Sven's eyes went to the incinerated food corpse still on the stove. "Looks positively delectable."

Snorting, the medic grabbed an empty pan and waved it at him. "I'm trying to be a positive influence, Viking! Which is definitely your fault somehow."

"I'm sorry my presence makes you a better human being," the navigator answered with a shrug. "Why do you let me have such a positive influence on you?"

"No fucking clue, honestly. But I guess I'm stuck with it now."

The smoke finally thinned out enough for the alarms to shut off, and Keith allowed himself to crack a grin. "Maybe you can help him with his bedside manner next?"

"Now let's not go too crazy, boss."

The commander chuckled. "Well at least you didn't set the ship on fire, Flynn would've had both your heads. If the emergency is over, I'm going for a shower."

"Yeah, get outta here. I don't want to have to treat anyone for smoke inhalation." As Keith left, Jace eyed the others, then looked over at Vince. He might have sparked and set a bunch of cooking oil on fire… but his risotto really had been perfect, and the stuff didn't keep all that long. "Risotto party in the rec room? Sparky here can tell you the whole war story."

Vince blinked. "Do I have to?"

"Sure as fuck do. Doctor's orders."

Even Sven couldn't help a snicker.

Slapping Cam on the back with one hand and shooting Vince a thumbs-up with the other, Hunk grinned broadly. Post-workout snacks were very important… and he really wanted to hear this. "Risotto party it is!"

* * *

Lady Hys must be brave and noble, she'd said. It would be an honor, she'd said…

"You want us to wade through this… _mud_ and _filth?_ We could not present ourselves to the Prince in such a state!"

Closing her eyes, Miralna offered silent pleas for patience to the Shining Sage before daring to answer. "Lady Hys, I know it is far from ideal. But our choices are limited."

Halonia was—or at least had been—a mid-sized city on the Crown Province's eastern border. With the Kyva Mountains to the west and the Forest of Altair to the south, its location had been something of a strategic dead end; the Drules hadn't even bothered with it until a second wave of attacks. Now that strategic inconvenience was all the more irritating. There were only so many ways to sneak _around _Halonia. The safest had been the now-collapsed tunnels. The next best option was to take the path through the wooded foothills that had brought Miralna to the shelter in the first place.

Unfortunately, in the couple of days that they'd been preparing for the expedition, there had been a significant amount of rain. And that particular part of the foothills was known as the Rolling Swamp for a reason.

Staring out at the overgrown mire, the governess wrinkled her nose and shuddered slightly. "Surely there must be something else?"

"Only if we range far enough north to avoid the foothills, which would take many more days, or all the way around the Forest of Altair, which could take weeks at best. Or we could try to sneak through Halonia proper to reach the river, but if we're captured there will be no presenting ourselves to the Prince at all." She gave the older woman an appraising look. She was stout, but not really all that large. "I believe I can carry you across."

"No." Lady Hys stared at the muck for a moment longer, then shuddered again and hiked up her apron. "I will cross, if it is what must be done." Taking one cautious step forward, her foot sank into the mud with a sick squelch, and she murmured something under her breath that her guide politely pretended not to hear. "What a _horrid _place."

That wasn't wrong, though Miralna had seen far worse. Most recently Zohar itself… but it really wouldn't be fair to say so. It was the duty of a knight to shelter the people from such horrors as much as possible, and Arus had not changed so much to change _that_. "Let me go ahead. To be safest." Shouldering the sword and their supply pack—the shelter had even managed to find them a couple of threadbare blankets, she wasn't about to let them get muddy—she stepped into the mire herself and started forward.

It really was quite disgusting.

Hearing the governess grumbling and whimpering behind her, Miralna quickly decided they could both use a distraction. She couldn't remember ever hearing of a noble house of Hys, which meant the Lady must be a granted title. Not surprising; a royal governess could hardly go _without_. But she'd have expected such a position to be drawn from the ranks of the lower nobility to begin with. "Tell me about yourself, Lady Hys. Have you always served the Crown?"

Puffing up with pride, the governess nodded, and nearly fell flat on her face from the distraction. Flushing in embarrassment, she steadied herself and followed a few more steps before speaking. "I swore a royal oath when I was very young. My parents were priests of the Honored Mother, you see. I thought I would uphold that family tradition, but the House of Raimon was calling for new ladies-in-waiting at the time. It felt like a sign of what the Mother truly willed of me."

Perhaps she was impressive after all. Commoners being hired as ladies-in-waiting was not unusual; those commoners moving up in the hierarchy of service was much more so. At least, that was Miralna's understanding.

Her understanding may not have been complete, admittedly. If she'd wanted to learn all those nuances, she wouldn't have become a knight. "You worked your way up from there?"

"Indeed I did!" Her tone was still understandably proud, though she watched her step better this time. "I served the castle to the best of my abilities for many years. Then Queen Lanora, blessed be her memory, took notice of my devotion and honored me with the charge of her children."

Nodding, Miralna briefly considered whether her next question was really appropriate. Only briefly. If it wasn't, she was certain Lady Hys would let her know. And they were still only halfway through the mire, so she may as well try. "What are they like?"

That did indeed get her a slightly raised eyebrow, and they moved through a particularly deep stretch of mud in silence. Then, "Of course I can't answer that. It wouldn't be proper to gossip of the Princess and Prince. But I can tell you…" Pausing, she looked to the sky, worry crossing her face for a moment. "They were always willful children, and the High King often indulged their independence. I hope… I believe… that this crisis will prove his wisdom."

Something in her hesitation told Miralna it wasn't just the improperness of _gossip_ that was causing Lady Hys to hesitate. She wondered how often the governess and King Alfor had disagreed on child-rearing techniques. But that _certainly_ wasn't any of her business, so she nodded again. "No amount of High Court propriety alone could prepare a ruler for this attack. And for what may come after."

"Yes… as you say." It was perfectly clear it pained her to admit there were things that royal etiquette couldn't solve. "We have many struggles to overcome now—ach!" Tripping over a particularly large root half hidden in the mud, she pitched forward; the knight spun and caught her. "…_Many_ struggles," she repeated with a grimace.

Smiling slightly—but keeping it to herself—Miralna helped the governess straighten up again. "We will endure them, Lady Hys. I promise."

* * *

In the wake of High King Alfor's death, most of the Drule forces had expected to be shipped out. They weren't used to being used for extended occupations; few planets put up that much of a fight. But a planet couldn't be declared officially pacified until the central authority was confirmed to be out of the picture. So they'd been occupying.

Many of the forces were indeed being packed up to go elsewhere. Many others, though…

"Why do we even need a scouting survey of the desert? It's a desert. It's hot and sunny and sandy and miserable… and _empty_. They think the fleet wouldn't have picked up any shelters?" Toal kicked at the sand, scowling as it scattered over his boots. "Captain Vekar even _said_ they didn't detect anything out here. Bet the General is just punishing us for her lot up north losing the king's body."

"Which certainly wasn't _our_ fault." Kraida shook her head. "These Arusian creatures don't know what's good for them. If they keep resisting her head might explode."

"I'd thank them for that," Toal muttered, and Kraida whipped him lightly with her rifle. "Okay, I wouldn't."

"Just mind your words, Toal. I don't want to have to break in a new partner."

"Who broke who in, now?"

They continued chatting as they made their way through the sand, keeping their eyes open for anything unusual. The vultures were circling, but that was quite expected. Neither of them paid any mind.

Though it hadn't looked that large from orbital scans, the desert was much larger when they were actually trying to walk through it. As the shadows began to lengthen, the scouts were beginning to tire. And that was when they really started noticing the vultures.

"There's more of them."

"Jumping to conclusions, aren't they?"

One of the huge birds screeched at them, and Kraida took aim with her rifle. "Shut up, feather-head." They scattered, as if they knew what the weapon was for, but didn't stop squawking indignantly.

"I don't think their heads even have feathers," Toal muttered.

"You shut up too." She squeezed the trigger a few times, sending bright flashes of light into the darkening sky. One vulture screeched and fell, collapsing to the sand in front of them with one wing stripped and smoking. Toal kicked it out of their way, and the others fled.

But not for long.

Less than five minutes later, a shrill wave of screeches heralded the birds' return. This time, several of them had something gripped in their talons.

"What the…?"

The lead vulture dove for them, too fast to try to shoot. They ducked instead, as something bright red and wispy fell to the sand between them. A flower of sorts—they'd seen dozens of cacti with such blossoms.

As they stared at it in confusion, it ruptured, bright red pollen erupting in a shimmering _poof_. Where it hit their armor, it stuck… and sizzled.

"What the hell?!"

Suddenly it was raining red flowers. Every impact sent more of the burning pollen scattering over them, and as they tried desperately to get it off they only made themselves easier targets. Toal struggled to scrape the clinging pollen from his armor, while Kraida outright stripped her armor off, only to be struck directly by another blossom that immediately started burning into her skin.

It wasn't a quick death. As they screamed and burned, the vultures went back to circling, screeching in anticipation. The scent of burned flesh drifted over the desert, and finally the screams faded away.

The Arusian scorching sands vulture hadn't gotten its name for _nothing_. Really, the Drules could hardly be blamed for it… who would have thought this planet was inhabited by birds intelligent enough to cook their food?

* * *

_*The holidays are upon us, and with them comes... scheduling issue after scheduling issue, pretty much. We're going on a holiday quasi-hiatus—we hope to get a chapter or maybe two up at some point in December, but we'll be off our usual posting schedule until January. Have a happy December and all holidays therein, and we'll see you in 2020!_


	29. Criminal Pursuits

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
Chapter 28  
Criminal Pursuits

* * *

One of the key logistical difficulties of interstellar travel was also the single most basic element. A planet was a very big place; a spaceport, by comparison, not so much. Somehow or another, travelers needed to find out where to land. Different factions, and sometimes even different planets within the same faction, had different preferences for dealing with the issue. But the most common was some form of satellite network or orbital station, broadcasting open-frequency information for new arrivals.

Some planets liked to broadcast far more than just landing sites. Zandrek was one of them. Hopefully it would help.

Cam was the last into the conference room, partly because he'd been managing the information download and partly because he'd had to make a further detour. A detour which saw him setting a plate of cinnamon toast in front of Daniel, before starting to work with the projector settings—

"—Hey, no one told me we could get toast delivery!"

"Bro, if you need _any_ food delivery, all you gotta do is ask…"

Looking over between Lance and Hunk, Cam shook his head slightly. "I lost a bet." That got him several curious looks that he pointedly ignored; under _no_ circumstances was he going to explain any further. It may have involved flamingos.

Daniel took a piece of toast and waved his cast in Lance's direction. "And I'm injured."

Unlike Daniel, Lance had been freed from the tyranny of his sling while in transit, and responded immediately by waving his two working arms right back in the kid's face. Figuring that spoke for itself, he addressed his roommate. "I'm remembering that, Hunk."

"Good!"

As they debated toast, Cam had gotten the planetary map up on the main projector. Pidge leaned forward and linked his datapad in, frowning. As they'd expected, there were several small spaceports arranged in a clear hub-and-spoke model. One of the smaller ones was blinking green. "So the museum is at this settlement?" He had some familiarity with the Ak-Kila syllabary, which labeled the settlement as _ks'ksch_; how in the three hells that was pronounced, let alone what it meant, was another issue entirely.

"Yes," Cam confirmed. "Ax-Ixach."

Ah, yes. Precisely as he would've guessed, except not.

"That's the place, Pidge," Keith agreed, looking over the map himself. "But we don't want to set down at that one first."

"I know that," the ninja said shortly, drawing a wide-eyed look from Vince. Nobody else even seemed fazed by it by now.

Keith barely even acknowledged it, focusing on the map instead. "Close, but not too close, I think. One degree of separation is probably enough." He looked around to see if the rest of the team shared that opinion, or perhaps had other ideas.

"I'm all for close but not too close," Lance agreed. "Maybe we'll look less sneaky that way."

_"We_ probably shouldn't be looking sneaky at all," Jace pointed out, eyeing Hunk skeptically. Their bomb tech responded by bringing up a picture of a light-up sombrero on his datapad, then holding it on top of his head; Flynn reached over and smacked him. Lightly.

"No."

"Aww…"

Several of the others snickered.

"Alright." Keith pointed to the main hub connected to Ax-Ixach. "I think we're best served setting down here, then."

"And then me'n the pit boss sneak off the ship before the Galra set up shop?" Hunk frowned slightly as Lance cursed under his breath. "I mean, just in case they're here."

"Seems like the correct move."

Looking between the map and Cam, Flynn hesitated as a logistical issue came to him. Just a small one, of course. Barely a thing. "Best we hope someone at this museum can speak Common…?" If they couldn't take their comms officer, a major spaceport shouldn't give them any trouble, but who the hell knew what might await once they left.

By way of response, Cam called up something else from the informational broadcast. It turned out the museum was one of very few reasons outsiders might take note of this planet. Not only did it have interpreters, it had an actual _brochure_, compete with translations to Common and several independent languages. They really wanted visitors, apparently. Noting the new display, Flynn nodded an acknowledgment, while Hunk eagerly linked his own datapad in and began flipping through the brochure.

"It's all so sparkly!"

Pidge shot him a look that was definitely not approving of _sparkly_, then went back to the main topic. "I'll leave the ship with you two, under stealth. I can't keep it engaged indefinitely, but it'll be long enough to get some distance." He frowned. "It's safest if I don't stay with you at all. Just in case the Galra _do_ see you leave the ship." That earned a look from Flynn that was even less approving, though the engineer did not seem to have a logical objection to the plan.

Lance nudged him. "Ninja's got a point."

"I guess…"

"The rest of us should act to minimize risk once you've been offloaded," Keith mused, frowning. Being in the middle of a Vex-Cha spaceport would afford them some protection, but as they'd learned on Onygrine, it may or may not be enough.

"We could stay in our quarters and not get hurt," Jace suggested with a derisive snort.

Daniel eyed him. He'd finished his toast and was already bored out of his mind—shouldn't Explorer Teams have more exciting planning sessions? "That sounds even more boring than this briefing."

"Yeah, you're not wrong."

"You could patrol for Galra," Pidge offered. Immediately Lance straightened up, halfway to grabbing his guns… next to him, Daniel side-eyed him nervously, while Flynn gave him a very similar look from his other side. Shrugging, he slouched back down.

Pretending not to have noticed any of that seemed like the safest play, so that was what Keith did. "We should do that," he agreed, "we're easy targets for a tracking beacon or worse while we're down. The sensor profile you set up on Onygrine is still in place?"

"Yessir."

"Excellent. We should all take shifts outside too, just to be certain nobody gets close."

Now Daniel perked up. Anything was better than sitting in his room staring at his cast for another minute. "That include me?"

"That includes everyone."

"Yes!"

Opinions varied, of course. "Standing guard on the landing gear? Not weird at _all_. Sounds fun."

"I suppose it's the next best thing to seeing the museum."

"I'll be there with my best guns on."

"…Do I have to?" That last had been Vince, which got him a scowl from Pidge and a nod from Keith; he grumbled a bit but returned the nod. At least they would have the sensors.

"You'll also have to do the refueling, Kogane." Flynn shook his head slightly. "No telling where we go after this."

"We can do that."

"Uh, guys?" Hunk had been ignoring the conversation in favor of reading the museum brochure, and now looked very uneasy. "Did anyone else happen to read this already?"

The others exchanged glances, and a few shrugs. "Figured you had that covered."

"Yeah. Uh, there's a little blurb on this thing from Altea. I mean, ain't a blurb exactly, it's more… it's listed in the special collection." He sent the page he'd been looking at to the projector, which brought it to life next to the map. There were a few moments of silence as the team read through the text, finally all ending in the key point.

**Representations of the Special Collections may be viewed at any time. Full access and view of original artifacts available by special arrangement.**

"…Uh oh."

"That doesn't sound good."

"We've got to make sure we get at it," Lance snarled. "We know those purple _pigs_ will."

Cam couldn't take it anymore. "With all due respect, Lance, they're not pigs. They're furry, and they don't walk on four legs or have a flat snout…" He trailed off and recoiled as their pilot shot him a smoldering death glare.

"He is correct, sir," Pidge agreed; he didn't seem nearly as worried about the glare. Daniel, though, scooted his chair a few inches back.

"Oh fuck…"

"…Fine. Purple _pricks_." That got him suspicious looks from both Daniel and Flynn again; it was quite a bit less apocalyptic than might be expected. He just shrugged. He had _plenty_ of colorful words for the bastards, he wouldn't run out any time soon.

"Uh, guys, not to ruin the fucking semantic party but why am I the only person listening to giant donut dumbass?" Jace stabbed a finger in the direction of the projector. "This sounds like a problem!"

"I was on topic."

"We do have to see it somehow. And see what they can tell us about it, which sounds like a 'full access' kind of thing."

"And the Vex-Cha are certainly not known for doing favors for nothing." That was, after all, why they'd had to face down swarms of killer bugs before visiting the archives.

That thought had long since occurred to Hunk already. "So, uh… we gonna do another bounty?"

Keith grimaced. "We really don't have time for that." They were already in Zandrek's atmosphere, and the increased urgency of the Galra weighed heavier on his mind with every moment this discussion went on.

For a moment, there was a tense silence as everyone considered the new complication. Then Daniel looked up and shrugged. "We could just steal it."

Everyone turned to stare at him; Keith's jaw dropped so far for a moment he thought it might have come unhinged. Pidge was the first to recover, giving a small nod of agreement. Next to him, Vince found himself shrugging—it was a logical suggestion, scary as _that_ was to consider. But it was Lance who finally broke the silence, a huge, proud smile spreading over his face.

"Kid, that is fucking _brilliant!"_

It was all Daniel could do to fight down the blush… really, he probably hadn't fought it down, but nobody was really paying attention to that anymore.

"We can't do that! Interstellar incident!"

"Not like interstellar incidents ever stopped us before, yeah?"

"It is about par for the course with this group…"

"Alright, enough." Keith stood and started pacing. "I would much rather not steal anything. Starr, are there any images of this object?"

There was one, as it happened, but it was rather poor quality. The image their comms officer brought up was little more than a circular golden blur. "…Sort of."

"Wonderful." Though he was still in no way convinced about this idea, Keith found his eyes flickering over to Pidge. If they _were_ going to try this, he was their best bet. It only took a few moments for the young engineer to notice his look and nod.

"I can do it."

Lance sighed. "Why am I not a ninja?"

"Because you don't—" Their actual ninja broke off at a sharp nudge and a glare from Flynn, who wasn't sure what he was going to say but doubted it would be productive.

"Because you'd be a crappy ninja," Daniel offered in his stead.

"I could be a fucking _great_ ninja."

"Humans are slow and clumsy," Pidge muttered, earning scowls from both of them.

"Dude, insulting Lance is one thing, but do you have to insult our whole race?"

Pidge blinked. "It was just a statement of fact."

"No, you stated your opinion." Daniel was struck by an overwhelming sense of deja vu. They'd definitely had a conversation along these lines before.

"Don't add your name to the ninja hate list," Cam whispered harshly. "He already doesn't like me, he could kill us both in our sleep…"

With a derisive snort Daniel waved that off. "He is not going to kill us, he's our teammate. He might stab us, but Jace will fix us up."

Jace didn't look convinced that he would do any such thing. Fortunately, Pidge had been considering Daniel's objection rather than listening to his and Cam's argument, and had decided this one was actually a fair point. "Okay, true. Humans are _comparatively_ slow and clumsy."

"That's still—"

"—Gentlemen." Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please."

Rolling his eyes, Daniel left what he'd been wanting to say alone. It probably hadn't been worth it, anyway. Cam was still annoyed, though. "For once can't we have a briefing where you just behave and don't tempt fate?"

Who would want that? "Your life must be boring."

"No, you're just crazy—"

"—CAMERON."

Jumping with a rather undignified squeak, Cam sank back in his seat with his cheeks burning. "Sorry, sir."

"Oooh, you got fullnamed," Daniel snickered under his breath.

Lance elbowed the kid lightly, then looked back at the projector. It was the one time he'd actually wanted a mission briefing to stay on track, and he was damn well going to keep it there. "Could we get back to our heist? And getting this Altean relic out of the hands of the purple pricks?"

"It's… not really in their hands?" Flynn pointed out with a small frown. "But we should focus, anyway."

"If we're thinking of grabbing it, what do you think _they're_ thinking?"

That premise struck Sven as slightly off. "Do we think we're racing them? I didn't think that was the theory."

"They're either lying in wait to spy on us, or they're trying to grab this relic before we get to it," Jace agreed. "It's probably not both, but we don't know for sure which it is until we get there, so…"

Cam and Daniel had not actually stopped bickering. Rather, they'd just devolved into a whispered name-calling contest that was starting to pick up in volume. Right as it was starting to pick up enough steam to become disruptive again, something dark and shimmering flashed between them—an obsidian throwing star that came only inches from taking someone's nose off before hitting the far wall and clattering to the floor.

"The fuck!"

"Pidge!"

"See?!"

"Yes! See? I told you he wouldn't _kill_ us."

"Oh for…" Keith squeezed the bridge of his nose again, trying to will the headache away. "Do I have to start banning weapons from our briefings now?"

"Only trying to help, sir." Pidge shot the two bridge kids a look that very clearly said next time one of them would, indeed, lose a nose. They shut up.

Maybe it wasn't the best of options, but for right now their commander would take it. "Right. Thanks for the assist?"

Flynn was staring at Pidge in somewhat more resignation than disbelief. Finally he just sighed. "I for one am not even going to object." It did seem to have had the desired result, at least. Crossing his arms on the table, he leaned forward and looked at the projections. "Now what exactly is our plan here? The two of us showing up to look at this relic and then the relic immediately going missing seems… less than ideal."

That was an excellent point. "Could do it the other way around, yeah?" Hunk suggested after a few moments. "Ninja steals it, we show up the next day like wow, damn dude, guess our criminal got here before us…"

Even knowing full well Hunk's act was an act, Flynn had not been expecting that level of deviousness. "…That's a good idea."

"Hunk, that's fucking brilliant."

"It is more… ideal." Keith stumbled over using that word in relation to this; the whole plan was anything but ideal. "But do we really want to steal it at all? I know, I know, the Galra probably wouldn't think twice about it. But we're not the Galra, and the Vex-Cha are allies."

Well that was a bit of an overstatement. "Technically they're more like acquaintances." The point got Flynn a mildly irked look.

"You know what I fucking think," Lance snorted. "Stealing it is the smart option."

Across the table, Sven nodded slowly. He couldn't believe he was thinking this, let alone saying it, but… "If it's our only option, it's our only option."

Jace couldn't believe Sven had said that either, and gave him a stunned look before shrugging. "Beats another bounty." He looked over at Hunk. "Didn't you say they mostly wanted assassinations?"

"Totally did." Hunk shrugged back. "I mean, if the boss wants to go with that…"

"…Only as a last resort." They'd crossed a lot of lines on this mission so far, but Keith wanted to believe there were at least a couple they might yet avoid. _"Very_ last resort."

"More or less of a last resort than theft?" Flynn asked. The commander gave him a pained look, and he shrugged too; it seemed like a debate that had needed a bit of clarity.

Finally, Keith sighed, his shoulders slumping the tiniest bit as he dropped back into his chair. "Pidge, are you alright with doing this?" He folded his hands on the table and speared him with the gravest look in his arsenal. "Because if you object to it, at all, I won't consider it."

It was immediately clear the ninja was not going to bail him out here; he looked confused. "Why would I object? Unless security is too heavy, but we don't know that yet."

"Because this isn't part of your job description." It was occasionally easy to forget that their genuine ninja was actually here to mind the ship's software. "And because it's… ethically and morally wrong?"

_Humans_. Pidge eyed his commander sharply, then straightened. "We need to find this Voltron before the Galra," he said matter-of-factly. "This is our only path forward. If the Galra were to find and use this weapon first because we _didn't_ steal this artifact, that would be much more of a moral failing."

"Yes, that!" Lance agreed. It was refreshing to have someone talking sense.

It did make sense, even to Keith. He wasn't sure he was really _feeling_ it as true, but with a little effort he could convince himself… and if this was what it took to fulfill their mission, he couldn't let his own doubts interfere. _So be it… this is the weight of command._ "Okay. Steal it."

Pidge nodded. "When we land I'll move straight to the museum to scout things out. Give me a day under radio silence for starters."

He spoke with such confidence. Almost eagerness, even. Maybe he was an engineer by trade, but he certainly seemed to enjoy exercising his other skills. That much Keith could understand. "Will you need any kind of backup? Surveillance assistance?"

"Unlikely, sir. If it comes up I'll let you know." Frown. "I assume I don't have lethal authorization, kir sa tye?"

Keith stared. He hadn't thought about _that_. "No, you do not!" Then he reconsidered, as possible exceptions immediately sparked in the back of his mind. Categorical denial was probably unwise—especially since Pidge would almost certainly actually obey it. "…Unless absolutely necessary to preserve your own safety." The words felt heavy. But hopefully, not even the most dedicated of security guards would have really signed on to either kill or be killed.

"Yessir. Understood."

"I don't like this," their commander said quietly—as if everyone hadn't noticed already. "But this is the best option we have. Everyone get ready, we'll be down in an hour or two."

Hunk was frowning as the group started to split up, and motioned to catch Flynn's eye. "So if we're gettin' off the ship right off too, what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Get a hotel and play board games?"

Flynn blinked, then looked over at Keith, who shrugged. "…We'll figure something out."

* * *

The museum was interesting enough, Pidge supposed. It wasn't exactly a museum of _history_. More of an art museum, specifically jewelry. And a geology museum, specifically gemstones.

Everything was well-documented, with placards explaining craftsmanship and cultural significance. But one _might_, if one were uncharitable, still have called it an ostentatious display of wealth. Then again, when they'd named the place the Repository of Riches, they weren't trying all that hard to hide it. Maybe the Vex-Cha considered this sort of thing normal.

In any case, he'd paid the entry fee and gone in legitimately to case the place, paying far more attention to the heavy security than the sparkly objects. Helpfully, the treasure on display wasn't the only thing ostentatious around here—most of that security was very visible. A good measure in itself, a display of force to convince any would-be thieves they wanted no part of it.

Pidge was not entirely unimpressed… but he wasn't entirely impressed, either. It wasn't going to take more than the day he'd initially allotted to get this job done.

He'd brought along a few tools, most notably the one he was wearing. Baltan chameleon suits had been designed and refined for such work for nearly as long as Baltans had been ninjas. No Shinori worth the name—or even a varetya not so worthy of it—_required_ the suit for basic stealth maneuvers, but it did offer valuable advantages. And more to the point, this was not a basic operation. This was infiltration of a heavily secured facility, and retrieval of an object specifically hardened against being retrieved.

Simple physics, in the form of the suit's power system, was the primary weakness in play. Everything was a balance. Stealth mode required more energy to maintain than the power cells could provide without overwhelming their own signal-dampening measures, which would clearly be counterproductive. The problem necessitated a battery pack, but space—and thus capacity—was at a premium.

The bottom line was that he would have exactly thirty-eight minutes and seventeen seconds of uninterrupted active camouflage. Less if he had to use any other active systems, which he already knew he would. It gave him both a hard and soft timer for the operation, and he wasn't too proud to admit he would probably be cutting things close.

No matter. More fun that way.

The key to the operation, ironically enough, was also power. The Repository quite wisely had its own heavy-duty generator, and kept it within the main security perimeter. It was separated from the museum proper by fortified doors and armed guards. But the problem with armed guards was that they had to change shifts sooner or later… and they weren't exactly looking out for small invisible humanoids who might be accompanying them during the process. That would just be silly.

And that was how Pidge found himself alone in the power station's control room, well after the museum's closing time, ready to get this mission underway.

The control system was not well-secured. Why would it be? They'd put far too much emphasis on physical security, assuming the system to be inaccessible. The hardest part was linking a translation interface into the console. Then he was in, scrolling through the reactor parameters, modifying a few settings and starting to overwrite the command program. Merely disabling the generator was inelegant, and put him at the mercy of backup systems. There were better ways.

He couldn't break into the actual security systems from here, not that he'd expected to. Those, no doubt, were far more heavily encrypted. The generator was the weak link. It would be enough…

Finishing his work, he locked the system down and moved to the door. Hood up, mask down, stealth on; a timer flickered into view in a corner of his vision, the suit's heads-up display showing him how much time he had left in camouflage mode.

The sharp _crack_ of a circuit breaker rang through the station. Then another. Then the emergency lighting sprang to life as the maintenance lighting dimmed and flashed, the reactor power suddenly going from a constant supply to wild spikes. Another crack, this time a breaker opening back up; the cycle he'd set wasn't going to be disabled so easily.

Pidge grinned. _Here we go_.

Alarms started to shriek a second later. Then a massive jolt tore through the building, blowing out subsystems and shutting down much of what wasn't outright fried with the accompanying EMP.

The guards on shift came rushing in, clicking and chittering with concern, checking the flickering control panels. One opened a communications link; keeping the reactor in check wasn't _their_ job. The other ran back to the entrance, starting to engage the manual mechanisms for the doors, most of which had just had their electronic locks shut down. Pidge slipped through each one as the guard opened them up, racing back towards the museum proper. Behind him, several lights went out; a second electromagnetic spike had gone off.

No alarms were going off in the museum, or at least, not that he could hear. The guards at the main entrance clearly knew what was going on, though. They were the native Zathreek: colorful beetle-like creatures, but compact and heavily armored rather than the towering, rather fuzzy Vexakila. Both were on the lookout, buzzing quietly to each other. Both needed to be dealt with—he didn't need them lurking about while he worked.

Unsure what kind of poison might disable a Zathreek, and not sure he'd trust his knife to penetrate their thick carapace anyway, Pidge had to be a bit more creative. Plan A was to sneak the nearest guard's stun pistol from its holster. Easy enough; it clicked in sudden agitation as an invisible hand snatched its weapon away. Ducking to the side, he took aim and attempted to squeeze the trigger.

It didn't budge.

_Sentrakor sa kye…_

No time to puzzle out whatever alien safety was thwarting him. Dropping the weapon and darting away from the other guard's fire, he switched to plan B.

Inelegant and suboptimal it may have been, but a solid crescent kick to the face would effectively separate most sentients from consciousness. Leaving them in a heap on the floor behind him, Pidge limped forward. A solid crescent kick to heavy Zathreek chitin was not exactly _not_-painful for the kicker, either.

Mercifully, the rest of the journey was uneventful. Ten minutes of stealth down. He was making good time, and he would need every bit of it for the next part.

The special collections vault had all the usual tricks: cameras, infrared sensors, ambient biometric scanners, the works. It also had some _unusual_ tricks. The floor was a series of pressure plates, and entering the correct code would only generate a single randomized path that was safe to walk on. Even that was something of a backup. The room had its own closed air supply, a precise balance of elements designed to preserve its contents… and also to knock out nearly any living creature that tried to enter without proper safety gear.

That part of the system was not advertised. More importantly, that part of the system wouldn't be compromised by the EMP spikes. This was the part he was worried about. His chameleon suit had a very basic rebreather functionality; it was intended for escape from immediate biohazards, not willingly walking into toxic atmospheres. And it burned through power like wildfire, especially in conjunction with stealth. As he approached the vault doors and found the manual release, he engaged the new subsystem and grimaced.

His twenty-seven remaining minutes of power dropped to three.

_Now get moving!_

The vault was spacious and well-marked, of course. The Vex-Cha would want employees to be able to navigate it easily. About two thirds of the way down the first row he found the Altean relic: a wide bronze-gold bracelet with intricate patterns engraved along the edges, inlaid with a mosaic of golden yellow crystal and what appeared to be oddly smooth sandstone. The centerpiece of the bracelet was a bright translucent crystal with a symbol etched into or beneath it in gold; it vaguely reminded Pidge of a shovel or an anvil.

Putting his observations aside—no time—he made a quick check of the security system. The primary protection here was a ring of metallic contacts that formed a closed circuit with the relic itself. Simple, but effective. He could just take it and run, but the longer the Vex-Cha thought this was a reactor malfunction and not a theft, the better. So he spent a few precious seconds waiting for the next spike, then laced a conductive wire across the contacts before lifting the relic from its place.

The circuit held.

He opened the chameleon suit's small tool pouch and slipped the relic into it, the gleaming gold vanishing into apparent nothingness. Now he just had to get out of here, and as long as his sabotage of the generator held for a few more minutes, that was the easy part… looking at his timer, he turned and ran for the exit to the vault, stumbling free with nearly thirty seconds to spare.

_That went better than expected._

Dropping back into stealth alone gave him slightly over four minutes. Still no time to waste. Ignoring the dull ache shooting up his leg with each step, he broke into a run.

* * *

"Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your dice! A most _heinous_ crime has been committed! It falls to the mighty wisdom and totally not overrated abilities of INTEL to discover who committed this dastardly assault upon—"

"—Dude, we discussed this last round, it's just a smuggling bust."

Pacing dramatically in front of his datapad, Hunk stopped and turned on his heel, glaring through the comm screen at Jace. "That's what they _want_ you to think!" Behind him, just barely in the frame, Flynn was conspicuously facepalming… and not for the first time.

Having found a humanoid-friendly hotel in Ax-Ixach, and with nothing else to do until the ninja finished his work, they were in fact sitting around playing board games. The game of Intel, to be precise: a modern variant of a nearly five-century-old murder mystery. Syncing two holographic boards between the _Bolt_ and the hotel had been easier than trying to make poker work.

"It'd be a crime if it was the _Scarlett_ that went down for it," Lance declared. He'd expressed that opinion before, too.

"The _Scarlett's_ captain wasn't gonna sleep with you, caralho. Make your move before giant donut dude gets started again." That got him a pout from Hunk and a sigh from Sven.

"_I_ enjoyed your introduction, Hunk."

Lance snorted. "Even if you paid her you'd have no shot, Jace. Vince, roll the dice." With more players than game pieces they'd been forced to have a few teams. Hunk and Flynn were one, for obvious logistical reasons. Lance and Vince had been paired by random luck of the draw, as had Sven and Daniel… one of those teams felt significantly luckier than the other.

Rolling the dice brought the AWS _Scarlett_ into the Galilei Sector on the board, and Vince paused a moment, reflexively glancing at his notes. Then he shook his head in mild irritation; it was a new game, he didn't have any notes yet. "Alright, how about… the ASV _Professor_ _Plum_, at the Library of Galileo, with the firework shipment?"

"Dude." Daniel scowled slightly; he and Sven were playing as the _Plum_, and the accusation moved their game piece across the board. "I would never be in a library."

"I would be," Sven countered; his teammate rolled his eyes.

"That's not helping us."

"That's what you'd want us to think," Lance taunted, drawing a bit of a glare and a shake of Daniel's cast.

Keith had been patiently waiting for silence, and now held up the firework card. "Sorry, no smuggling rockets." He was trying to let the game distract him from why they were here, though it wasn't necessarily working… his datapad was at his side, displaying a feed from their sensor drone. In-person patrols had been ended by the spaceport's nighttime curfew, or he'd have been out there instead.

"I love the accuracy of this game," Flynn commented lightly. "Just make things up and hope it's right, exactly like how real intel seems to operate."

"True that."

"No kiddin'."

Vince noted down the fireworks card while Lance poked the holographic figure representing their ship. Sven looked at Daniel. "I suppose I'm the one in charge of note taking. Again."

Their gunner waved his cast at him, too. "We're doing what we're good at. You can take notes way better than I can, and I have better dice rolling skills."

Cam snorted. "Sure you do, bud."

"It would be nice if I could roll the dice every once in awhile," Sven protested, drawing a short laugh from Jace.

"You're on this team, you roll the dice just by existing."

That got a few snickers, and even Keith couldn't deny the point. "Fairly accurate, really." It was actually his turn, so he took the dice and rolled. Rather poorly. Unable to get anywhere useful, he passed the dice to Jace, who juggled them between his hands and tossed them across the board a little too enthusiastically; one hit his own game piece and knocked it over.

"Whoops. Abandon ship!"

"Blowin' up your own ship totes doesn't count, Doc."

"Thank the gods _you_ aren't a ship captain."

"No wonder you pay for it, with that coordination."

"Porra… you couldn't have done it if you tried." Rolling his eyes, Jace flipped Lance off before moving his piece to nowhere in particular. Then he pushed the dice to Cam, who didn't have much better luck.

The two who weren't on the _Bolt_ were next. Hunk had insisted they play as the ACS _Peacock_, and kept making what were presumably meant to be peacock squawks as he moved their piece along the board. This time, Flynn swatted his hand away and took over, moving their piece into the Atlantis Sector—or as the board more specifically labeled it, the Beta Atlantis Bulwark. Hunk pouted at him, again.

"Peacocks, you gonna make a guess?"

Smirk. "It was Kogane in here with the knife shipment, obviously."

Now Hunk swatted him back. "Dude, he's the AWS _Mustard!"_

"Stop the semantics and drop him in the zone." The last round had rapidly devolved into Jace trolling everyone by making guesses he knew to be false, just to move the others around the board. Flynn felt like that was by _far_ the most entertaining way to play this game. Besides, he and Hunk were holding the Atlantis card; no guess they made here could be accurate to begin with.

Keith scowled slightly as his piece was moved, looked around to see if anyone else was going to disprove the guess, then held up the knife shipment card as well. "Sorry again."

"Right, you're sorry for carrying bladed weapons," his second snorted.

"Why _do_ you have all the violent contraband?" Lance agreed, eyeing him with a smirk.

"Just luck of the draw, I guess… and I _heard that_, Kleid." He stuck his tongue out at the screen.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Did you just stick your tongue out like a seven year old?"

"Figment of your imagination, Brennan. It's your turn."

"Nope, you did. I'm remembering that for later." With a huge grin, he took the dice in his good hand and rolled, leaving the Library of Galileo behind—why _would_ he want to be in a library in a board game? They'd seen enough of them in reality. Moving the piece to the center of the board, he thought for a moment. "AWS _Scarlett_, at Galaxy Garrison, with a lot of rope."

"Kinky," Cam whispered a little too loud; Sven and Daniel both turned to stare in disbelief.

"Really?"

They'd both said it at the same time; blinking, Daniel turned back to Sven and shook his head slightly. "We've spent too much time together."

"Agreed."

Lance nodded at Vince, who produced the rope shipment card. "Nope!" Why anyone would be smuggling rope was a question to begin with; it was probably something about the game's history.

"Yeah, you having the rope fits," Jace muttered.

Vince's eyes widened. "What?"

"He meant me," Lance said with a grin.

"Oh…"

"…I mean, yes?" Jace leaned back in his seat. "But we've seen Vince's shoes."

"They're my granny Bea's shoes!"

Cam had made the remarkably poor decision to take a drink during that sequence, and promptly found himself choking on it. Daniel turned, frowned, and smacked him on the back. "Are you dying?"

"Possibly…"

His roommate was not exactly sympathetic. "Can I write your eulogy? I've always wanted to write a eulogy."

"…No."

"Why not?"

Cam set down his glass and recovered his composure. Some of it, anyway. "Because I don't need you saying something to offend my babushka."

"Since when do I offend anybody?!" Daniel demanded, his blue eyes glinting violet for a moment as he narrowed them in sheer indignation.

Nobody was about to answer _that_.

Sven was quietly scooting back from his teammate, looking at him with a great deal of worry. Once he'd gotten about a foot away Jace kicked his chair leg. "Viking, don't you _even_ fucking look weirded out by that…" He trailed off, though not before muttering something in Portuguese about severing spines.

The navigator shook his head and did not move his chair back. "I'm allowed to be worried about my game partner dreaming of writing eulogies. Especially when it's a game that was originally about murder. And extra especially when he's also on the bridge crew with me."

"I don't want to write eulog_ies_," Daniel complained, even more insulted now. "I just want to write one, and I don't _dream_ about it."

"Can we roll?" Vince whispered to Lance; he was even more worried than Sven about the track this was taking.

Nodding, Lance took the dice and rolled with enough of a flourish to get everyone's attention. Then he moved their piece from the Galaxy Garrison space and, somehow, wound up right back in the library. "Again?"

Flynn snickered.

Checking over his notes, Vince recognized the contraband, at least, was narrowing down nicely. May as well keep chasing that clue. "Green with the lead shielding!"

"How dare you." The ACS _Reverend Green_ was Jace's game piece; he also happened to be holding its card, and flashed it at the others. "I would never be complicit in lead poisoning."

"That's what you tell us," Lance snorted.

"A most _heinous_ crime!" Hunk bellowed; Flynn elbowed him, and Cam giggled.

Keith's next roll took him to somewhere more useful this time. "Alright, so the ACS _Peacock_, as revenge for earlier… at the Feast of Renascence… with the ammunition shipment. For shame."

Flynn shrugged at the hijacking of their piece. "Hunk probably wants to be there anyway."

"Ain't against it."

"Not as roasted peacock, I'll bet…"

"How dare you," Jace grumbled again, holding up the Feast of Renascence card. "Making me exonerate giant donut dumbass? Porra." He took his own turn, fleeing that zone in favor of greener pastures. Or greener once the _Reverend Green_ was moved there, anyway. "_Scarlett_ at Vanguard Command with the ammo. Pew pew, bitches."

"Sorry, Doc." Cam shrugged. "I've got Vanguard Command."

"Course you do. Better hope it's not contagious."

"Believe me, Doc, I'm hoping." He made his own move, to Centauri Station, then considered his options. "I'm gonna say… the _Professor Plum_, with the rope."

Even Vince rolled his eyes. "Rope, remember?"

"Oh… sorry." Cam flushed. "I forgot that one."

"It's a nope rope!"

"You were too busy thinking about how kinky it was."

"That's even _more_ of a nope rope."

Shaking his head, Vince showed the card for the rope shipment again just on principle, and wondered—not for the first time—how he was actually surviving with some of these people.

Hunk rolled and moved the _Peacock_ into the Sibereal Outpost, then glanced at his and Flynn's cards again. They seemed to have narrowed things down to the ammo—nope ropes aside—so he decided to try some strategy. He was pretty good at Intel strategy, he'd schooled his brothers _many_ times growing up. "Let's go with the _Scarlett_ at the Sibereal Outpost with the ammo."

His announcement was greeted with something in short supply so far: silence. Vince looked up from his notes, slowly raising an eyebrow.

So did Flynn, though for a different reason. _"Now_ what?" he muttered too quietly to transmit, staring at the card for the AWS _Scarlett_ in his hand.

"Gonna make it official or what?" Jace demanded a moment later.

With a huge grin, Hunk shook his head and flopped back to sit on his bed. "Nah. Your move, Viking."

…_Okay then_. Sven shrugged off whatever that had been about and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Not really. I'm just the note taker."

"My god!" Daniel grabbed the dice and plunked them down in front of his teammate. "Take the fucking dice then!"

"Thank you." Sven smiled; Daniel flipped him off, which made the smile waver, but just a little. He got worse from his own roommate. Routinely. "You're a very rude little person… ASV _Lady White_, in the Kuiper Boneyard, with the ammunition shipment."

It took Lance a few moments to fight down the snickers at that assessment of the kid; Daniel's expression only made it that much funnier. "Nope on the _White_."

"Nuts."

"…Nuts?!" Daniel looked half a second from screaming.

Taking the dice before he really _did_ lose his composure, Lance looked over Vince's shoulder at his notes. He looked to have things pretty well narrowed down, and if he was reading it correctly, he could see exactly where this was going. Moving their piece forward, he landed in the Pacifica Sector and smirked. "Aha! Let's make this one official: it was ME at Pacifica Academy with the ammo!"

"…Nooo," Vince mumbled, giving him a look of frustration.

Keith looked at their pilot and blinked. "You sound way too proud of that."

"Why wouldn't he be proud of it?"

"Exactly!"

"I almost hate to crush your dreams, flyboy…" Flynn waved the _Scarlett's_ card in front of the screen. "Almost."

"…Well fuck me." The engineer's response to that was probably not _really_ hiding behind Hunk, but as he retreated and put the card away it sure _looked_ like he was hiding behind Hunk.

"I knew we needed to wait longer to be sure," Vince grumbled, mostly to himself.

Lance frowned. "Why didn't you say so?"

When exactly would he have said so? "I didn't know you were reading it."

"Why does no one ever expect me to read?"

"Can't imagine," Jace snorted.

"'Cause it's for nerds," Daniel said at the same time. Mostly to piss Sven off, though it wasn't that he _didn't_ also kind of mean it.

Sven ignored it, because he was an adult—or at least that was what he told himself, as if they hadn't been sparring back and forth this whole time. But he certainly wasn't going to lower himself to acknowledging _that_ provocation. He didn't need to, anyway; Lance kept rolling instead, smirking at their gunner and waggling his eyebrows. "Guess you want no one to read that comic you're writing, then."

That got several surprised looks, and Daniel blushed bright red. "W-well, I mean, that's—" He was 'saved,' if it could be called that, by the holographic dice smacking him in the face. "Ow!" Looking up he noticed Flynn smirking too. Apparently the syncing was good enough that the chief had been able to throw the dice from the other board and hit him… which was kind of impressive, actually. And he appreciated the distraction, not that he would admit it. "You're all so damn abusive."

"Hmm." Keith took the dice and rolled; he thought he saw the answer. "I think that makes it the ammo and the Sibereal Outpost, doesn't it? So I think I'll say it was those…" He moved his piece into the Sibereal zone and frowned. "And the _Plum_."

All animosity was forgotten as the two members of Team Plum looked at each other, waiting for someone to speak up and exonerate them. Nobody did. "Are we smugglers?" Daniel asked, cocking his head.

Sven nodded slowly. "We might be."

"That or the boss has got Plum along with the weapons collection," Jace suggested, eyeing Keith suspiciously. "You know, just going off the stunt the fucking peacocks pulled."

"The peacocks were sneaky," Lance agreed.

"So you think I am too?" Keith shrugged. "I don't have _Plum_, and I've been told I can't lie very well."

_"There's_ a truth."

"Makes sense for you…"

"Gonna make it official, boss?"

Keith considered that for a moment, then nodded and picked up the 'envelope' that held the last three cards. "Yeah. I'll say that's my final answer." Pulling the cards out, he flipped them onto the table with a smirk. "Looks like I called it. Viking and Brennan are smugglers. Shameful."

"A _most heinous_ crime!" Hunk sidestepped Flynn's attempt to elbow him.

Looking at the cards, then around the table, Sven considered the revelation and shrugged. Maybe he was thinking too hard about it… but prolonged exposure to Daniel as a teammate seemed like a fair enough reason to turn to crime. "That does make some sense."

"Knew it! Never trust a kid and a Viking."

"Wait, what do you mean never?" Cam shot Daniel a worried look. "I sleep in the same room as him? And Sven is the quiet one!"

"What does being quiet have to do with it?"

"I've done some horrible things to my past roommates, dude." Daniel looked even more proud of that than Lance had been at the prospect of smuggling.

"…I'm sleeping with my pistol from now on."

"Not gonna save you." As Daniel smirked, Lance reached over and tousled his hair; the gunner gave his hand a smack. "You go fantasize about the _Scarlett's_ captain."

"Just might do that. Something about redheads…" Lance looked at the screen, but Flynn had busied himself doing something that involved disappearing behind Hunk again.

"I regret where this has gone," Daniel announced, making a face.

Shaking his head slightly, Keith looked down at his datapad. Still no sign of any movement around the ship, suspicious or otherwise. Still not a word from their ninja. "Speaking of the quiet ones…"

"Radio silence does that," Flynn pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. Just… worried about the whole thing, you know?"

"Kogane, believe me. We have _noticed_."

"Pidge is pretty good at taking care of himself, sir."

"Yeah, ninja'll be fine. I mean he's only committing a little theft." That attempt at reassurance only made their commander flinch.

"He's just borrowing it, really," Jace agreed. "You know. We got mixed up, couldn't remember if we were at a museum or a library this time. Honest mistake."

Sven eyed him. "Is the reason you needed discipline in your life that you'd be a criminal mastermind without it?"

"Possibly."

"Okay!" Hunk clapped loudly for attention. "Clear the board, people! If the boss ain't distracted enough yet it's time for round three!"

"I want a new partner!" Sven and Daniel both declared, then looked at each other and exchanged shrugs. At least it was going to be a mutual separation.

Rearranging the teams didn't take long at all, though by some curious coincidence everyone seemed eager to pair with the two people who were actually taking notes. Cam wound up with Sven, Daniel with Vince, and the board was reset for round three.

"_IN A WORLD_ where mighty warships and uh… cargo shuttles and stuff… roam the distant reaches of space, a _most heinous_ crime has been committed…!"

* * *

Pidge had seen the ambush coming just fine.

Where the reception hall narrowed, the security guards he'd knocked out were still unconscious, but they'd been moved. Only slightly. And not without purpose. If he hadn't been the one to put them in that state, it would have looked like they'd just happened to collapse halfway across the hallway. But he had, so he knew better. A quick scan showed infrared sensor beams flickering in the space between them, where there certainly hadn't been anything before.

Given time, he could have gotten around it. The problem was, he was out of time. He had less than a minute of stealth remaining, and his plan had no slack left to stop it from unraveling.

_So close…_

Eyes narrowed, he stepped back for a running start, then raced forward and vaulted over one of the Zathreek. He didn't have to make the trap _easy_ to spring.

As he crossed the beams, something detached from the ceiling, pouncing squarely between the two guards and growling in frustration as it struck the solid floor. It rose up quickly; a tall, slim humanoid in bulky cloth armor, wearing a mask with purple markings that glowed faintly through the shadows.

_Galra_.

If he'd just run for the door, Pidge might yet have made it. But he couldn't be sure; he might have simply been presenting his back to the enemy. Rather than take the risk, he turned to face the Galra, grinning slightly. Maybe he'd been hoping for this… an actual worthy opponent. Why pass it up?

His stealth flickered out. "Looking for someone?"

His appearance seemed to startle the Galra slightly—or perhaps it was just the challenge in his tone. "Ah, a creature of courage, then?" The voice was cool and feminine, with a confidence that didn't quite cross into arrogance. "I give you one chance. Surrender the artifact. It does not belong to you."

"It does now." He circled back, watching her sharply. "What's it to you?"

"You are in no position to ask questions. Vrepit sa!" Drawing a jagged sword, she sprang at him.

_Wasn't kidding about that one chance, was she?_ Pidge spun around and broke into a sprint as she committed to the strike. Fighting her was fine. Fighting her was great. Fighting her in the reception hall, though? The Vex-Cha might _notice_ that, and he didn't need that complication.

He was aware of her following, and gaining on him. _Fine_. Racing out into the light of Zandrek's several moons, he took quick stock of the terrain. The flying buttresses of the museum, the rocky 'lawn', the wide walkways that should probably be avoided if reactor specialists were on their way… he moved as if to attempt to vanish among the support structures, and waited until he sensed her launching an attack.

Whirling around, he doubled back and lunged at her with his knife drawn. She was incredibly fast—he saw her try to react—but not fast enough. His momentum and hers combined to part the ballistic cloth of her armor as if it were nothing, splattering him with blood as he slashed across her ribs and drew back.

She didn't even cry out. Instead she salvaged her own strike, slamming the hilt of her sword into his collarbone. He gasped and staggered back, feeling skin break from the sharpness of the blow, just barely twisting away as she attempted to press the advantage. Unable to bring his own knife back to bear, he faded back again, snapping a kick at her wrist. It didn't disarm her as he'd hoped, but did compromise her grip long enough for him to get some separation.

Pain was burning along his collarbone where she'd struck him, and he fought to force it down. _You wanted a worthy opponent…_ before he could even finish scolding himself she was moving in on him again.

_Mijtairra!_

He needed space, and clearly she _knew_ he needed space—he'd have to earn every inch. At the last second he loosed a shuriken from his wrist sheath and flicked it just past her hood, dropping into an unbalanced somersault to recover. He fully expected it to have only won him a second or two's separation again; when he came up and she wasn't behind him, he very nearly threw a punch at empty air that would have wholly compromised his position.

Rather than following she'd picked up the throwing star, looking between it and him with a murmur of recognition. "Shinori…?"

"…Now who's asking questions?" He took the moment to try to gain some control over the situation. Charging at her with a feint to the left, he landed a cut to her side and darted away again.

Why hadn't she tried to counter that? Something wasn't right… reflexively he dropped into stealth mode. The battery had only regained about a minute's worth of charge, but it was enough to at least use tactically.

Except…

The Galra held up her blade, and the sigil on its hilt flared violently. A visible shockwave erupted. Pidge stepped back on reflex; there was nowhere to run, no immediate cover available. All he could do was grit his teeth and brace as the wave of energy washed over him.

A sharp crackle filled his ears, and his HUD and stealth both flickered out.

_Komora sa kye?!_

"Children of darkness, forever arrogant." She stalked towards him, the blade's sigil shining. "Let us see how you fight without your _toys_."

Her contempt—perhaps her hypocrisy—snapped him out of his shock. Both of those he could deal with. "So what's that then?" he retorted, indicating the blade, then darting at her with his knife flashing.

She blocked. The battle that ensued was anything but smooth or graceful, both of them just barely keeping the other at bay. The Galra was as fast as him, and far stronger; one wrong move would almost certainly be death.

One wrong move came too quickly.

It was just another parry, but she'd shifted the blow at the last second. He'd been prepared to resist forward; her strike drove him down. Between the rocks and the lingering pain, his left foot twisted awkwardly and gave way. He felt something in his knee snap out of place—not a break but a painful grinding sensation, locking the joint and sending him skidding to the ground. It actually worked briefly in his favor, as her follow-up strike scythed just overhead, but he wouldn't be so lucky again.

Desperately he rolled forward, taking her legs out from under her. At the same time, a shock ran through him; ghostly images flickered at the edges of his vision. For an instant he thought he'd somehow been concussed, then he realized—his suit was back online.

Not an instant too soon.

He vanished.

It took the enemy just a few moments to recover, but those few moments were all he needed. As she raised her blade again he lunged for the nearest support, falling into a shadowy crevice and bracing. The wave still hit him—his suit's systems went out again—he remained motionless, barely daring to breathe, watching the Galra as she scanned the area.

Even without the active systems online, chameleon suits were built for passive stealth, and he knew how to best shield himself in the darkness. Would it be enough? If this came back to combat, his chances were slim to none…

She sheathed her blade. And waited. For a moment her gaze passed right over him, and he stared back at her, unflinching. An old mantra echoed somewhere in the back of his mind.

_Dalzeran, forever shield the children of shadows in your darkness…_

As if in response to his plea, the Galra shook her head and grumbled something in her own tongue. And then she turned away. A moment later, he realized why she'd given up—a shrill, buzzing siren was echoing over the grounds. Whatever Vex-Cha emergency services were on deck to respond to a reactor malfunction had arrived.

Pidge didn't move until his suit reset itself again, and he could vanish into full stealth. His left knee nearly gave out the second he stood; adjusting his balance he kept himself standing by sheer will, testing the leg to see what it could do. Not much. Fine. Rather than scrambling up the buttress as he usually might have, he fell back against it, then looked around to be certain the coast was clear.

_Mijtairra sa kye…_

He bent over and adjusted a couple of straps over his knee into a makeshift compression splint. It was enough to let the leg take his weight for a few moments. Not optimal, but sufficient. All that mattered now was getting the hell out of here.

With one last look around, he once again ran for it.

And to think he'd wanted the damn fight… perhaps she hadn't been wrong about his arrogance, either. He would have to do better.

* * *

"It was the Commander… um, I mean… it was the _Mustard!_ Smuggling the lead shielding into Galaxy Garrison!"

There had been several dramatic accusations made since they'd started game night, but Cam had barely gotten his out before it became the most dramatic of all. Not because of the AWS _Mustard_, or lead shielding, or anything like that. More because he'd just barely finished speaking when the rec room hatch burst open, admitting a stumbling ninja who wordlessly fell over the nearest couch, gasping for breath.

"Eeeep!"

"Shit!"

"What the…"

"Holy fucking ninja!"

Several people had jumped up at Pidge's entry, including Flynn, who remembered a second after doing so that he was literally in another _city_. Jace was the only one who actually approached, immediately all business. "Ninjerk? What happened?"

"I'm fine… just ran back here… from the museum…"

He'd _what?_ "Porra… okay 'fine' is something I'm fucking _positive_ you're not."

"Let him catch his breath," Keith ordered, taking a step closer himself.

Not everybody listened to that. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, did you succeed in your commander-approved theft?"

"Maybe let him breathe like the commander _said?"_

"Kir sinrevara…" Pidge barely noticed he hadn't spoken in English, and didn't worry about it. Unfastening the pouch at his side, he produced the relic, which glittered brilliantly beneath the rec room lights. It ought to suffice for an answer.

"…It's bling," Lance said, blinking.

"It's totally bling," Hunk agreed.

Pidge had only a general sense of what that meant, but it seemed accurate enough. "Whole museum… was 'bling'… except the Galra."

To the shock of exactly no one, Lance's expression went dark. "Did you kill it?"

"Were you seen?" Keith asked at the same time. "Followed? Do we need to take off right now?" The video link to the hotel room was still on, and he glanced over at it for a moment; Hunk and Flynn both caught his look and nodded their understanding. If the _Bolt_ had to launch and circle back, that was what they'd do.

Looking mildly irritated—well, mildly more irritated than his default expression of mild irritation—Pidge straightened and turned to lean back against the couch rather than slumping over it. "I didn't kill her." _Not for lack of trying._ "She tried to follow, but I lost her. I came back through the spaceport under stealth to be sure."

"Fuck." Lance's tone became both colder and oddly hopeful. "At least injure her a bit?"

_"Lance_. Enough."

"Dude…"

"What?" Noting that Daniel was giving him a weird look, he reluctantly decided maybe it was time to dial it down. "Fine." He clenched his jaw and looked back to Pidge.

The ninja was scowling deeper now. "I am _not_ here to amuse you with war stories, Lieutenant." He shifted a little bit, seemingly uncomfortable on his left leg. What was even more uncomfortable was the smear of blood the motion revealed on the couch behind him.

"Uh…"

"That's not good…"

"…Sick bay. NOW."

The last thing Pidge felt equipped for right now was going to sick bay. Getting here had taken everything he had, taking another few steps might push him over the edge. "It's not my blood, Doctor. Mostly."

Keith frowned. "It might be best to let him check you over, Pidge." He was up and pacing, drawing a look of discomfort from Sven that he ignored.

"Yessir." It probably would be, at that. "I do think I dislocated a kneecap, it's inconvenient."

"…Know what, I'll be the fucking judge of that," Jace scowled. "Get on that couch."

"Yeah, do that pokey bedside manner you have," Lance agreed; next to him Daniel was wincing.

"That sounds _very_ inconvenient." It wasn't the word he'd have chosen.

Vince had moved a bit closer to Pidge, wanting to get a better look at the relic. He'd cringed too. "Dude, ow? You should have told him that sooner…"

"Maybe. Here." His roommate handed him the artifact, since he was closest, and he accepted it without a second thought.

A concussive force seemed to slam into him, white-hot sparks filling his vision and racing over his skin. Something like a flurry of stars glimmered before him. Just for a moment. He was too stunned to even try to focus, giving a strangled gasp, and then he collapsed in a heap as everything went black.

Pidge sprang back as sparks burst around the artifact, dropping a hand to his knife before fighting the reflex down. Then he landed on his injured leg and dropped to the floor himself, cursing.

"What the fuck?!"

"Fucking…!"

"Faex…" If Flynn could've jumped through the damn datapad he would have, _one_ of his wrenchlings being hurt was bad enough.

Jace was looking between the two of them, taking a split second to triage the situation. One injured leg and an uncertain blood source versus who the hell even knew—it didn't exactly take long to prioritize, and even less when Pidge waved him off. "Established parameters here, Doctor, check him."

"Already on it." He knelt and checked Vince's pulse, which seemed a little quick but not worryingly so. Of course it would be a little quick after _that_.

"Ow…" The engineer came to as the medic was counting, looking up to see Keith and Lance peering down at him with concern. "…Ugh. Did I spark?"

"…Yeah, 'spark', that's what you fucking did."

"There was definitely sparkage."

"Feels like a truck hit me." He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it; the room spun violently. "Gonna stay down here."

"Might be best," Keith agreed, expression still filled with worry. "Just let Doc check you over."

"Monitor data transmitted, at least." He wasn't sure he expected anything useful from that—hadn't happened so far—but it was better than not transmitting. "How's your vision?"

"Um, it was blurry, but clearing up…"

As the medic did his thing, Lance noted the relic Vince had dropped and carefully picked it up. Nothing happened, which was both a relief and a strange disappointment. Turning it over in his hands, he took in the carvings and the inlay before reaching the crystal that formed the bracelet's centerpiece.

And he nearly dropped the damn thing again. "Oh _fucking FUCK_, fuck me!"

"…What _else_ is wrong?"

"Lance, language." Keith's admonishment got him a look from Sven. _Did he just steal my line?_ Then again, he supposed he'd stolen it first.

"Forget my fucking language, look at this symbol!" He held it out for the commander to look at. "Remember it? You know, from the temple of hell?"

"I'm so glad I know what that is now," Daniel muttered.

"You're fucking kidding."

"Cevete…"

Accepting the artifact, Keith looked at the crystal and shivered slightly. Sure enough, he recognized the anvil-like rune shimmering there, the yellow symbol from the temple. And the bracelet's metal _was_ yellow… "You think that was a reaction like we had, then?"

"I mean…" Lance looked down at Vince, remembered the red metal's warmth, and couldn't help thinking this reaction seemed more or less the opposite. "Maybe? I don't know, that was pretty violent."

"I don't think we can rule it out."

"Is what reaction like what?" Vince made another ill-fated attempt to sit up; it didn't go much better than the first. His question was equally ill-fated; the others were rolling.

"Different metals," Jace said grimly, then lowered his voice. "Still never quite ruled out tailored bioweapons, just saying."

"Bioweapons?!" Daniel echoed.

"Bio…? But… I sparked and it… I thought there were stars?" Even to himself, Vince's voice sounded ragged, and he opted to lay back again. _You're making no sense_. Or maybe it was the chaos surrounding him that was making no sense. Or why not both? It was probably both.

"Bioweapons were not a part of the temple of hell story!" Daniel glared around the room. "And that feels like it should be a _big_ part of it."

"No." Taking the relic back, Lance motioned for Daniel to come closer. "Come over here and touch this, kid."

He looked less than enthused. "You want me to touch the potential bioweapon?"

"Yeah, it's gonna be fine." Lance poked the metal a few times to make the point.

"…Okay." Approaching and giving the pilot a very skeptical look, Daniel slowly reached out and touched the artifact. Nothing happened. "It just feels like metal?"

"See? Nothing—"

"—Okay you know what, fucking stop it!" Jace snapped, looking up from Vince and glowering. "Before we start just having everyone poke the magic bracelet with the temple-of-hell symbol, how about you fuckers let me deal with the two who are _already_ injured?"

Keith looked back at him. He was worried and off-balance, and what came out was more of a reflexive protest than a carefully considered response. "We aren't keeping you from your duties?"

The medic's death glare went up to eleven. "No, but I can only treat one person at once, so maybe don't fucking tempt fate with anyone else until I catch up!"

"…Okay, that's a fair point," Lance admitted with a slight shrug.

"Doc seems a little irritated," Daniel murmured to the pilot, who snorted.

"It's how we know he's breathing."

Pidge had gotten himself draped over the couch again, and was watching Vince worriedly. "I would like to have my kneecap back in place before we discuss anything interesting," he pointed out to support Jace's argument. "It's a distraction."

"I think we'd like to actually be present for whatever happens next, also," Flynn said quietly; Hunk shot him a doubtful look.

"We would?"

"…I would."

Shrug. "Okay, we would."

"Alright, here's the plan." Keith motioned for silence. "We'll table this for the moment, get people patched up, and see what Kleid and Garrett can learn tomorrow. Doc, are you content working in here or do you need help getting them to sick bay?"

"Sick bay would be better. I want a look at Vince's monitor data to see what we're really risking before anyone else even touches that fucking thing."

That was quite possibly the most reasonable thing Jace had ever said on this mission. "Okay. Lance, you're in charge of the artifact for now. Let's get to it."

* * *

Romelle had been studying diligently; nearly every time Lotor visited her quarters he found her immersed in a book or data display. As always, it pleased him to see her taking things so seriously. This courtship nonsense really wasn't _nearly_ so bad as he'd feared…

With luck, that would continue. "Diplomatic histories again, a'kuri?"

She startled a bit, then stood and curtsied. "Apologies, my sincline—I wasn't expecting you." She smiled. "The histories are fascinating."

"I'm… glad you think so." Lotor couldn't quite wrap his head around the concepts of _diplomacy_ and _fascinating_ being conflated, but if it pleased her, so much the better. She would be a fine advisor in such matters when he took the throne. Perhaps he could even get away with placing her as his regent, to let him spend some time on the front lines where he _belonged…_

…Probably not. She was still no Drule. But in any case, her interest in what he found so grating could only benefit him in the future, and ought to be encouraged.

Right now, though, he was here to discuss a topic he _did_ find interesting. "There is a celebration coming up," he informed her, stepping closer and taking her hand. "The planet Arus has finally been pacified, and with it our most recent wave of conquest is complete. The festivities will begin soon, and I will desire my dear a'kuri at my side through them all…"

She might have flinched slightly at the mention of Arus, but covered it quickly. "What sort of festivities?"

"Feasts, gladiator battles, even wargames among the fleets." He smiled, baring his fangs slightly. "I've even managed to convince my father to allow me a place of honor aboard one of the flagships for the opening wargame. You will join me, of course?"

Romelle blinked. _Wargames?_ She wasn't quite certain what to make of it. She remembered well the last battle she'd observed—the Polluxian fleet facing off against pirate hordes. That had not at all been a matter of entertainment, and it had been painful to observe. Perhaps this would be more helpful, although…

"Are people actually injured in these… games, sincline?"

The question seemed to startle him, then he chuckled. "Only a rare few. The fleets engage in simulated combat to see who will act as the vanguard of the next battles. An important test. Actually losing ships and warriors would rather negate their purpose." What seemed like true amusement flashed in his eyes. "But every celebration, a few perfectly good warriors will fail to strap themselves in while under fire, and the simulation _is_ quite realistic."

Romelle herself couldn't quite help but giggle. "I would be honored to join you, and learn more about battle… and I promise to strap myself in properly."

Lotor laughed. Actually _laughed_. And as a slight blush sprang to her cheeks, Romelle felt like things were going quite well.

* * *

Allura's return was somber. While the people were happy to see her back safe, the focus was purely on her father. She was there when he was stripped of all his worldly possessions, leaving with them as the priests began the more eternal part of preserving his body. Now in her private section of the shelter, the items neatly sitting in front of her, she had to pick which of his possessions he would continue to carry with him through time.

So many memories echoed around each item, but the pendant had more pressing concerns for her in the present. It may hold the answers she sought… while in Black's den she had seemed forced somehow not to open it, her need to know had only become stronger now. Working her grip about the pendant, she tried once more. Again, there was a sense of something working against her. She wiggled her fingers, stretching, tightening her grip on it until she was pulling with all her strength.

As she continued her struggle to pry the pendant open, the golden marks on her cheeks suddenly started to burn. Pain stabbed in front of her eyes and she gasped, but she didn't let go, she couldn't let go…

And suddenly Black's voice echoed through her mind. "_Royal cub, stop!"_

Stunned at the outburst, Allura stopped what she was doing, letting the pendant fall into her lap. "Is this not…" Her voice was a whisper. Could the Lion of Storms even hear her speak, where she was? She had to try. "Is this not something that will help wake you?"

"_It can… but… not complete."_ Black sighed as exhaustion sought to take him again. "_Time is not right… missing…"_ With that, the great lion fell silent, a soft rumble of thunder easing him back into his sleep.

_Of course._ Allura shook her head slightly, frustrated with herself. _Once more I'm forgetting that there is more to this._

Carefully wrapping the pendant in its own ribbon and placing it just in front of her, she looked at another of her father's possessions. A booklet he had been carrying with him. It was the last book he'd been keeping his notes in; the one she hadn't yet read. She wondered if perhaps it held the clues she needed, the answer to waking the other lions and Black fully.

Before she could pick the notebook up, a small tap came from the door. Looking up she found Coran with a small tray of food.

"I'm sure your appetite is not with you, your highness. But I've brought a small something for you. The grander schemes of life still require sustenance," he said with a soft smile.

Allura couldn't stop the small laugh. He was correct; she wasn't hungry at all, despite having already missed a couple of meals. Taking the tray anyway and poking at the food, she made her way back to the assortment of items and returned to poring over them.

Coran noted the sharpness in her eyes, pleased and relieved to see his Princess was not completely broken emotionally. Taking a seat on a chair nearby, he studied her for a bit before asking something that had been weighing on him.

"Princess… I've been a friend to your father for as long as I can remember. There were those who thought I could almost be thought of as a brother to him. But it never took a governess correcting me to know I was not truly family."

Allura looked towards him, curious. "Coran?"

He closed his eyes and went on. "There was always something… sort of like an inside joke, one might say, that hovered within your family. Not a malicious kind of joke, just one that never left that circle. Yet every family member seemed to know it. Nearly all of the royal court either missed or dismissed it, but I was always curious… I finally talked to your father about it."

Though he was dancing around the issue, Allura thought—perhaps _felt_—she knew where this was going. Maybe it was the way he glanced down at the pendant, a strangely knowing look in his eyes. "And?"

Tilting his head back, he paused a moment before continuing. "He understood my curiosity, it didn't anger him the way it might have. But he told me he couldn't explain it… he couldn't even tell me _why_ he couldn't explain it. He didn't know that himself." Looking back at Allura, he exhaled slowly. "Over time, your father seemed to find a way to let me know, indirectly. His hobby… the old Lion tales. There was a reason for his trying so hard to find them. Something hidden in them." Focusing in on her facial features, searching for a response, he lowered his voice, "Perhaps this defense system he was seeking out?"

Allura could see the worry in Coran's face. The fear of being on a wild firefowl chase in a time of need. Taking his hands in hers, she offered a reassuring nod. "My father was so close to succeeding… I must and will finish this task. My life is for Arus, to protect and to see it thrive, and I intend to carry out his work. I promise."

"Then I shall hold you to it, and see you protected from distraction." He bowed his head over their clasped hands. "And if they are connected, if this is real… anything I can do to help you, to protect Arus…"

She smiled. "I know. Thank you, Coran."

Giving a soft squeeze to Allura's hands, Coran looked back up to her and returned the smile. "Now how about you eat some of the food I've brought you, and I'll help you with the sorting of your father's final possessions. That at least isn't a burden you should carry alone."

Allura gave a soft chuckle and returned to the food—still more poking than actually eating—while Coran made his recommendations. As she listened, she found her thoughts drifting back to the pendant. No doubt it would take more time than she wished before she could use it to awaken the lions. If she left it with her father, it would most likely be safer… kept secure in his tomb, rather than with her where it might draw attention. She would make sure that it would be among the final items laid to rest with him. It would simplify things. And when the time came to retrieve it, to wake the lions from their sleep, she would go to her father's side… it would be right.

With that thought, the food was a little bit easier to eat.

* * *

_So we're back! (The holidays were uh, even crazier than expected. But we promised January!) And we're switching to a shiny new posting schedule of new chapters on Wednesdays. New year, new logistics, same crazy Explorer Team._


	30. Deceive and Conquer

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 29_  
Deceive and Conquer

* * *

Even in the daytime, Zandrek was lit in large part by moonlight. It had a dozen moons, many large and close, and in the slight overcast they easily outshone the distant sun. It gave the planet an ethereal quality that was really quite striking.

Flynn was not spending much time appreciating the beauty of the place. He was a bit nervous… just a bit. So much could go _wrong_ here. The museum had just had a damn robbery, and who were they to try to gain access to the details? Alien strangers? It was ridiculous.

Then again, they were an Explorer Team.

All they had to try to make this work were his wits, Hunk's impulsiveness, and a pouch of credit chips that may or may not be of any use. Both cultural and economic factors were in play there, and really, having to worry about _multiple cultural and economic factors_ just to go ask a bug about a bracelet felt just a little off-putting.

Much of the domestic Vex-Cha economy was centered around providing services; it was why bounty hunting was one of the easiest ways for outsiders to gain access. Their Confederacy's place in the broader galaxy was built on trade, sometimes cutthroat, and so they were often seen as motivated by profit. This was not wholly accurate, and could get a traveler in trouble. For example, as a rule they were known to react quite poorly to bribes—but there were those who might be willing to offer their services for a mere _fee_. Which in such cases amounted to a solicited bribe.

It was considered impolite to point that out.

That led to the other issue, which was that the interstellar economy was a chaotic free for all. Cross-faction currency exchange wasn't really a thing. Different civilizations had different needs and priorities, and barter was the primary manner of trade between them. Whether any given non-Alliance entity would accept alcreds was usually tied directly to whether they had Alliance trade contacts to spend them on.

The museum did accept alcreds as an entry payment. Pidge had reported that. But accepting them from tourists and accepting them under the table were two different things. Would they be willing to accept a _fee_ in a less than ideal currency? Would they be willing to accept a fee at _all?_ Had they actually brought enough if they did? The 686's bribe budget was slim—even an Explorer Team would get some odd looks if 'illicit service payment' showed up too often in their requisition list.

Flynn would rather have been back with the engines.

Trailing just behind him, Hunk wasn't any more comfortable with the situation. All joking aside, diplomacy _wasn't_ a strength. He knew it. And he doubted whoever was in charge of the museum was going to be near as awesome as Manset had been; that seemed like the kind of luck you only had once.

He'd rather have actually been wearing the light-up sombrero.

As it happened, the Repository of Riches looked surprisingly calm for a place that had just been victim of a high-value theft. It was indeed open; the reception hall had a large sign up, with a notice written in several languages.

**Due to an overnight malfunction in our power grid, unavoidable infrastructure repairs are underway and several exhibits are inaccessible. Admission has been reduced to reflect this. Management is regretful for the inconvenience.**

That raised a lot of questions Flynn didn't dare ask aloud—Hunk wouldn't have the answers anyway, but damned if it didn't take all his effort to keep them quiet. He covered with, "Kind of reassuring that PR-speak is the same everywhere."

"No kiddin'. Wonder what happened?" Hunk shared every one of those questions they couldn't ask.

Shrugging as casually as he could, Flynn looked over the reception desks; each had a sign, most of which were in languages he couldn't read, but a couple of them had **ENGLISH **listed in bold letters. He headed to the nearest of them, which was staffed by a shimmery gray Vexakila.

"Ah, Earthlings! A rare sight. Admission for two?"

"Please." He picked out a couple of credit chips and handed them over, then tried for a tone that was both confident and slightly urgent. "Would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the curator? We have some information they might find useful."

He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected to that request. What he certainly _hadn't_ expected was for the Vexakila to take it calmly in stride, as if Earthlings showed up bearing news for management every day. "The Docent is a bit busy dealing with the aftermath of last night's power disruption, but she may have time to spare. Let me consult. One moment."

As it turned and clicked rapidly until a comm panel, Flynn and Hunk exchanged glances. "Think she'll listen?" the big man murmured.

"Here's hoping."

After a minute the receptionist looked back to them. "The Docent requests clarity on this information you offer. What it regards, and what is its urgency."

_Here goes nothing_. "Possibly very urgent, we aren't sure—it's about an artifact in the special collections, a piece from a planet called Altea?"

Again the Vexakila didn't even twitch, and Flynn couldn't help but wonder if the employees even knew there had been a theft. Either way, the answer came quickly this time. "Yes, she will see you. Go and wait by the special service counter," it pointed with an iridescent wing, "and a guide will arrive shortly. We hope you will enjoy the exhibits once your business is concluded."

"We hope so too," Hunk said cheerfully, waving as they went over to the service counter. It seemed almost like an exhibit itself, carved from some kind of smooth, translucent stone with spidery veins of multicolored gemstone running through it. Leaning back against the stone, he exhaled slowly. "That went pretty well, yeah?"

"Better than expected," Flynn agreed. "Which worries me a bit."

"Yeah, can't blame ya."

It didn't take long at all for that worry to prove reasonable. Their 'guide' turned up in about five minutes: a fiery orange Zathreek with an unholstered firearm. "You are the Earthlings who request words with the Docent?" Its voice sounded something like a hinge joint that hadn't seen lubricant in a century.

"That's us." Flynn eyed the gun. The charge pack gave it away as a stun rifle, and at least it wasn't aiming at them, but it didn't seem like the best of signs… nor did the guard's next words.

"Come. And not a _step_ out of line, fleshlings."

"…Welp," Hunk whispered as they followed. "This oughta be fun."

'Fun' was certainly a word, anyway. Not an accurate word. But a word.

The halls of the Repository of Riches were surprisingly tastefully decorated, considering the nature of the place. Gold leaf in graceful patterns ran along the walls; based on what they'd seen elsewhere, Flynn thought he could recognize elements of written Ak-Kila in the designs. They probably said something interesting to a Vex-Cha. Every so often they would pass open panels in the ceiling, with noises coming from above, and in a couple of spots there were Cha-Akor clinging to the ceiling with their wings unfurled as they worked with exposed wiring.

Something told Flynn asking their guide about the situation wouldn't help anything, so he turned back to Hunk instead. "Must've been a hell of a malfunction." _What the hell did Pidge do here?_ He was glad Kogane hadn't come along to see this mess.

"That's for sure," Hunk agreed, and he wasn't nearly so hesitant to ask the Zathreek about it. "Dude, what busted up your power grid?"

"Don't _speak_, fleshling. What answers you are given will not come from me."

"…Oookay then." Suddenly he was reasonably certain this was a bad idea. But running for it would be an even worse one—not to mention definitely not useful—so he exchanged uneasy shrugs with Flynn and resolved to keep his mouth shut.

Finally they reached a back office, and were waved in at stunpoint. The 'guide' closed the door behind them and took up a guard post. Two other Vex-Cha were in the room: a green and blue Zathreek standing at a distinctly alien workdesk, and a drab, fuzzy creature they hadn't seen before. It looked like it could have been a hybrid between a Vexakila and Cha-Akor, but neither human knew if that was really a thing, and certainly neither was going to ask under these circumstances.

It was the fuzzy one who spoke first. "Hello, Earthlings. I am Eklees, the Repository's Common English interpreter. I respectfully present you to the Docent Zathaster, curator of this museum. She would very much like to know what you have to say for yourselves."

…No, definitely not encouraging. Flynn kept his expression even as he nodded a greeting to both the interpreter and the Docent, then took a shallow breath. "We're bounty hunters," he explained, "trailing a criminal from Earth. We have reason to believe he's interested in one of your artifacts." He fell silent, waiting for Eklees to relay the words. He had some confidence in his ability to recover from this poor start; they'd known they would have questions to answer. But there was knowing, and then there was actually trying to salvage the situation in a room full of angry giant insects.

Immediately after the translation finished the Docent fiercely clicked something; her voice wasn't much more pleasant in Ak-Kila than the guard's had been in Common. Once she was finished, the interpreter fluttered her pale wings. "The artifact from Altea, is what you told the worker at the front."

"Yes."

More clicks, and an agitated shuffling from the Zathreek. "The artifact which vanished last night, under cover of a reactor disruption. And you arrive today."

Both of them had been ready for that, and both made the most convincing show of shock they had available. Flynn stepped back, eyes widening, cursing under his breath; Hunk gave a startled yelp. "What d'you mean _vanished?"_

"Last night? Cevete… we _just_ missed him?"

"But we're gettin' closer, yeah?"

"Maybe. Hopefully. It doesn't help them here, though… but maybe they can tell us something."

Eklees had quietly relayed their whole exchange to the Docent, who buzzed and chittered in a way that somehow sounded skeptical even without speaking the language. "A coincidence, then? Hunters a moment too late is all? You are certain of that?"

"What are you implying?" Flynn asked icily—more a warning than a question. "You've managed to become the curator of such an extensive facility, you surely can't be fool enough to think we would commit a theft and then just come back here the next day? And for what?"

It wasn't _technically_ a lie.

"Seriously," Hunk agreed. "I know we both look like totally super stealthy ninjas and all, but you've got the _way_ wrong Earthlings."

While the Zathreek didn't exactly seem _calmed_ by that, she did at least take a less hostile stance. Her next response was clicked much faster than the others. "Perhaps so… very well, I accept your explanation. The artifact was taken by someone of great skill, through a vector we thought impossible to exploit. Your criminal must be a step ahead of many. We will require what information you have about him, so we may place our own bounties on his head."

They'd anticipated that, too; Hunk crossed his arms and did his best to look threatening. "Whoa, hang on now. We came here to try to help you, we didn't come to get ourselves _competition_. How 'bout you just tell us what you can about the relic and we'll go find the dude?"

Zathaster became hostile again just as quickly. "We can cooperate or not, Earthlings. Information for information. Else you are too late, and you can leave and find your own leads—there is little to vouch for your abilities in hunting him so far."

…Ouch. Flynn was very glad _several_ of the others weren't here to hear that; he had to fight down his own indignation for a moment, and that was despite knowing there wasn't actually a fugitive for them to hunt. He held up a hand as if to forestall any outbursts from Hunk, and nodded slowly. "Stand down. He's too dangerous. The Alliance needs him removed as a threat no matter who does it, and so long as we had a hand in it we'll get the commission." Turning to the Docent, he nodded and produced a copy of Daniel's wanted poster.

She took it and hissed, and the interpreter took a moment. Flynn had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to remove some profanity. "You have no name for this criminal?"

Flynn blinked; they hadn't anticipated _that_ question. _A name? Faex._ Now that she said it, of course their fugitive needed a name. Why hadn't they thought of that before? How hadn't it come _up_ before? He flailed for something believable, something—

"Uh, we dunno his name," Hunk jumped in. Before his superior could elbow him, he clarified, "Not his real name. Dude likes his aliases. Even fakes some Alliance officer's identities sometimes, though they usually stamp that out quick-like. Last one we know of was, um… Herbert Wade."

…_Not bad, Hunk. Not bad at all_. It wasn't as if Wade could hate them any _worse_, from what he'd heard. And it gave him a moment to get his own thoughts in order to offer some backup. "And the other aliases tend to be hopelessly generic human names. There was even a John Smith once, among our people that's literally a joke. We'll give you a list, for all the good it'll do."

"Bob Jones," Hunk suggested.

"Definitely on there."

"Ivan Ivanovich, Juan Pérez…"

"…I see." They both had the distinct feeling the Docent was still unconvinced, but she didn't have anything to prove them wrong, either. Turning her attention back to the poster, she flicked her antennae a few times as she looked it over. "This face is unfamiliar. Earthlings tend to stand out here, but we have only just begun looking back through the security footage for anything suspicious."

"Dude's good at not being noticed."

"Very." May as well sell the story a bit more. "Honestly he's probably using disguises, but that's the best picture we have. We have his motives, though. He's searching for the planet Altea itself. Can you tell us anything about it? Or where this artifact came from? It might give us an idea of where he'll go next."

Buzzing thoughtfully, Zathaster turned to the console on her desk and gave a series of sharp, commanding clicks. The screen shifted, displaying an image of the Altean bracelet with dense Ak-Kila text scrolling over it. "Our people once had trade contacts with Altea, but these ended many revolutions ago. Jewelry and metalworks were almost unheard of as trade items, so my predecessors were eager to claim such a relic. Bidding was fierce." She paused, letting Eklees catch up with the translation, then continued. "It was acquired from the Scavenger's Exchange on Ixapre. They keep few records, but perhaps there will be those who remember such a contested piece."

Hunk cocked his head. "Scavenger's Exchange?"

"…Ah, yes, you come from far away." The Docent paused for a few moments. "The Scavenger's Exchange is a grand market for goods of… questionable legality, especially those from lost civilizations. I would normally hesitate to tell anyone how to access it. But you _have_ shared your bounty… a small facilitation fee, perhaps three thousand alcreds, would be sufficient to convince me."

Flynn suspected they could find the information themselves with some effort, given how casually she'd invoked it at first, but getting it directly from the most relevant source seemed like the best idea. And it wasn't really an unreasonable bribe, all things considered—compared to the _Bolt's_ refueling costs it was pretty much a rounding error. Requisitions could deal with it. "That's fair enough." He fished a few chips out and handed them over.

"Very good." She clicked something else to the console, and a loud humming sound sprang to life beside it. Hunk and Flynn exchanged newly startled looks as they watched what had to be a Vex-Cha printer spooling up: delicate threads being rapidly woven together into the smooth, silky fabric they used for paper, the words woven directly into the sheets.

"Dude…"

"Okay, that's… really cool."

Eklees fluttered her wings in amusement at that, though the Docent looked unmoved. Her clicking might have sounded smug. "Far more permanent and durable than your mashed plant life." The document finished printing, and she handed it to Flynn. "Is there more to be discussed?"

Glancing over the text, mostly to make sure it was actually legible Common—computer translation could be hit or miss—Flynn shook his head. "I don't think so. Thank you."

"Good fortune in your hunt. If you should find this thief, no doubt your Alliance will wish for a wasteful trial? But if you bring us the relic or his head—or both—we will richly reward you. Consider it."

"…Uh, would you accept his head if it's still on his shoulders?" This time Flynn did elbow Hunk, which he supposed he deserved.

The Docent considered that for a moment, flicking her blade-like wing casings open and shut. "I see no reason why not."

"Perfect. We'll… consider it, then."

Resolving never to tell Kogane about that particular offer, they followed the guide back to the reception hall.

* * *

Aboard the _Bolt_, Pidge's return had heralded board games giving way to rather more consequential things. Like sleep. And people actually doing their jobs. Most of the team was actually taking the opportunity to get some rest; who knew what they would run into next?

There was most of the team, and then there was the Viking on the bridge.

Sven knew he was probably being a _tad_ overly cautious, but in the grand scheme of things six different getaway routes—with six separate destinations—wasn't that unreasonable. Especially given the nature of his team and the looming Galra threat. That was a highly volatile combination even _without_ the commander-approved theft via ninja being thrown into the situation. And any interstellar incident they might just happen to commit here would involve more than just this one planet. They'd have to get away from all Vex-Cha territory post haste.

No, six escape routes was nowhere near unreasonable. Creating a seventh probably wouldn't hurt…

Though, he admitted to himself, perhaps he should devise a route for their actual destination before continuing his reasonable amount of getaway routes. What was their destination again? He blinked and cast back in his mind for a minute, back to a time before Galra pursuit and the illegal acquisition of local resources.

Ah yes, the Altean shipwreck… where had he put those coordinates?

Glancing around for a second, he swept the console twice before seeing the numbers. They were on a note taped to his primary monitor, with the words 'Altean Ship' scribbled in his handwriting above them.

_Right in front of my face, of course._

He shook his head in exasperation, and then smiled as a new idea hit him: he could make _several_ getaway routes to their destination. Just to be on the safe side. Four should be a reasonable amount. Perhaps five…

Sven did enjoy math.

* * *

Daniel wasn't resting either, technically. He was in a rec room glaring at a blank sheet of paper on the table in front of him, as though it had personally offended him. Which it might have.

_You should write a comic or something._

Lance had said like it was supposed to be _easy_.

He really should have gone with the _or something_ option. He'd been trying to leave it open. Backing out would have been much easier before Lance had told everyone he was writing it, though… now he actually had to write it, and he'd been under the very wrong opinion that writing a comic wasn't hard.

Sure, the drawing part was doable, but apparently it took more than the ability to draw to write a comic. _Apparently_ it was necessary to have a storyline to go along with the drawings. Which was insanely unfortunate, because his only idea was still 'Lancey-pants and his magical gunflower' and the longer he though about that the more and more idiotic it sounded.

It also had just a twinge more hero worship laced in than he was comfortable with. That was the last thing he needed. This team already had one fanboy, and its ability to handle two of them was suspect. That and if Cam ever had any actual ammunition to return any of his teasing… Daniel shuddered. He'd have to desert and become an actual bounty hunter. And as cool as that sounded, Cam and Lance had both informed him that he'd be a sucky bounty hunter so that probably wasn't the best plan. Besides, it sounded like way more work than just coming up with a comic plotline.

Though maybe not.

Daniel stared at the blank paper, slowly accepting the reality. He was going to have to go with the Lancey-pants idea after all… he groaned. This was officially going to label him as a fanboy, wasn't it?

_Well fuck…_

The comms crackled then. Flynn and Hunk were back, and it was time for a briefing, apparently… Daniel pushed the paper aside and shook his head. For once he was okay with it. He could put off his fanboy fate for just a little longer.

* * *

Today's conference room had a new decoration: the Altean bracelet was sitting on a plate, which was sitting on a stand above the traditional plate of donuts. It said quite a bit about where the 686 was these days that Hunk had hardly even gotten any strange looks for it.

Keith was pointedly ignoring it, in fact. "Okay. Kleid, Garrett, what did you two learn?"

"Not a whole lot." Flynn shook his head. "Zathreek are very… suspicious."

"Curator took some convincin' we weren't part of the heist, can you imagine?"

"After one of their prized possessions just went missing? Shocking," Cam muttered, getting a side-eye from Keith and a smirk from Daniel. For once it wasn't _him_ getting the Commander's dirty looks.

"How could they be suspicious of you two?" Lance snickered, munching on a donut. "Neither of you seems shifty at all."

Flynn scoffed, then turned his attention back to Keith. "We had to trade our fugitive's picture and… a couple of his known aliases," he smirked, "in exchange for what information we got. The museum acquired this thing through a black market that specializes in artifacts from lost civilizations. We have contact information."

Contact information was good; the first part of the statement was concerning. Keith knew his team. "Do I want to know the aliases you gave them?"

Setting down his donut, Hunk gave the boss his most innocent look, which only confirmed that he'd been right to worry. "One of 'em was Herbert Wade."

Keith stared, and made an attempt to get a response out, but laughter from the others cut him off.

"Bahahaha!"

"Bwah, that's great!"

"You didn't… that's _brilliant_."

Flynn groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I promise we did _not_ set the Vex-Cha bounty network on an Alliance sky marshal—"

"Thank god."

"Awww, you guys were so cool for a second there."

"That would've been fucking amazing."

"—though he might get some strongly-worded warnings about how a known criminal is using his name. Or worse." Shrug. "It would be a real shame, but our criminal is a tricky one."

Keith sighed. "Alright, alright. This contact information?"

His second pushed the sheet of information over to him. "It's on a planet called Ixapre, which isn't a Vex-Cha world—it's well spinward. We're going that way anyway, aren't we?"

"We are," Sven confirmed. He actually remembered seeing the name Ixapre on a couple of his charts. "It's not all that far from the planet with the Altean vessel."

"Add it to our route, then." Keith frowned. "Actually, put it next on the list—I don't think there's any urgency to investigating the crash."

"Yes sir."

"So, a market for ancient relics, huh?" Lance kicked back. "Sounds very Indiana Jones."

Jace glared. "Every time you fuckers mention Indiana Jones we all end up regretting it."

"Hey!" Their pilot was immediately upright again. "Do _not_ blame Indiana!"

"I'm not blaming him, I'm just saying things never fucking go well when he gets involved."

Feeling a shiver run through him at the memory of the temple and the ice water, Keith decided he actually agreed with the medic on this one and cleared his throat for silence. "Alright. So now that we have our next stop, what are our plans for _returning_ the artifact?"

Several people eyed him skeptically. "Returning?"

"Are we returning it?"

"Kogane, we all know you didn't want to steal it, but… shouldn't we worry about what we can learn from it before we worry about giving it back?"

"Yeah, Kogane. Don't you know we just collect potential bioweapons?" Daniel narrowed his eyes. "I'm honestly asking, 'cause _I_ didn't know that was our thing. Interstellar incidents are supposed to be our thing."

Keith took a long, slow, steadying breath. He _knew_ they needed to discuss their ill-gotten clue, he'd just have felt better having a plan first. His irritation ultimately fell on Daniel, manifesting as an icy glare that the gunner just barely managed not to answer by flipping him off.

"Oooh, _that's_ a look I've not seen him give you before," Cam whispered. Daniel _did_ flip him off.

Vince, on the other hand, braved the discussion on Daniel's side, pointing to him with a concerned frown. "What he said."

"I'd like to know more about this 'bioweapon' issue also," Pidge agreed quietly. His roommate had been freaking out for most of the day, and for once he couldn't entirely blame the mechka for it.

The underlying question was fair enough; Keith sighed heavily. Again. "Alright. Doc, tell us what you can about our tailored bioweapon."

That got an immediate glare. "Fucking… honestly, all I said was we never ruled out out, I didn't say it _definitely_ was one."

"I said potential," Daniel said quickly.

"Fine." That really hadn't been the point, though he'd also kind of thrown the medic under the bus there. He knew Jace didn't have an answer; they'd already have heard about it if he did. "Whatever it is, what does Vince's reaction to it mean?"

"Fuck if I know." The frustration in his voice was palpable. "The readings were the same as when he does his normal sparky thing. Almost _exactly_ the same. I don't have a fucking clue what knocked him out, there's no good reason for it that my equipment could pick up." Shaking his head, he added irritably, "Go on, tell the kids about the crazy-ass metal. May as well."

"Does seem relevant," Lance agreed. "I mean other than turning Vince into a fucking sparkler, this is just bling."

That was true enough. Keith reached out and picked up the bracelet, focusing on it for a few moments; he felt nothing. Passing it to Sven on his left he considered where to begin. "Alright. On our last mission, we found a couple of scraps of strange metal. One black, one red. Both with unusual, maybe impossible, properties."

"And someone sparked?" Vince asked hopefully.

The commander gave him a sympathetic look, but shook his head. "Not the way you did. But any time I touched the black metal, I felt something like static electricity. When I touched the red, nothing."

Lance nodded. "And if I touched the red one I felt heat… warmth, really." _Home_. "But nothing from the black piece."

"And none of the rest of us felt anything from either," Flynn added.

Daniel nodded, more in acknowledgment than understanding, because obviously understanding this wasn't a thing for anyone. "That's weird."

"Fucking weird," Lance agreed.

The Altean artifact had reached Hunk—after Vince was very careful to _not_ touch it, pressing back against his chair as it passed by. As he picked it up he paused, feeling suddenly unbalanced… he couldn't quite explain the sensation, and wouldn't even have put money on it being _real_. He looked at the yellow rune for a moment, blinking, then shook his head and pushed it away. He didn't really want to be in on whatever was happening.

Keith took a moment to sip some water, then continued. "They called the two of us to a research lab on Earth to do some scans, and said that we'd actually had the same reaction to both metals. Some sort of…" He cast about for the technical term and couldn't remember it. "…Magic."

"…See, why didn't you guys say magic instead of bioweapons?" Daniel shot Jace a scowl. "Magic is way less scary sounding." He didn't _believe_ in magic, but it was definitely less scary sounding.

The medic shrugged, and Keith shook his head. "They're both guesses, really. All the Alliance's technology and yet was their best guess… magic."

"Logical," Pidge said completely without sarcasm, and nearly everyone in the room turned to him in disbelief. "…What?"

Cam was the first to find the nerve to answer, maybe because he was genuinely curious despite it being, well, Pidge. "How is magic logical?"

"Not magic in itself. Ascribing unexplained but replicable phenomena to magic."

"…Ah." That had cleared exactly nothing up. "Okay."

The ninja gave him a sullen look, then swept it around the table and rolled his eyes when he noticed the explanation hadn't really helped anyone else either. "Magic is understood as a branch of metaphysical science with well-documented occurrences, can we get back to the point?"

Lance shrugged. "Yeah, let's." Pidge's explanation sounded similar to what Turoa Tek had told them, just in ninja-ese. But just calling it magic sounded cooler.

"Still feels scary to me," Vince muttered, "whatever it is." _Still the only one causing weird sparks…_

Wincing in sympathy, Daniel looked over at him. "You feeling okay now?"

"I'm fine… a bit weird still, but fine."

"That's good." He could have said a few things about Vince being weird. The opening was _right ther_e. But he figured the engineer didn't need any splash damage from a Kogane death glare just now, so he skipped it.

Keith instead gave him another look of sympathy. "Given how violently you reacted to the artifact…"

"Not so good with that."

Nobody could really blame him there, and silence fell around the room for a moment. Then Flynn leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, frowning. "But the metal pieces were pretty rough. Armor scraps, or something similar. Nothing like this." He indicated the relic, which had made its way all around the table and was sitting by the donuts again. "So is this magical robot lion armor that somehow got turned into jewelry, or are we going with all Altean metallurgy being magic now, or…?" Shrugging helplessly, he trailed off.

"It's gotta be connected to Voltron somehow, yeah?" Hunk asked. "Same symbol from the temple." He remembered that symbol very well—not as well as the blue one that had nearly killed them, but it _had_ been on the pedestal his lion statue had gone to.

Sven tilted his head thoughtfully. "We don't actually know that the symbols refer only to the… robotic lions." Saying that still felt bizarre, but what around here wasn't? "They could just be some kind of general Altean cultural reference."

"Viking's got a point," Jace agreed. "Maybe it just says 'yellow', or 'lion', or I dunno, 'don't fucking touch on pain of death'…"

"That is true. It was in the temple, but we can't be certain that means this relic is related to Voltron."

"It's connected _somehow_, though."

"It has to be, doesn't it? It's too much of a coincidence. The color, the symbol, the metal…?"

"And elements…" Lance blinked. "Wait, Vince, did you feel an element?"

Feel an element? He wasn't even sure what that was supposed to mean. "Um. Sparks are electricity?" Though he wouldn't have described it as him _feeling_ electricity. Certainly not the way Keith had described.

The question jogged Hunk's memory; he looked at the relic and paused. Much as he didn't really want to get deeper into this… he reached out and touched it again, feeling the unbalanced sensation, as if the ground were shaking beneath him. "Earth…"

Lance spun on him, eyes widening. "Fucking really?"

"How do you feel earth?" Daniel asked.

"…Dunno. Might just be thinkin' I feel it? Confirmation bias, yeah?" He was certain he felt it. But again, not in a way he could explain. "Just kinda off-balance. But back in the temple, the whole yellow section was rocks and sand and stuff."

_Just kinda off-balance?_ "Oh sure, but it zaps me unconscious," Vince grumbled.

"Maybe it likes you more?" Daniel suggested.

"I don't think that's an expression of 'like'. If it is I'd prefer something a bit more amicable."

"Probably right."

Jace caught Sven's eye and made a face. "Nobody wants to hear that it might be a bioweapon, but this is totally what you'd do to old jewelry to scare off tomb robbers or some shit…"

"You may be right," the navigator agreed—he wasn't sure how he felt on the subject, but it was easier than objecting. "But it doesn't seem to be killing anyone, so let's try not to stir them all up again…"

Too late. "I thought you didn't want to bring up Indiana Jones?"

"Is he a tomb robber?"

"Well, if you wanna bring in Lara Croft…"

"What does any of this tell us about where or how to find the weapon?" Pidge interrupted.

"Well, doesn't it kind of mean we're on the right track? I mean granted, it's not telling us much about where to go next, or about where the weapon is, but…" Cam lowered his voice as he realized he'd gone into this without quite thinking it through. "…I'm just trying to be helpful?"

"But you weren—" Pidge fell silent as Flynn shot him a glare and hissed under his breath.

"It's alright to _have_ the thought… remember?"

"…Yessir."

Cam blushed and hung his head; Daniel patted his shoulder, and Vince shook his head slightly. Sven opted for somewhat more direct support. "It doesn't tell us where to go, but it may help us understand the weapon a bit more, and understanding it may help us find it." Even if they found Altea, they had to find these lions _on_ Altea somehow.

"Personally I'd rather go in with all the facts we can get," Lance agreed. "Even if they're fucking weird."

"Crazy metal or not, maybe if we take this thing to… Ixi-pray?… we'll have a better chance findin' someone who can tell us about it, yeah?"

"Possibly." Sven frowned slightly. "Though should we be showing it around? We did steal it."

Hunk blushed. "Oh yeah."

"So we tell people we're Herbert Wade."

That earned Lance a scandalized look from Daniel. "I'd rather confess to stealing it than _ever_ call myself Herbert Wade!"

"It's probably not a good idea anyway," Keith pointed out. "Especially if the Galra are there."

"I'm not afraid of the Galra."

"I'm not afraid of them either… but seeing as they kicked most of our asses," Daniel waved his cast, "I vote we avoid them."

"Well _you_ won't be near them," Lance snapped, his protective instincts kicking in before he even quite consciously registered it.

Jace shook his head. "I'm not scared of the Galra, I'm scared of you two being idiots…"

"He's injured, he doesn't get to be an idiot," their pilot insisted; Daniel glared daggers at both of them.

Clearing his throat, Keith attempted to get things back on track… again. "We can't show the artifact itself, but we can take a couple of images to show around. We maintain that we're looking for… our Wade."

Flynn smirked. "We did technically accept a bounty to retrieve the thing." Keith slowly turned to stare at him. "What?"

"When were you going to tell me that?"

"I thought it was implied?"

"We were already lookin' for the thief," Hunk agreed, "were we _not_ gonna accept it?"

"…Good point."

"Fucking brilliant." Lance shot Flynn a wink.

"But we shouldn't take it back too soon, right?" Jace frowned. "Be kind of suspicious if we magically brought it back today with no fugitive. We could bring it next time we pass through? Hey, no thief but look what we found?"

"You really missed your calling as a criminal," Sven said casually.

The medic shrugged. "I've been told I don't have the charisma."

"That's true. You don't."

Looking between the two, Vince found himself wondering yet again how he'd even gotten into this situation. _Maybe someday I'll wake up and find out I was in a coma this whole time._ That sounded unpleasant, but it would explain an awful lot.

Pidge didn't help anything with his next comment. "The doctor is right, it's better that way. I could possibly sneak it back in before we leave, but assuming they've increased security, I can't guarantee that I could do it without killing anyone."

"…That won't be necessary." Keith sounded physically pained. "Gregory's plan is fine."

"Yeah, only Galra deaths are acceptable here."

Looking uncomfortably between Lance and Pidge, Flynn found himself briefly wondering how _he'd_ gotten into this too. Across from him, Daniel looked at Lance and rolled his eyes. _So he can kill Galra all he wants, but I have to stay locked away like a princess in a tower… I can be around Galra if I want to be around Galra!_

Addressing that subject again didn't seem worth it, so Keith turned to Sven. "Alright, Holgersson, plot our course. We're neck deep in this now."

"Yes sir." As if he hadn't been plotting courses all day, though the new destination would require some tweaking.

"Vince, you said you were alright? Pidge, your injuries?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." Vince wasn't entirely lying. _Just eternally frustrated by the fact that I'm a walking sparkler._

"I'm fine." Pidge's tone was flat. He had a limp and it hurt to breathe too deeply, but those were minor inconveniences.

Disputing that didn't seem worth it either, no matter how doubtful he found it. "Alright, I'll take your word for it." Turning to Flynn, he couldn't keep down a small, wry smile. "First my two bridge brats get hurt, now yours… what's with this trend?"

"Yours learned from the best," Flynn retorted, "not sure what excuse my wrenchlings have."

"…The best?" Keith repeated, earning a very pointed look from his second until he realized and reddened slightly. "Oh. Right."

"Hold up." Daniel narrowed his eyes. "Bridge brats? Since when?" It wasn't that he minded the title—the commander calling him a brat seemed like a much greater achievement than Cam constantly calling him one, anyway—but this seemed like a development he should have been made aware of.

Cam looked equally confused, if for different reasons. "Technically wouldn't it be three of your bridge brats?"

"Wait, there's a _third_ one of us?"

"First me, then you and Lance… we're all technically his bridge brats, right?"

"I am not a bridge brat," Lance protested.

At exactly the same time Daniel turned to him, grinning. "I didn't know you were considered a bridge brat."

"I'm not!"

"A likely story… wait!" He spun in his chair and looked at Sven. The Viking met his gaze, utterly deadpan.

"No."

"Damn."

Keith could not, for the life of him, figure out how this had gone so off the rails—oh, yes he could. "You're not bridge brats, but if you keep it up that might change."

"You just called me a bridge brat!"

"You know," Flynn muttered, "I'm certain I got in trouble for calling _anyone_ a bridge brat…"

"No, you got in trouble for favoritism." _And scaring the hell out of your commander_.

At the reminder of that incident, Pidge shifted uncomfortably. "Are we finished here, sir?"

"Yes," Sven seconded quickly, "are we finished?" He wanted to get back to his maps, and preferably before this discussion went any further.

Grateful for the interjection, Keith nodded—perhaps a little too emphatically. "Yes, we are. Dismissed."

"But I'm still confused," Daniel complained as the team started to disperse. "Who is and is not a bridge brat?"

"You and Cam are the brats, kid."

"That seems exclusionary. I feel like we're _all_ bridge brats. Except Keith, he doesn't get to be in the group…"

The debate was still going on as the commander all but fled the room.

* * *

Their shuttle had docked with the dreadnought _Raven's Shadow_ nearly an hour ago. Though even the largest Drule capital ships were capable of landing on a planet—something Romelle still found quite remarkable—the fleet had already been arrayed in deep space, and sending its flagship to Korrinoth for two passengers would have been silly. Captain Ostsol had given his Prince and future Princess a full tour of the vessel, a _Ny'thra_-class command cruiser, before bringing them to the bridge. Now Romelle strapped herself carefully into one of the observation seats, as promised; she had no desire to be tossed around by whatever they were about to encounter.

The harness seemed off somehow, and she looked to Lotor with some worry. "Sincline, do I have this right?"

He leaned over to examine the fastenings, then nodded. "Perhaps it is uncomfortable now, but when you need them you'll understand why they were designed that way."

"Oh. Thank you." She nodded in return. It was clear Lotor was comfortable on the bridge—more comfortable than he usually appeared in the throne room, without question. "I'm nervous, but also excited. Is that normal?"

"Very normal, dear a'kuri," he chuckled. "Adrenaline before battle is natural, and to be embraced."

Romelle made a noise of acknowledgment, looking around the bridge in wonder. She'd never been on a proper warship before. "I apologize if I ask too many questions. My father didn't think it was the place of a princess to be in war situations."

At that the prince gave a derisive snort. "Your father has many opinions, and most of them that I'm aware of are wrong."

Reflexively she bristled at that; her father had once been loving and protective, up until the moment he'd sent her here. But then… the new side of him she'd seen since the alliance with Korrinoth was not loving, protective, or _defensible_. "If I may be honest with you… I sometimes feel the same. But I would never openly admit that to him."

Should she have admitted _that_ to Lotor? The thought ran through her mind as he eyed her. But then he reached over and patted her shoulder. "You will have the opportunity in time, and he will see his foolishness. Now, shall we move on to better things?"

"Yes, please." Her father couldn't ruin this adventure for her. She wouldn't allow it. "How was it determined which ship we would be guests on?"

He chuckled again. "The captains of the fleets made a wager, or so I've heard. The _Raven's Shadow_ will fight with extra pride and ferocity for our presence, and rumor says the _Deathrattle's_ captain is most displeased and seeking vengeance." He bared his fangs. "It will be a glorious battle."

That certainly sent adrenaline rushing through Romelle again; she checked her harness and laced her fingers together in hopes of hiding her nervousness. But she didn't have long to wait.

"My Lord and Lady, battle will be joined in two minutes."

As Captain Ostsol spoke, the warship's main displays came to life, new monitors coming up to surround the primary viewscreen. Romelle's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to Lotor. No doubt he could explain it all, if he wished.

Noting her curious expression, he smiled and gestured to the front. "The primary screen shows the conventional view, what lies before our vessel. The set of monitors above and below show monitors from other sides of the ship. To the left is the radar: gold icons for our allies, silver for our enemies."

The various outside monitors became dizzying all too quickly, and Romelle found herself focusing on the radar. It seemed the most important, and the most interesting. "It must be difficult at first, to learn to process so much information at once…"

Now the prince was definitely amused. "It is a skill to be developed. The military schools have whole classes on sensor interpretation; don't be discouraged if it makes little sense at first."

Captain Ostsol began yelling orders before Romelle could respond. The bridge was suddenly alive with activity, the crew calling out information she could only grasp in fragments, orders she didn't quite follow… and then the ship shuddered, a wave of fighter craft sweeping past and landing several solid shots on their deflector arrays.

Romelle gasped as she was rocked against the harness—though much less than she'd have thought from the impact. Nobody else on the bridge seemed overly concerned by the attack. "That… that wasn't too bad, right?"

"Minimal impact," Lotor confirmed, indicating another of the auxiliary screens. "The ship's damage readout is to the right of the main display. It has quite a few nuances, but most simply darker areas indicate damage."

She looked to that display, noted the line of slightly grayish damage across the centerline armor, and nodded her understanding. For awhile she remained silent, just taking in the battle and the chaos around her, trying to guess from the radar what might be coming next. When another wave of fighters came in, the _Raven's Shadow_ was ready; barely any of the tiny ships escaped its return barrage, their icons blinking out, though they were still visible on the main screen as they detached from the battle.

"How do the fighters know they've been destroyed for the purposes of the game?" It was probably a small thing, but she found it intriguing nonetheless.

"Their instruments will tell them so. The same for any vessel, even ours." He grinned as the dreadnought shuddered under a new attack, then turned to her again and gestured to a cluster of larger gold icons. "The Captain is bold; he's leading with his battleships. A risk to place the fleet's most valuable assets in the front, but it also draws attention so the rest of the fleet can operate with relative impunity."

Romelle didn't fully follow that explanation, but she got the general idea. "That does seem like quite a bold move." A slight blush sprang to her cheeks. "I apologize for so many questions…"

He shook his head. "You mustn't apologize for wanting to learn, a'kuri."

She studied him carefully. It was clear he was in his element here; there was a lightness to him she'd rarely seen before. It filled her with hope, but also a strange dread… why?

_Because he'll want to celebrate, and you will have no choice, as usual_. The same thing that inevitably crept in to ruin any optimism she dared feel. She wasn't really an equal here…

Forcing herself to shake that off, Romelle bowed her head. "Thank you for being so patient and understanding. I do want to learn well and be an asset to the kingdom."

"And you will, I have no doubt." He smiled and nodded back to the radar. "Watch how the line shifts. It's easy to move around a fixed position in space, so they constantly move to keep the enemy guessing."

Almost the moment he finished the explanation, a heavy blast struck the _Raven's Shadow_ and rattled the bridge. Now Romelle did understand the design of the harness; it kept her in place without straining any one part of the body too greatly. Next to her, Lotor himself was thrown against his restraints, and gave an exhilarated laugh.

"…You really enjoy this, don't you?"

"I do," he agreed. "Battle is honest. Courage, skill, and instinct. No nonsense about prettying up your words, saying things you don't mean to please some old fool with connections."

It did ring true. "Diplomacy isn't needed in battle."

"Precisely. Any deception is a tactic which will either prove its worth or be countered within…" He trailed off, golden eyes sharpening. "…Do you see the cruisers gathering off our stern?"

It took her a moment. But several of the allied icons were indeed beginning to cluster around the _Raven's Shadow_, a pair of larger vessels attempting to shroud their movements. "Yes. What are they doing there?"

"Preparing a flanking maneuver. The _Deathrattle_ is using a more traditional tactic—destroyers as a screening force, battleships bombarding from range. It leaves them vulnerable if their opposition can slip into their back lines."

Romelle nodded her understanding, watching the flanking force coming together. Their fleet's battleships were driving powerful attacks straight ahead, trying to scatter the 'line'—not a wholly descriptive term in space combat, but it got the point across. At the same time, a set of enemy destroyers was pulling back and starting to range well beneath the main battle.

Something looked familiar about the move… _wait…_ "Sincline, isn't that… it looks like the other side is doing the same thing? Or am I mistaken?"

Truthfully Lotor hadn't been paying that much attention to the enemy, busy as he was explaining the immediate situation. After all, he was only here as an observer. Now he followed her gaze and his eyes widened.

He didn't get the chance to respond. More accurately, Captain Ostsol did it for him. "Counter-flanking at position 3-03-5! Engage broadside batteries! Fighter screens, break the formation!"

Immediately the whole fleet reoriented, fighters sweeping in to disrupt the _Deathrattle's_ attempt like a flock of golden fireflies. Watching the screen, Romelle found a shocked giggle escaping her. "I was right… wow, I…" _Pity Father wasn't here to see that_.

"Impressive." Lotor gave her easily the warmest smile she'd seen yet. "Few would learn to read a battle so quickly. Perhaps a new calling for you?"

"Perhaps…" She forced herself not to let overconfidence get the better of her. It had only been one maneuver. "Though I think I would like to know more before being called on. That may have been… beginner's luck?"

"We will see soon enough, I imagine."

That they probably would… as the battle continued, Romelle found the radar display making more and more sense, and she was starting to identify certain maneuvers within each fleet. Though in time it was beginning to resemble a series of duels more than anything as more and more forces were lost. And finally they were bearing down on the opposing flagship itself…

"The Deathrattle is acknowledging its defeat, sir."

"Excellent. They fought well." Captain Ostsol gave a small smirk. "But we fought better."

Lotor was unfastening his harness, clearly thrilled by the battle; Romelle found herself smiling. The prince's excitement was contagious, and her own confidence was high. Maybe she _did_ have some skill with tactics. It could only help…

That optimism lasted about until the Captain approached, his eyes on Lotor. "Your Highness, perhaps you would address the fleet? We have after all borne you to victory. My warriors would surely be appreciative of your notice."

The prince's joy seemed to wither; he blinked and his gaze was suddenly cold. He didn't want to be here as a _prince_ at all, he certainly hadn't asked to be reminded of it. "I wasn't told politicking was part of this wager, Captain. You have triumphed and won yourselves great honor and glory—I suggest you do nothing to _negate_ it."

Blinking herself, Romelle turned a stunned look on her sincline; probably mercifully, he wasn't looking at her. Captain Ostsol didn't look nearly so surprised. In fact, he scowled right back, a look she'd only ever seen Zarkon dare to turn on the crown prince before. "I respectfully remind you, my Lord, that you are a guest on my bridge."

"Indeed, and we are grateful for your hospitality." Venom seeped into Lotor's tone. "Does your crew require validation from its guests?"

Concerned, but still confident, Romelle saw the opportunity and took it. Xalinan had suggested she be a good influence; what better time? "With all respect, Prince Lotor, it _is_ a common tradition for a royal guest to address a fleet after such a victory." She blushed as they both turned to her in surprise, but continued on. "Especially if the Captain requests it, as he is the lord and master of his vessel…" Lotor was glaring, and she cringed but didn't back down. "…Even above the royal guest."

"A'kuri…" His furious hiss trailed off as he noted that he had not only the captain's attention, but several of the bridge crew. And perhaps more importantly, he knew the tradition just fine. "…Yes, you are right." Studying her carefully, a thought occurred to him and he cracked a smile. "In fact… perhaps, Captain, you might allow my a'kuri to address your warriors in my stead? I believe their skill made quite an impact on her."

Romelle's jaw dropped, but she covered it quickly and bowed her head. It was probably only right that she should perform such tasks sometimes, and she _had _interjected herself into the matter. "I would be honored to speak on your behalf, Prince Lotor. If the Captain will allow it?"

Captain Ostsol looked about as surprised as Romelle herself had been, but he looked between them and nodded. "To be addressed by our future Princess would be a rare and welcome honor."

Nodding, she stood and followed the Captain to the comm station, mind racing. She wasn't really sure what to say, what might be expected of a royal address… she'd heard plenty of them, but none in this context. But then, the few times she'd been asked to give a speech so far, she'd always been told to go with what her own culture would find appropriate. The people knew she was an alien, and perhaps they found that exotic and interesting. She could hope…

Looking back at Lotor and receiving a nod, she turned to the captain and took a deep breath. "If you would open the channel? I'm ready."

Turning to the comm station, he flipped a switch and barked into the speaker. "All warriors at attention!"

Here went nothing…

"Mighty warriors of the _Raven's Shadow_, I am Romelle, a'kuri to the Crown Prince Lotor. Prince Lotor and I are both proud and grateful to have been with you to witness your victory over the _Deathrattle _and its fleet; it is an honor to speak to you on his behalf." She was aware of Lotor's eyes on her; rather than focus on that she put it aside, trying to imagine instead the warriors she was addressing. "Be assured we will carry the memory of your valiant triumph. You have earned great glory for yourselves, the Ninth Kingdom, your king and Crown Prince…" She hesitated a moment. It felt like the right time to invoke one of the deities she'd learned about. The god or goddess of war, perhaps, given that it had been a wargame. But what came out was something she felt more deeply. "…and above all to our beloved Goddess of Honor, Kistrial."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lotor's shocked expression. Just for a moment. And then he smiled, and her choice seemed like the correct one.

Captain Ostsol, too, seemed to approve; he bowed his head to her. "As we were honored to fight before you."

She returned the nod and concluded, feeling a bit more calm. "Take pride in your victory, warriors, and carry our thanks to you and your valiant captain for your skill and hospitality."

Stepping back, she found herself exhaling deeply, her nerves tight… but she felt good about the words. The Captain took the comms. "Raven's Shadow Armada, engines to full! The victory celebrations await." He turned back to her and Lotor as he closed the channel. "You will join us for the victory banquet, I hope?"

Romelle eyed Lotor nervously, but he nodded, recognizing it for the peace offering it was. "As long as you don't expect any speeches, we would be most pleased to join you in celebration."

_Maybe that wasn't so bad after all…_

As the fleet began to head for Korrinoth, Romelle sank back into the observer's seat and closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a smile. It had been a good day, if perhaps a bit overwhelming, But it felt like she'd made progress.

"A'kuri." Her eyes flashed open, the smile fading. Lotor's tone was stern. "You must not contradict me like that before others."

…Oh. Swallowing hard, she nodded her understanding. "I apologize for my overreach, my Lord…"

He calmly nodded his acceptance. "All is forgiven. Simply remember in the future."

Oh, there was no question of that… sighing, she nodded in return, trying to keep hold of at least some sliver of her newly gained confidence. Confident she might be… but _comfortable_ she couldn't dare. That she would also remember. "I will."

* * *

The return to Falastol had been mercifully uneventful, long stretches of mud aside. Miralna braced herself as she helped Lady Hys down the last part of the steps to the tunnels. While the area had taken damage in the initial attacks, and later skirmishes, it showed signs of significant settling and now appeared to be mostly stable. Still, it was a relief once they reached a more level pathway. It was an even greater relief to hear that the paths between shelters had been opened up more since the governess left.

Being a knight, Miralna was immediately treated with deference by the local elders. Nobody was about to doubt her word. Soon they were heading for one of the smallest, deepest tunnels, where Captain Sherion was watching over a small cluster of survivors.

The shelter was clearly low on resources and the air was noticeably musky. Despite being connected to the other tunnels, it had a strong feel of still being closed off. Almost as if the air itself was trapped. Nanny frowned as she studied the cavern; she was certain this was no place to keep the young Prince. Scanning the shelter for the captain, she found him by a nook in the far wall, haggling with a man over rations.

"Captain Sherion, a word with you!"

Sherion was shocked at the familiar voice—he'd never expected to hear it again. "Lady Hys! You've returned! We had thought you among the dead."

She snorted and brushed it aside. _It takes more than that to kill a loyal servant of the Honored Mother, especially one with duty yet to uphold._ "I hope that in my absence, your charge has done well in your care?"

"Yes, Governess." Embarrassed, he took a few steps back, motioning for her to join him at a narrow corridor. "I've… done the best that was possible with what was available here. Come, I'll take you to him."

The young Prince Tanner was asleep in an isolated chamber. Even in the poor lighting of their lanterns, they could see a paleness across his skin, his cheeks sunken from the small amounts of food the survivors had to make last. Miralna and Nanny spoke in whispers as Nanny carefully inspected Tanner's condition. It was immediately clear that telling him news of his father wouldn't be in his best interests at this moment…

"Captain Sherion, why are you still here?" Miralna asked quietly. "Once the tunnels were opened couldn't the Prince have been taken to a better shelter? Were there troubles?"

Watching Nanny wake Tanner and offer her own rations, Sherion motioned for Miralna to join him at a slight distance. Near the tunnel entrance, he lowered his head and sighed.

"I panicked," he confessed, flushing with shame. "I was trained to protect, to avoid risk! Give me any battle above ground and I would know what to do, but we came down here into these tunnels and…" He shook his head in frustration, seemingly pleading for her to understand. "There's been so much suspicion, so little known about some of these shelters. There could have been traps or spies around any corner. So we remained. To keep him safe… but my people are warriors, not caretakers."

Miralna nodded, not at all unsympathetic. "We have all been forced into roles we were unprepared for." The weight of the sword slung over her back was reminder enough of that. "But now—"

"—Prince Tanner must be moved." The governess had approached them, worry in her eyes. "He is not well, he must be taken to the castle shelter. If anywhere is left that will have medicine to help him…"

Sherion nodded, looking between her and Miralna. He was sworn to his task. Perhaps freezing in the overwhelming circumstances was understandable, but now that there was guidance, he would face down his fears. "So be it. I'll get my people ready to move as soon as possible. We will bear him to safety, on the honor of the Crown."

Nodding grimly, Nanny and Miralna moved to aid in the preparations. They would all do what they must.


	31. Sol Adroce

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 30_  
Sol Adroce

* * *

"…You're kidding with this, right?"

Flynn was standing on the mat in the gym, opposite Pidge. But it wasn't Pidge he was questioning, nor who he was glaring at; that was directed at Sven, who was running this sparring session in Kogane's absence, and who was giving the engineer his most utterly impassive look in return.

"No. No I'm not."

"You've got this," Lance encouraged from his position along the wall, though he _might_ have had his fingers crossed behind his back. He'd seen both of these two fight.

"No he doesn't," Pidge said calmly.

"I'm being fucking optimistic!" Lance scolded, at the same time Flynn turned his glare on the ninja.

"Okay, if you want to be _that way_ about it…" He dropped into a defensive stance. "I outrank both of you. Just a reminder." That was all he had time to point out as Pidge charged him, telegraphing his first move. That was an opening even Flynn had seen enough to know how to counter; he ignored the feint, bracing himself, taking a light punch to the arm in exchange for _not_ having his legs swept out from under him.

"Told you you got this!" Lance said brightly, tightening his crossed fingers. A moment later, a wholly unbothered Pidge popped up inside Flynn's guard and landed a sharp punch to his stomach; he winced. _He so hasn't got this._

Flynn was very well aware he didn't have this. Still, he made the attempt, grabbing Pidge's arm and trying to throw him… except by the time he'd finished the throw, he no longer had a hold on the ninja. He paused, looking around warily.

_His leg isn't even back to full yet… faex._

Vince was standing next to Cam with his eyes covered. "Is it over yet?"

"We're not that lucky… and neither is the chief."

"I assumed he'd want it to be fast."

The assumption wasn't wrong; Flynn hissed a few Latin curses as the ninja reappeared off to his right, dropped an elbow into his side, and darted away. Attempting to respond nearly put him flat on his face as his target suddenly wasn't there anymore… shit, _he_ was _fast_. That much seemed obvious but there was fast, and then there was ninja fast. Every time Flynn thought he had something vaguely resembling an opening, it was gone in an instant. But every time he lunged Pidge cut around under his left side, so maybe…

He dropped into a crouch and sprang, lashing out at his left at the last second. Something connected. He felt the impact, heard a slight gasp, and stumbled forward off balance because really he hadn't expected that to _work_.

Whipping around he saw Pidge on the floor for a whole fraction of a second. Then he jumped up, grimacing and touching his ribs before dropping back into a defensive stance.

"Did I _hit _you?" Flynn asked, shocked.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say; Pidge darted at him and jumped up, kicking him in the shoulder and sending him spinning to the floor.

"You _don't_ need to worry about hurting me, Flynn."

Oh. He jumped to his feet and flipped his hair out of his eyes. "Who's worried about hurting you? I was enjoying the five seconds of this that haven't been embarrassing."

"Fair." Pidge sprang at him again.

This time the attack came sweeping in on his right. Or so he thought, until he made an attempt to counter and hit empty air. In a split second he'd lost track of the ninja entirely.

_How…?!_

Something hit him in the back of the knees, much too sudden for any hope of recovery. He dropped to the floor with a gasp, struggling for a moment to regain the wind he'd just had knocked out of him.

_That probably could've gone worse._

Pidge stood over him, straightening slowly as he seemed to recognize the fight was finished. "Are you okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

Flynn looked up and drew a sharp breath, just enough air for words. "I'll be fine… if we can just… pretend this never happened?" He was pretty certain he wouldn't be that lucky. Pidge might be okay with it. The others, well…

"See, you lasted more than a nanosecond!" Lance cheered, earning a glare from a very unappreciative engineer.

"I kind of wish we could see the Commander face off against Pidge," Cam mused to Vince, who'd slowly dared to uncover his eyes. "Would be interesting."

"Watching the ninja kick Kogane's ass would be interesting," Daniel agreed. "And entertaining." He already wished he'd had popcorn for this, adding Keith to the mix would only make him want it more.

Getting his breath back, Flynn stood and winced before stepping off the mat. "I'd like to see him kick the Viking's ass."

Pidge shrugged. "I'm willing."

That wasn't a fight Sven would have hated, really. But it wasn't on the schedule. "Who's next? Cam versus Jace, or Lance versus Daniel?"

"…Huh?"

"Viking, what the _fuck_ have I done lately to merit that kind of insult?"

"Cam and Jace!" Lance and Daniel both yelled in unison; Sven eyed them disapprovingly. Their vote most certainly did _not_ count in this situation.

Nor did Cam's, really. He was backing away from Jace as if he thought that would get him out of this. "Dude, I've seen what that crazy ass—I mean, what the Doc can do."

"You've seen Jace's ass?" Lance snorted. "I'm sorry."

"I wanna see 'em both!" Hunk declared, then blinked. "Uh, the fights, not the asses. Give 'em teams?"

"Hmm." Sven eyed the two pairs of teammates and considered that; he wasn't against the idea, though it didn't seem like an even match. Not that any of the one on one pairings he'd had planned were exactly even, but two against two was a slightly different beast. There was an obvious answer, of course. There was also a more amusing answer. "Okay, fine. Daniel and Jace versus Lance and Cam."

"…What?"

"Oh thank god."

"It evens things out," Sven explained with a shrug. "All Daniel ever seems to do on the mat is just stand there."

"Nuh-uh!" Daniel protested, offended. "I distracted Hunk once so the ninja could push him over!"

"His distraction was very useful," Pidge agreed, frowning slightly. "That doesn't explain every sparring session since—"

"—See! Ninja just said I was useful. That's the nicest thing he's ever said to me."

Sven gave a non-committal grunt. He was _not_ changing the teams, no matter how much Daniel complained or the others glared. He barely even noticed when Jace was glaring at him anymore; it was kind of like him breathing.

Though he was taking it surprisingly in stride. "Hey, you guys have an advantage. I'm not gonna hurt you that badly when I'm the one that has to fix you."

"Alright fine, let's get this fucked up situation fucking over with." Lance stepped onto the mat and looked at Jace with narrowed eyes. "I'm ready for you this time."

"I'll bet."

Cam was stretching quietly, hoping something he'd learned from his sword training might carry over to here. It ought to, he thought. The discipline and defensive maneuvers, the ability to read a battle…

"Alright, Cam!" Lance moved next to him and smirked. "Prove you're a good Keith fanboy."

"…Fanboy?" He glared at the pilot, then reconsidered, turning it on Daniel instead. "Really?!"

"Was that a secret?" Hunk whispered; next to him, Vince shook his head.

"No."

"I'm not a fanboy!"

Lance wondered if the kid really thought anyone believed that, but it wasn't the time. "I was using it in a positive sense."

"Uh huh." It got him a doubtful look, but Cam also seemed to realize that it wasn't the time to argue over it. "So what's our strategy, hotshot?"

…_Nope, not gonna have that_. "First, I am fucking uncomfortable with you calling me hotshot. Second, you take Daniel."

"Third," Jace interrupted, "try dodging." He lunged on the last syllable, trying to catch Lance off guard, but he sidestepped just in time.

Though he was absolutely planning to hang back and let Jace do all the work, Daniel couldn't resist a little sniping… despite his better judgment trying to stop it. _Don't comment, don't comment, remember your comic, don't comment…_ "You chose an Explorer Team over your pick of commands to have Kogane as your commander. You're totally a fanboy."

"Why you…"

"He did what?" Jace had swung around to grab Cam from behind after missing Lance. He'd known their comms officer had chosen to be here, but he sure as hell hadn't heard _why_. Though, it probably wasn't the time for that either; he knew Daniel was going to try to get him to do all the work, and wasn't planning to cooperate. He threw Cam at him instead.

Taking advantage of the momentum, Cam almost got to Daniel before the faster gunner slipped away. "I swear, I catch you, I'm sticking your head in a toilet!" That was probably not a valid sparring tactic, but they were way beyond that now.

"Swirly? Really?" Thanking several gods that he was faster than his roommate, Daniel darted around the mat out of his reach. "Careful, I don't think your precious commander would approve."

"Yeah you'd better run!"

Shaking his head, Lance turned back to his own opponent; Jace was similarly distracted by the fiasco sharing the mat with them. Grinning, he moved up and landed a solid punch to the small of his back. "Over here, Doc."

"Oh fuck you!" Stumbling forward and spinning with the momentum, the medic spun around and kicked him hard in the kneecap.

Lance had in fact been participating in the extra sparring sessions lately, and was able to get in a solid kick of his own in return. "I fucking hate you." Having countered instead of dodging, he didn't have time to react when Jace grabbed his arm and dragged him to the mat.

"Mutual, caralho."

Eyeing Pidge at his side, Flynn couldn't help thinking maybe he'd gotten off easy after all. Pidge himself was watching with a somewhat concerned expression; after a few more moments he looked over at Sven. "Sir, are they actually learning anything from this?"

"It's a trainwreck," Vince muttered; Hunk chuckled.

"It's awesome!"

Sven looked at the ninja with a patient smile. "They don't learn, Pidge. The hope is that they get hit hard enough to possibly stimulate brain cell growth."

The other three nearly choked on their laughter; Pidge blinked. "Oh. I didn't think that was how concussions worked in humans?"

"Not humans. Just them."

"But aren't they—" He was cut off by a sharp nudge from Flynn. It was enough to convince him to stop that line of questioning, though he still wasn't certain why.

Lance had managed to flip Jace to the floor—he had not used wholly conventional sparring techniques to accomplish it—and had him pinned to the mat, though given Jace specialized in ground fighting that was only so much of a win. He wasn't giving any openings. In fact, he was looking at the pilot with a bit of skepticism. "You have no idea what to do now, do you."

"Usually when I'm in this position it _is_ a lot more friendly."

"Why, are they dead?"

"No, but they're moaning." That got him an irritated look from Flynn, for reasons Flynn could not actually have explained.

"Seems legit." Shifting while Lance was distracted by the conversation, Jace kneed him hard in the groin.

"OW!" Rolling back off him, Lance stayed down on the mat, groaning in pain. "Fucking rude!"

"What?" Jace wasn't about to let him recover; he pounced, putting him into a chokehold. "To hear you tell it that was the biggest target…"

Rolling his eyes, Lance tapped out, still sputtering indignantly as the medic released him. "Wasn't hitting the jewels enough? Ow…" He gave a smirk that was maybe a bit more of a grimace; he'd actually had fun, despite the pain. "Fuck you." Jace just smirked back.

The kids were still at it. Or more accurately, Daniel was still dodging and weaving as Cam tried to barge after him. "You know, you really need to work on your agility and speed…"

Scowling, Cam took advantage of the split second's pause and lunged, tackling him to the mat. "Maybe _you_ need to work on your mouth getting you in trouble."

"Oof!" He kicked his roommate in the side as best he was able, trying to wriggle free, though Cam was quite a bit stronger than he was. "If you wanted on top of me all you had to do was ask!"

"…Wait, _what!?"_

Sven rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._ Lance and Jace exchanged shrugs as they watched the kids banter.

"We still do it better."

"Totally."

Keeping Daniel pinned, Cam largely forgot about actually sparring. "Why are you such an ass today?"

Blinking, Daniel gave up his attempts to break free—they weren't getting him anywhere anyway. _Am I being an ass? _No, that wasn't the question. _Am I being more of an ass than any other time?_

Still very sore, Lance got to his feet and scowled slightly at the scene. "Daniel, knee his junk!" Then he grinned at Sven. "See, I learned something." The Viking did not look impressed.

Before Daniel could carry out that instruction, Cam rolled clear, and Jace snorted. "Hey, he learned something too—wait, Daniel's on _my_ team!"

"Oh yeah. Oops." Lance shrugged as Cam gave him a mildly betrayed look. "Habit." This wasn't fair, he was _always_ on Daniel's side.

The kid had taken the opportunity to scramble away from his opponent again, and had also come to a conclusion. "I'm really not acting any different than normal, man."

"You had to spout off about me like that?" Cam pouted. "Like… I thought we were starting to be friends?"

"Oh my god, this shit again? I can't even talk without you getting your feelings hurt!" He looked to Sven, who was pointedly ignoring him. "I really don't want to do this anymore."

Shaking his head slowly, Jace offered his own encouragement. "Fucking punch each other, you two!"

They didn't. "I just don't like being talked about when I'm _right there…_"

That got him a very confused look. "Would you rather I talk about you when you're not here?" Daniel was pretty sure that wasn't how it was supposed to work.

Hunk crossed his arms. There was definitely not much sparring going on anymore. "Uh, boss Viking?"

"Yes, Hunk?"

"Shouldn't we uh… do somethin' else?"

"Probably." The navigator sighed; he'd done his best with what he had. "Alright, enough, you two. Jace wins." Jace's _team_ decidedly did not win. He really wasn't at all surprised.

"Damn right I do." Jace smirked.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "You want a trophy?"

"Don't need one, already got your jewels."

"I knew you wanted me." He shot the medic a wink and received a dramatic eyeroll in return.

Flynn was suddenly annoyed again. And he was still just a tad irked at Sven for his earlier fight. "I have an idea, how about Holgersson fights Hunk next?"

"I approve of a Hunk versus Viking matchup," Lance agreed with a grin.

That was actually what Sven had been planning on; he'd seen Hunk fight enough of the others. The man had very little technique to speak of, but unlike several of his teammates, he didn't _need_ it. Sven thought it would be a nice challenge. "Alright." He stepped onto the mat and motioned for the big engineer to join him. "Don't harm me too much."

"Huh… I might actually notice him punchin' me, yeah?" Hunk pouted a moment, then grinned. "Sounds fun!"

That left one person, and only one person, without a designated sparring partner. Watching Sven and Hunk square off, Vince hoped against hope for that to continue. _I am _not _pointing it out, don't notice, just forget that I'm not matched up with anyone…_

"Who's mechka fighting?"

Glaring at Pidge, for what was certainly the first time in his life Vince found himself wishing for sparks. The ninja looked back at him and shrugged; he'd thought it was a valid and in fact important question.

Sven looked back at them and shrugged also. "We have an odd number, so Vince gets to choose who he's matched up against."

Oh. _Oh_. That didn't sound bad at all. Although… "Can I choose no one?"

The navigator's impassive look took on a hint of sympathy. "Afraid not."

"We can give 'im time to think it over, yeah?" Hunk took a bracing stance and stuck one arm up like a sword. "En garde!" Chuckling, Sven turned to face him again, then became serious as he debated ways of throwing him off balance.

Really, Vince didn't need that much time; as the two started to fight he looked around and made his decision. "Daniel."

"Dude?" The gunner glared. "I thought we were friends? Or at least semi friends?"

"Precisely _why_. We'll be awful together and not get too bruised."

…He had a point there. "Alright." Frown. "No rolling around on the ground though. Everyone's sweat on the mat getting all over me? It's nasty."

That was Vince's least favorite part too; he shuddered. "Agreed."

Grinning, Daniel walked over and gave him a fistbump… which was probably the only thing resembling a punch either of them was actually going to land.

Vince was okay with that.

* * *

Daniel had insisted—perhaps begged was the better word—to be allowed to get some time in at the helm. After all, he might have picked up some rust while he was imprisoned in that stupid cast. Or more to the point, he might have needed to remind everyone he was good at something after that stupid, stupid sparring session.

Off to one side, Lance was standing and trying not to look too amused by the kid's excitement—he wasn't doing a great job of it. On the other side, Sven was sitting and not really trying that hard to hide his skepticism—it wasn't really even related to Daniel. He was almost always hovering around the bridge when the _Bolt_ left hyperspace, even if it was just a routine waypoint. And this one was slightly less routine; they were coming in on the heels of a passing radiation storm. Not that he hadn't triple checked the timing, repeatedly, but he was going to be a little edgy nonetheless.

It being Daniel flying didn't necessarily _help_, to be sure, but it wasn't the issue. And he handled the breach just fine, smoothly bringing the _Bolt_ to a stop in real space and looking around as if to demand recognition of his success.

Lance gave him a grin.

Sven had mapped a scouting post as this particular stop. He liked to use them when he could; the data was better. It was visible off to the ship's port side as a silvery blur against the dark expanse of space. Cam opened the comms. "Bravo Romeo Waystation, this is ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_ reporting in. Routine waypoint breach, we'll be out of your way in fifteen."

The acknowledgment should have been quick, especially given the lack of other traffic in the area. But there was only silence.

Frowning, he checked the frequencies. He'd been on the correct one, but… cycling through a few he abruptly came across a low series of repeating pulses. Setting it to trace, he opened the ship's internal comms. "Commander, I'm not getting a response from the waystation, and we're picking up a distress signal."

Immediately Lance's eyes went to Daniel. "Kid, back in your seat."

"Aww man…" The gunner gave his best pleading look. "Can't we see if it's actually trouble before you kick me out?"

"No." _Do _not _give in_. Kid's puppy eye game was strong.

"Dammit." Sulking, Daniel relinquished the helm and returned to the gunnery console. "I never get to fly in the fun situations."

Not that Lance blamed him for wanting to, but… "There's a reason for that, kid."

"Are you saying I'm not a good pilot?" He wasn't sure whether to be offended or hurt; he could figure that out when he got the answer.

"I'm saying you're not fully trained yet."

Offended it was. "I graduated the Academy! That's them literally saying 'you're fully trained'!"

"Not by my standards."

_Very_ offended. "Whatever."

"You'll get plenty of flight time later, Brennan." Keith swept onto the bridge with Jace on his heels; he'd rather be where he could hear if he was needed than back in his damn battle station. "McClain, get us moving towards the waystation."

"Will do." More accurately, was already doing. He knew how this went.

Back in the engine bay, Flynn had noticed the ship starting to move again, and also knew it was entirely too soon for that. They'd barely even started the system checks. "Kogane, what's going on?"

"Not sure yet, Kleid." Keith turned to their comms officer. "Starr, what exactly do we have here?"

"Seems like a basic distress beacon signal—universal pattern, no voice or detail. It's coming from near the waystation, which hasn't answered our check-in."

"The signal isn't from the station?"

"No, sir. Relatively close, but there is some clear distance between the two."

_Hmm…_ eyeing the screens, Sven considered the timing again. "There was a radiation storm passing through here. They may have been caught in it."

"That would make sense, sir," Cam agreed. A deep space storm could mangle advanced communications systems, which would explain the beacon. "We're coming into sensor range."

It took another few seconds for the _Bolt_ to get a solid fix on the source of the distress signal, then the image came up on screen: a large, solid hulk of metal with several rows of dorsal spines and an array of weapon ports on the bow. It wasn't quite a dreadnought, but it was absolutely a weapon of war.

"…What kind of ship is _that?"_

"That's Drule," Lance said quietly, hands tightening on the controls.

"_Santhula_-class strike cruiser," Flynn clarified, staring at the bay's monitors with wide eyes. The _Santhula_ was a common ship, one of the workhorses of the Fourth Kingdom, but it sure as hell wasn't supposed to be _here_.

Keith echoed his thoughts. "What the hell are _they_ doing here?"

"Um, sir… the distress signal?" Cam had refined the trace at this range and was wincing at it. "It's definitely from them."

"A trap?"

"Maybe they were just in the neighborhood and decided to pop in for some tea and crumpets."

Lance turned to Daniel and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what a crumpet is?"

Daniel opened his mouth to retort that of _course_ he did before realizing he actually didn't. It sounded like some kind of musical instrument, and that didn't make a damn bit of sense. "…Are you really gonna pick apart my pilot training _and_ my sarcasm?"

Smirk. "I'm not here to make your life puppies and rainbows."

"What _are_ you here for, then?" The thought that he maybe ought to just chill crossed Daniel's mind and was promptly rejected. Not that it mattered; as it so often did, the universe conspired to shut him up, this time coming in the form of a transmission from the Drule ship.

"They're hailing us, sir."

"They're what now?" Keith murmured, then answered Cam's unvoiced question with a nod. If they wanted answers, may as well get them right from the source.

A short crackle of static, and a voice with a heavy, almost musical accent came over the comms. "Hail and honorable greetings, Alliance vessel! This is Blood-Captain Cholik of the 6-XV _Starlurk_, on a sanctioned deep trading mission for the Sixth Kingdom. We would discuss a matter with you."

"The Sixth?" Cam echoed quietly. "They're… a ways from home?"

"Very far from home," Sven agreed. Sixth Kingdom space was far spinward of Earth, on the complete opposite side of the Interior Expanse from where they were now. Which might actually make a little more sense of this situation… if they truly needed help, they couldn't very well just call some of their own people.

Keith frowned, thinking through what he knew here; it wasn't much. Of the four Drule kingdoms with a known presence on the Orion Spur, the Sixth was by far the most confusing. The Fourth and Ninth Kingdoms were straightforwardly interested in conquest, the Seventh in favors and trade. Analysts couldn't quite discern what the Sixth was about. They were considered friendly, despite lacking any real diplomatic contact; their machinations usually opposed the Fourth, which was a de facto benefit to the Alliance. And they had been known to render aid to stranded vessels—albeit under rather odd conditions.

The rank was tugging at his memory, too. _Blood-Captain…_ ominous as it sounded, it meant something more innocuous. A Blood-Captain had gained their command through inheritance, rather than appointment. It was a purely civilian rank. And the Alliance and Supremacy weren't actually at war, regardless.

But it was also a _capital strike cruiser_.

Keith let his mind race for as long as he dared wait, then came to his decision and nodded slowly. "This is Commander Kogane of the ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_. What matter would you like to discuss?"

"We had the misfortune to exit our jumpgate in the midst of a radiation storm," Cholik explained. "Our hydrogen collectors were damaged, and now our supplies are critically low. We came to this waystation in search of aid, but as you can see it is out of commission."

_How do we know you didn't _put _it out of commission?_ The thought came and went as the internal comms crackled.

"Sir, scans of some anomalous readings indicate most of their weaponry has been removed. Reading what look to be cargo management arrays. They do have capital firepower at their disposal, but far from a _Santhula's_ usual armament."

"The station's power levels are well below operating standards, but the reactor is online," Cam reported as soon as Pidge finished. "Pinging their transmitter gives an all clear. They can't possibly have been attacked—they must have temporarily evacuated because of the storm."

Things were starting to make sense… Keith nodded. "We'd be happy to assist, Blood-Captain. What is it that you need?"

"We issue a _sol adroce_ challenge for twelve cubic standards of protium."

"…What?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry, did he just say challenge? Why?" Sol adroce challenges were something well known to the Alliance—the Hydrans had historically made good use of them against their erstwhile brethren. In their simplest form such challenges were proxy battles over resources.

Resources they'd just come here to freely offer, for hell's sake.

Though, the particular demand was a problem… Flynn stared blankly at the comms for a moment, shaking his head. The Alliance didn't know a great deal about Drule fusion technology. Only that it was grossly inefficient in comparison to their own, but capable of utilizing protium—common hydrogen—rather than heavier isotopes. These two properties were assumed to be related. Drule reactors _could_ utilize other forms of hydrogen, but when you could use the most common element in the universe why bother with anything else?

This seemed like a pretty good reason, actually. "Kogane, we barely even carry protium." What little there was belonged to the life support system; the backup tanks might not even hold the quantity the Drules wanted, but giving it up wasn't really ideal in either case. "But we have plenty of deuterium, hell, we can give them extra."

Keith nodded, turning back to the comms. "We came here to offer aid, Blood-Captain, no challenge required. We don't carry much protium, but we have deuterium to spare. We can give you more than enough to get you on your way."

There was a long enough pause from the Drule vessel that Cam frowned and checked the comms; the key did tend to stick every so often. Then, "A generous offer, Commander Kogane, and much appreciated. But honor demands we cannot simply accept whatever handout you are willing to give."

…And there was the rather odd condition. "And why not?"

"Whaaaat theeee fuuucccck," Lance hissed under his breath.

Alarms flashed a second later; Pidge spoke up, deadpan. "Sir, they have a weapons lock on us."

"Really." Flynn glanced over his shoulder to confirm—not that he doubted it, but it gave him a moment to try to make something resembling sense of this. Which was a fairly ill-fated venture; this situation did not lend itself to sense. "_Really_."

"Drules are weird," Hunk murmured, earning a fervent nod of agreement from Vince.

"I must reiterate, Commander: twelve standards of protium. Do you refuse?"

Daniel had not waited for an order to lock their weapons on the _Starlurk_ in return, but even he knew better than to open fire without orders… in this situation, anyway. He looked up at Keith, who was staring dumbfounded at the screen. "…Give us a moment, Blood-Captain."

"Of course." He was awfully agreeable for someone with a capital weapons lock on them.

Shaking off the confusion as best he could, Keith exhaled slowly. "Can we fight them?"

"Our shields are solid. Just how much capital firepower are they packin'?"

"I can evade a good bit, but the _Bolt_ isn't really made for it."

"I wouldn't recommend we attempt ship-to-ship combat. We lack the firepower, regardless of theirs."

Wonderful. He hadn't heard from his second in that discussion… "Kleid, options?"

"You might suggest that if they blow us up we definitely can't give them any protium," the chief engineer answered dryly. "Beyond that? The Sixth Kingdom's honor code is really _not_ my area of expertise. Ask someone else."

All eyes on the bridge turned to Sven, who frowned slightly. "Do I look like my mother?"

Jace, being the only one of the team who'd actually met his mother, gave a small shrug. "There's a family resemblance." The navigator gave him a dirty look.

Sighing, Keith motioned for silence and for the channel to be opened again. May as well find out if they had any other choice. "What kind of challenge terms are you calling for, exactly? We aren't a combat vessel."

"As the challenger, we are prepared to engage in your preferred manner of combat."

Well that didn't narrow it down very much at all. "Verbal combat?" Daniel half-snarked.

"Risotto bake off," Vince suggested under his breath.

Jace offered the most serious suggestion. "Nonlethal hand to hand? If they're merchants do they really want to die over a few fucking hydrogen cells any more than we do?"

That was an excellent point, and drew a few nods. "Alright… open the channel, Starr." Keith took a deep breath. "We accept your challenge, Blood-Captain, and we see no reason for anything but our crews' strength and skill to decide this matter. Send a shuttle over… we'll fight you face to face." Turning, he dropped into his command chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't used to his team being the _sane_ part of the equation.

Cholik took a minute to respond again. "On your ship?"

"What, do we have cooties?" Lance muttered; Daniel snickered, Keith scowled.

"We don't have a shuttle. So, it's going to have to be here… is there a problem with those terms?"

Another pause. "Very well. We will send our five most skilled fighters to face yours."

Back in the engine bay, safely away from the comms, Vince couldn't quite help his first reaction. "Do we even have five skilled fighters?"

"Four and a half," Hunk suggested. That sounded about right.

Cholik continued. "But there are those among my crew who distrust Earthlings…" He sounded slightly irked, and Keith felt a momentary glimmer of sympathy. Suddenly he had a good idea of what had been causing those long pauses… the eternal struggles of command. "If our people are to be onboard your ship, we would request a show of good faith."

"What kind of show of good faith?"

"Allow the shuttle to bring some of your people to our vessel."

…Oh. Even more wonderful. It was a fair request, if Keith wanted to be wholly honest and unbiased about it, but the visceral reaction was _hell no_.

He wasn't the only one. "Wait, seriously?"

"Uh…"

"…Be a hell of a weird trap, yeah?"

"I hate to say you've got a point, but yeah? Their ship totally outclasses us, so they're gonna fucking what, make up some shit and count on us inviting them over so they can capture a couple people instead of just demanding surrender?"

"Yeah but they're also insisting on fighting us over us wanting to help them."

"This _is_ the Sixth, though. I've heard of them issuing sol langure challenges for the right to render aid—let us help you or we'll blow you up!"

"They what… the fuck…?"

"Okay, enough!" Keith grimaced. They were all good points. It had to be his decision… though once again his second hadn't given any input. "Kleid, your thoughts?"

Flynn had thoughts, alright. They were probably not the most intelligent thoughts he'd ever had, but nonetheless, he had them. "I'm not saying you should take that deal, Kogane." He knew perfectly well when his commander was trying to stall for time. "I'm just saying that _if_ you take that deal, I'd love very little more than to see the inside of an actual Drule strike cruiser."

Pidge snorted; Lance side-eyed the comms. "What?"

"I'll go over," Daniel volunteered, raising his hand; he certainly wasn't going to be one of the 686's five best fighters, and anything was better than sitting over here doing nothing.

"What?" Lance repeated, a bit more emphatically this time. This was not shaking out in a way he approved of at _all_.

Vince was eyeing Flynn skeptically, but the chief did have a point. How often did a chance like this come along? "I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but… can I go too?"

"What." Bad enough Flynn and Daniel wanted to go over; Vince was supposed to be the responsible one, and here he was encouraging this fuckery. Lance hunched over the helm and grumbled.

Sighing, Keith accepted the inevitable. It wasn't like they had an alternative plan, anyway. "Alright, Blood-Captain. Come bring your people over and you can pick three of ours up." He turned back to the internal comms. "Think you three can smuggle your weapons over? Just in case?"

"Your comms are open, Earthlings." He jumped at Cholik's voice, then glared at Cam, who blushed bright red. "You are welcome to bring weapons; you will find we keep our word."

"I hit the button, sir!" _Stupid sticking transmission key_.

"…Alright. We'll be sending our people over with their sidearms, then. You understand."

"Indeed. Our brethren have made such measures understandable, but we have bargained well and it is done. We are on our way."

As Cam made very certain to have the comms closed this time, Daniel grinned. He could hear Lance grumbling, which only made him that much more excited to go over to the other ship. "Finally, some fun!"

"We'll all get to have fun," Pidge agreed. He was grinning too; Vince hid behind Hunk. He did not like it when the ninja grinned.

"Always interesting." Sven shook his head. They might give the Drules some hydrogen, one way or another, but he couldn't help feeling what they really needed was a better navigator. Part of him really wanted to volunteer to map them a path wherever they were going, but they might have to fight about that too… it wasn't worth it.

Keith watched the main screen as one of the _Starlurk's_ shuttle bays slid open, then turned and headed for the hatch. "Alright, get ready and group at the forward cargo bay airlocks. Guess we've got a fight to win."

* * *

The _Starlurk's_ security officer was waiting in the shuttle bay, and she was somewhat annoyed to be doing so. It had been her insistence that they have some Earthlings come over as collateral, so she supposed it was only proper that she got stuck babysitting them, but she'd have preferred to be part of the battle.

_Ah well…_ she stepped up to the boarding ramp as they exited. "Greetings, honored guests." Her tone did not wholly match her words. "I am Chartha, and I will oversee you during your stay."

The Earthlings weren't quite what she'd expected, in truth. The Sixth Kingdom had very little contact with the cunning creatures, but from the tales she'd heard she had expected something smaller, weaker… something clearly surviving on wits rather than power. Not so. They were not dissimilar in size or build to Drules, nor did they look as verminish as she'd have thought. The rounded ears were unsettling, though…

The one in the lead was tall and pale, and took her words quietly in stride. His companions were shorter, probably younger; one was tan and surly, the other dark and nervous. It was the surly one who looked at her and snorted. "I feel real honored by that, thanks."

"Daniel." The leader shot him a disapproving look. "Couldn't you at least let me look around the damn _shuttle bay_ for a minute before you start being yourself?"

"Look around? You act like we just came over here to geek out."

"That's exactly why I came here, why did _you_ come here?"

"Pretty much to annoy Lance."

"…Rings true." Shrugging, he turned back to Chartha. "Is that a triple-chamber generator I'm hearing?"

Looking between them, she bared her fangs in slight surprise. She had _certainly_ not expected them to appreciate either the aesthetics or the technology of the vessel. "And if it is?"

He reacted with clear enthusiasm; the nervous one, who'd been half hiding behind him, perked up as well. "I mean, if your job is just to keep us here and glare at us we get it, but wouldn't telling us about the ship be more fun?"

"Are you kidding?" the one called Daniel muttered.

"Dude," the nervous one hissed, "you get to annoy Lance, let us have some fun too!"

"I could certainly tell you a bit about our vessel… it would be gratifying to see even Earthlings appreciate our craftsmanship." Chartha gave the surly one an unpleasant smile. "And if this one would prefer not to show such appreciation, I can have him locked on the shuttle while the other two of you accompany me."

Both the other two looked startled at that, but Daniel spoke first. "Dude! You wouldn't let her do that, would you?" In response they exchanged slow grins, then looked back at him. "…Would you?"

"Maybe."

"It's not ideal, but it's not out of the question."

Shortly afterwards, Chartha found herself leading three Earthlings from the shuttle bay; two excited, one sulking. At least she would get some amusement from this task after all.

* * *

There was absolutely no mistaking Drules of the Sixth Kingdom for any other subrace. They had distinctly wolf-like features, and usually shorter and stockier builds. Cholik's force had arrived wearing simple tunics, rather than any sort of armor, and the blades they carried looked clearly ceremonial.

Keith couldn't help wondering if even they expected to win this challenge—then again, his own team didn't look much like the trained warriors they were. Even Pidge had not been wearing his chameleon suit when they'd breached. They'd gathered in the cargo bay once the shuttle departed: the five Drules on one side of the main cargo hatch, the five best fighters of the 686 on the other.

Choosing personnel had been complicated by the fact that they only had _four_ melee specialists…

"How am _I_ here again?" Lance grumbled, looking around the cargo bay.

"I believe you walked," Sven offered mildly; Pidge pointed to him and nodded in silent agreement. That earned them both a glare.

"Giant donut dude beat you at rock paper rocket launcher, I heard."

"Giant donut dude is, I repeat, a _giant!"_ Hunk's absence actually had nothing to do with rock paper anything. Someone had to man the engine bay, namely the shields and the point defenses, in case things _did_ go badly here. Cam had enough cross training to at least move the _Bolt_ if needed, so he was on the bridge—Lance was better in a scrap, and that was the priority right now.

"Size isn't everything in combat, sir."

Calling him _sir_ got the ninja even more of a glare, though Lance had given up trying to threaten him out of it. Because, well, it didn't work at all. "It helps."

"Your young warrior is wise." Cholik stepped forward and bowed; his eyes were on Keith and Raiden, the katana gleaming in the bay's floodlights. "What terms of victory shall we set? A blooding?"

"Uh, what now?"

The Drule bowed to Lance as well. "In a traditional nonlethal sol adroce challenge, drawing blood removes a combatant from the field. If you would prefer stricter rules we will comport with them."

No. No, they did not want stricter rules. "I'm okay with that."

"I'm good with it."

"Sure, could be worse."

Pidge nodded silently, and Keith looked up. "Fine."

"Then we are prepared." Stepping back, Cholik drew his shortsword, and his companions did the same.

"Totally different definitions of prepared," Lance muttered under his breath; Jace eyed him and snorted. Though it wasn't entirely from disagreement.

Pidge had been watching the Drules like a hawk from the moment they'd arrived on the _Bolt_—leaving their shuttle, crossing to one of the internal airlocks as it departed, returning to the middle of the cargo bay. There wasn't a lot to be learned from the observation, but seeing how they moved did tell him something. Now he stepped up beside Keith and whispered, "The Blood-Captain is the fastest of them, sir. I'll take him if you like."

Looking between the two of them, Keith nodded slowly. Even with a bit of a lingering limp, Pidge was faster than anyone else here. "Alright. Be careful." As usual, the ninja rolled his eyes at that sentiment; Keith stepped forward and took a defensive stance. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Immediately Pidge ran in, and Lance shook his head slightly. "He is _way_ too excited about this."

That was probably true, Keith admitted, but right now enthusiasm was probably a benefit. Shrugging, he followed with his eyes on the next closest Drule, a muscular one who looked a bit older than his comrades. Perhaps the most veteran of them, then; a good opponent.

Jace darted in at the tall female Drule beside Keith's, wasting no time in getting her to the floor. He had to take a punch to do it, though, and hissed as pain shot through his ribs. _Fuck, she's strong_.

On the other side of Cholik, Lance and Sven exchanged looks as they studied the remaining two Drules. "Which do you want?"

They looked pretty much the same to Lance—similar height, similar build, he thought one was male and one was female but couldn't even be certain of that. "You left, me right."

"Seems fair." Sven moved in on his opponent, while Lance opted to stay back and let his approach.

Merchants or not, nobody was making any easily exploited mistakes here. Jace had gotten his opponent in a chokehold quickly, and was feeling pretty good about it for about two seconds. Then he was flying across the cargo bay. "Fucking…" Dodging a knife strike, he jumped up in time to see Lance get a good punch in on his Drule before hitting the floor. Keith and Sven were doing better, circling their opponents, neither presenting any opening.

Pidge was darting around Cholik, his knife flashing erratically; unpredictability was his best defense against the Blood-Captain's greater reach. He was quite skilled, no doubt… though this fight would already be over if Pidge could rely on a fully healed leg. Trying to avoid aggravating the injury was making him overly cautious. Although… he glanced around at the others, eyes narrowed, a plan starting to form in his mind.

Then the distraction cost him; he came down badly on his left leg and twisted too far, feeling the knee lock up. _Fine_. His plan would go into effect earlier than he'd anticipated.

Cholik saw his predicament and tried to press the advantage, but Pidge was still upright and could still block his strikes. Glancing around to see who was closest, he crouched and kicked off with his good leg, swinging around the Drule with full knowledge that he wasn't going to stay on his feet.

"Commander!"

What Keith heard was a teammate in trouble; he whirled around and grimaced, racing forward and just barely managing to block Cholik's strike against his falling engineer. Not that Pidge was exactly appreciative—though he supposed he should have known what Keith's priority there would be.

"Get _him!"_

Abruptly understanding where this was going, Keith twisted his sword and drew his blade down his opponent's, twisting at the hilt and cutting into the Blood-Captain's hand. It didn't stop him from getting in a grazing slash on Pidge's arm first.

A one for one trade, and maybe a fair one; as the ninja scooted back out of the way of the fight, he looked up at Cholik and grinned. "That was fun."

The Drule actually chuckled.

"Wait, we can do _that?"_ Jace demanded. He was really not doing well against his chosen opponent, who was bigger and stronger and simply would _not_ be kept on the floor; he slipped away from her and charged Keith's original opponent instead, landing a kick before the Drule could hit his commander from behind.

"I didn't hear them say we couldn't!" Keith spun and brought his sword up in a short, arcing slash, though the Drule recovered just quickly enough to deflect.

"Fuck!" Lance's opponent had actually _thrown_ a knife; he launched into a roll just in time, the blade clipping a few strands of hair but drawing no blood. As he got back to his feet the Drule damn near bulldozed him. They struggled for a few moments before he caught an opening, grinned, and flipped the Drule onto their back.

Sven was wrestling his own opponent—they were _strong_. Jace was still resolutely ignoring his original Drule, noted the Viking's situation, and drew his combat knife. It wasn't his favorite weapon, but—

"—Jace, asshole, behind you!"

"That's usually where an asshole goes, caralho!" He wasn't even sure if Lance had been calling him or the Drule an asshole—probably both—but either way he whirled around and ducked beneath the incoming attack, calling her several highly unpleasant things in Portuguese as he did so. "You know what, fuck this _fighting fair_ thing." He snapped a hard kick into her shin and backed off as she staggered to the side, turning to Lance to try to return the favor.

Too late. Just as the medic spun to face him, Lance felt a sharp pain flash up his calf. "Well fuck!" He retreated from the fight, though not in any great hurry; it might have prevented his opponent from moving past him for a few moments. But then, if they hadn't wanted him to be in the way they shouldn't have stabbed his _leg_.

Sven had noted the loss of his teammate as well, throwing his own opponent off just long enough to get some separation. With Lance pseudo-blocking the Drule who'd cut him, the navigator had a clear opening. He slipped his knife from its hidden sheath and lunged, slicing the Drule across the back.

One for one, again. Keith was watching the rest of the battle while keeping his own opponent at bay. He didn't like what he was seeing… but he couldn't do a lot about it. His sword gave him the reach advantage, but he couldn't get cocky; the terms of the challenge demanded flawless defensive fighting, when he might usually have taken lesser strikes to inflict greater ones. He wasn't the only one, he knew. It was a handicap none of them had quite anticipated when they'd agreed to this.

The Drule Sven had thrown landed on their feet, charging back in at the unsuspecting navigator almost immediately. Jace's eyes narrowed. Maybe he hadn't been able to help Lance, but… "Oh fuck you, too!" He raced in as well. The Drules were strong, but aside from Cholik they weren't _fast_—he caught just in time, slashing with his own knife and intercepting the incoming strike.

His missed. Theirs didn't.

_Porra…_

Sven whipped around at a great deal of swearing at his back to see Jace ducking away from the battle, blood trickling from his shoulder. Immediately he re-engaged his original opponent, who had a large gash in their tunic but had just avoided being blooded. That one had not been a fair trade. And the medic's original opponent was circling, looking for an opening, though she had a pronounced limp; he'd at least cut down on her effectiveness.

Backing up towards Sven, Keith took another warning slash at his own opponent. "This is not how I hoped this would go…"

"I think having hopes was your first problem, boss," Lance suggested.

Pidge was watching as carefully as when he'd been fighting, and could see the clear patterns in the battle. "You're fine, sir." Sitting next to him, he was pretty certain Cholik could see what he was seeing… the Blood-Captain looked progressively more uncomfortable. His people had the numbers, but what they were proving less than adept at was taking the _initiative_. In a series of duels they might have triumphed.

The 686 hadn't given them that.

With the remaining two humans back to back, presenting no easy openings, Jace's original opponent opted to move in on Keith. Probably a good decision, given his weapon advantage. The combatants traded blocks with increasing urgency, Keith's eyes narrowed in concentration, a grin starting to spread over Sven's lips.

"Viking's smile seem a little creepy to you?" Lance murmured to Jace.

Snort. "Viking has a lot of creepy smiles, man. Oughta see him after he tells a bad joke."

If he hadn't been having so much fun, Sven would've glared. His jokes were _fine_.

Keith was slowly shifting his focus. Standard tactics would have him try to take the wounded Drule first. Eliminate the easier target, then concentrate on the stronger. That was precisely why he intended to _not_ do that. He could see the two moving as if they were anticipating such a play, perhaps even unconsciously—his original opponent shifting to cover Jace's as they vied for an opening.

Daring a glance over his shoulder, he saw Sven's opponent taking a few steps back. The Viking had just barely missed getting a nice cut on their cheek. They were off balance, and if he was going to break the defensive formation, he wasn't going to do it without warning his teammate…

"Now!"

They hadn't actually had a _plan_, but Sven reacted instantly nonetheless. He darted to the Drule's right, drawing them out, waiting until it should all but have been too late before switching direction and striking their left thigh. At the same moment Keith spun with his sword out, completely bypassing the limping Drule in favor of her companion. He'd put himself in a vulnerable position, and Keith respected the nobility of his actions, but that didn't stop Raiden from cutting down and across his shin.

As he came out of the spin, he pointed his sword straight at the tall female, still wounded and suddenly alone on the field.

She didn't surrender, of course, though he could tell she knew it was over. As Sven moved around his side for backup, she made a sharp feint and tried to strike him. Skilled, but too slow. Giving her a small grin, Keith sidestepped and landed a light cut to her arm.

It was over…

Standing, Cholik looked over them and tilted his head curiously. "I have a suspicion you are no mere cargo vessel…"

_You have no idea_. "Never said we were, never said we weren't."

"True enough." The Blood-Captain bowed deeply. "An unorthodox but honorable victory. We concede."

Nodding, Keith bowed in return. What came next was the only option, really. "You fought courageously. And as the victors, we insist you take the deuterium we offered. Save your ship, Blood-Captain."

Cholik visibly startled, then bared his fangs in a smile. "We are honored by your gift, Commander."

Looking around, Keith took stock of the combatants. There didn't seem to be any serious injuries; even the limping Drule was almost certainly only bruised. But they were nearly all bleeding, by design. Only he and Sven—who was rolling his shoulders and grinning as if he'd be only too happy for round two—had escaped that particular ailment. "If you need, our medic can attend to your people's wounds."

Jace had already been walking over to where he'd left his kit. "Yeah, I can patch you up while your shuttle's on its way back… assuming you can get our freak of a chief engineer _off_ your ship."

"Yeah," Lance agreed, "let's get him and my… er, the kids back."

Mercifully, Jace had been too busy with his medkit to hear that. Keith had not; he arched an eyebrow. "Your kids?"

_"The_ kids," Lance corrected quickly. "I clearly said _the_ kids and my… I mean, Flynn. The kids and Flynn. Clearly what I said."

"It still isn't very clear, sir." That earned Pidge the pilot's best death glare of the day, which really was saying something.

Keith just chuckled as Lance grumbled some more. "Right. You did."

* * *

Once the decision to move Prince Tanner was made, there had been no time to waste. With information from several people who they'd met running about the tunnels carrying supplies, they learned which tunnels would lead them to the castle shelter. Miralna quickly came to find an appreciation for the chaotic design of the tunnels between the cities. Many connections were carefully hidden, and would be thought to be dead ends without knowledge of exactly where to look.

As they approached the castle shelter, evidence of King Alfor's death seemed to become more noticeable; a dark pall had fallen over many of those moving between shelters. Even the young prince noticed soon enough, despite Nanny's attempts to distract him. Tanner had been fairly cheerful at the beginning of their trip to the shelter, eager to see something else besides the small shelter he'd been in for so long, and especially eager to see his sister again. But that cheer had slowly softened into a creeping depression. Past perhaps the midpoint of the journey, the prince was mostly carried with his face buried in a blanket. He didn't want to see any more.

It felt like days before they finally reached the last mile to the castle shelter. A quiet inquiry informed them that most of those in charge of the shelter had gone to oversee the final preparations for Alfor's burial. Nanny told Tanner only that Allura was out on an errand and would be back soon; that gave the prince a small bit of happiness, and he peeked his head from the blanket long enough to smile.

As they reached the shelter, expecting it to be largely empty, Nanny was surprised to find a familiar face awaiting them.

"Coran! I thought I would never see you again…"

"As I thought as well, Lady Hys." The old knight squeezed her hands before turning to the rest of the entourage. "Is this…?" Pointing in the direction of the young prince, he took a cautious step closer. Tanner peeked from the blanket again.

Nanny nodded. "Yes… he has been kept safe and fed, but I fear he may not be well. I'm hoping that by getting him here, there might be some way to improve his health."

"Of course, follow me. There are still some doctors who have not gone with the princess on her task. When Her Majesty returns, perhaps she will have some insight to speed the process along. For now, we can settle him in one of the royal chambers to rest."

Once the young prince was settled, Coran sat by Nanny for some time, telling her of the events of his arrival to the shelter up to the recovery of Alfor's remains. He couldn't help a small sigh as Nanny became flustered over Allura's actions to retrieve her father… he understood her concern, of course. He had shared it. But it was clear Allura had a path she was following, one they couldn't fully guide her upon. He patiently allowed Nanny to continue venting her frustrations, but he wasn't sure how much he might truly involve himself in 'reining in' the Princess as she wished.

He determined to not repeat all that Nanny said to Allura… they both had enough to worry about.


	32. Up to Bats

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 31_  
Up to Bats

* * *

Sven was in the rec room with the stuffed animals from Dradin again. He thoroughly enjoyed the ridiculous ambiance of the place, even if it hadn't been _intended…_ he was deep into his latest book when the ambiance was rudely disrupted. An alarm on his datapad, something being relayed from the navigational console. Frowning, he reached for the datapad and checked the alert, and his blood went icy cold.

"Kufot…!"

Springing off the couch and dragging a multicolored unicorn halfway down the hall with him before shaking it free, he raced to the bridge and threw himself into his seat. "We need to get out of here, _now!"_ His actual console was not sounding an alarm. It was beeping frantically, yes, but that was not an _alarm_. He'd have to fix that later. No time now.

"What is it?" Lance had barely gotten the question out when a thunderous impact rocked the _Bolt_, shaking the hull and rippling down his spine. "Fuck!" Yanking the controls back, he tried to evade, though he had no idea what he was evading.

"It's a hypermetric anomaly—" Sven was briefly cut off as he was thrown roughly against his harness. "—tear in hyperspace—we're hitting the outer shockwaves—" Another _boom_ and he fell silent, focusing on the data his monitors were spitting out. It was a mess. Anything and everything surrounding such anomalies tended to be a mess.

Keith skidded onto the bridge just in time to hear the report, and fought down a momentary surge of panic. He knew all too well what a hypermetric anomaly could do. They'd all seen it with the _Farantin_; he'd seen it long before then, with the _Vesuvius_, when people had died on his watch. Not again, damn it. "Get us back to real space, now!"

"Working on it!" They couldn't leave hyperspace until the planar scanners finished their check. Even clipping the anomaly wouldn't be as damaging as, say, breaching out into the middle of a star. "Fifteen seconds."

Flynn raced into the engine bay, barely keeping his feet as the ship shuddered again. "Damage report!"

"Nothing yet, sir." Pidge knew the _yet_ had been somewhat unprofessional, but given the situation he also felt it was accurate. "Hyperturbulence impacts only."

"Small favors," the chief muttered, taking the main console. He knew as well as the ninja that _yet_ was the operative word. He had every confidence in their pilot and navigator, but anomalies tended to respond to skilled avoidance measures with unpredictable directional shifts. Because why wouldn't they?

"Got it!" The planar scanners flashed an all clear, and Lance immediately breached them out.

Planar scanners weren't infallible.

They'd been perfectly accurate, really, for what they were meant to detect… there was just that little issue of not being meant to detect small debris. Even large debris, really. Anything without an energy signature was beyond their capabilities, and that included the patch of wreckage the _Bolt_ abruptly emerged into. Maybe someone else's navigator hadn't been quite as quick on the draw. Maybe it was a coincidence. Either way, they were suddenly being pelted with chunks of metal… with little hope of evasion, and the shields still working to redeploy.

"Well shit!" Lance managed to jerk them out of the path of a large radiator fin, but something else rocked the ship as he did so. "This is gonna be bumpy as fuck, strap in!"

"Mother of fuck…" Daniel had barely made it to the bridge after being flung from his bed by the anomaly, and was quickly wishing he'd stayed there. At least the bed was soft.

"Hunk, manual point defense." Flynn didn't expect that to do much, but it might help a little. "Vince, route full auxiliary power to the shields once they come up. Pidge, monitor damage."

There was plenty of damage to be monitored. Lance was doing his damndest to avoid the largest obstacles, but he could only even see so much. In the back of his mind he was aware they were in a star system, with plenty of light glinting off some sheets of metal, but others—_boom_—were shrouded in shadow. "Fuck…"

The _Bolt's_ shields coming up really didn't help the visibility problem. Blinding blue light arced through the debris field as the shields attacked everything they touched, vaporizing smaller bits, scorching larger ones. He finally had to switch to flying only by the secondary sensors. Vislight was just too damn chaotic.

"Shields are almost entirely ineffective, sir," Pidge relayed as he watched the readouts.

Not surprising. "They'll be more entirely ineffective if they're down, leave them unless the bridge says otherwise."

Lance wasn't about to ask for the shields to go down. At least this way he didn't have to try to dodge _dust_.

A few more particularly vicious impacts rocked the _Bolt_, and suddenly they were free—more or less. There was about enough time for a long sigh of relief before the next issue presented itself. "McClain, get us stopped so we can see what we're dealing with."

"Yeah, I'm on it… oh _fuck_." Only one of the engines obeyed his commands as he attempted to decelerate. Escaping the debris had taken its toll. And as he fought to counteract what little of their speed he could, he felt another force tugging on the ship. Gravity. _Goddamn_. Yanking the controls he tried to bleed off some momentum, and it worked, but not enough.

Flynn loosened his grip on the bracing bar he'd been clinging to, looking around as the impacts stopped. "Are we clear of the field?"

"Yeah, uh, don't get too comfortable though. See that planet? We're gonna be crashing on it."

"…Cevete."

That about summed it up; as most of the bridge took in the report, Daniel turned to Lance and pointed accusingly. "I'd better not die!"

Snort. "You're not going to die, you think I can't crash land spectacularly fucking well? Just buckle up." He frowned as the gravitational pull increased. "Uh, that goes for everyone."

Most everyone had been buckled in already, but Sven for one tightened his straps and gripped the arms of his seat. This was going to be, well… better than hitting the anomaly would have been, hopefully, but that wasn't saying much.

Vince gulped as he scrambled into his own seat. He wasn't too confident in that at _all_.

At least they had a full picture of the damage right now. "Lieutenant, engines one and two are fully offline, thrust conversion chambers are damaged. Engine four is producing minimal thrust. Multiple punctures to the starboard wing, control surfaces compromised but leading edge intact."

Lance gritted his teeth. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" An effective single-engine landing would've been trivial if he could count on an undamaged wing. Coming down with the compromised wing would have been very workable if he'd had full engine power. The combination of the two was going to suck, but… "I've still fucking got this!"

Blinking, Pidge actually took a physical step back from the comms; he hadn't doubted their pilot _had_ it, he'd just thought he might want full information. In another situation he might have protested, but this didn't seem like the time. Instead he secured himself at his console, eyes narrowed as he watched the readings.

Strapping in himself, Flynn considered the report and came to a conclusion. "Vince, surge engine four, see if it clears any of the damage."

"Got it." Having a task, even a small one, gave the engineer a brief respite. There was a sharp roar from the engine as it surged, and its hum picked up a bit.

Nodding, Flynn gritted his teeth and braced. This was still going to be a hell of a mess. "Engine four up to about 50% efficiency. We've got you everything we can, flyboy. Make it happen."

They were almost into the atmosphere, and Lance tuned everything else out as he tried to focus on the landing. Wherever they were coming down had only a few wispy clouds, mercifully. He could see stretches of green—forests? Meadows? From here it was impossible to tell—interspersed with gray sand and dark hills.

What he sure as hell didn't see was anything resembling a flat surface. Fine then. Time to just focus on landing them right side up, that was probably going to take all he had anyway…

On one side of him, Sven was not exactly panicking, but he surely wasn't enjoying the experience. On the other side, Daniel was having a glorious epiphany: if he tried thinking of this as a roller coaster, it wasn't nearly so terrifying! Maybe ignoring the threat of death _wasn't_ just fun when he was the one driving after all.

He laughed, which got him disbelieving looks from both Sven and Cam, but nobody was about to comment just now. Lance was trying to perform a miracle.

Atmosphere greeted them with a horrifying rattle along the hull that didn't seem to want to _stop_. The functional engines were just barely enough to counter the ship's pressing desire to roll, the damaged wing bleeding speed and control from him with every second that passed. Picking a landing site with any kind of precision was a lost cause, but he was at least able to point then in the direction of what looked more like softly rolling hills than a nearby boulder-strewn forest. It would be enough, it had to be.

With one final shriek from its engines, and a tricky asymmetrical release of the landing gear, the _Bolt_ came down hard atop a hill. The brakes spit sparks as they slid down the slope and halfway up the next, the already damaged wing clipping a jutting rock formation… and they stopped.

It felt like there should have been silence. There was definitely none of that.

"Fucking made it happen!"

"Holy fuckin' fuzzmuffins."

"Salys sa kye…"

"Woooo! That was _awesome!"_

"…Are we alive?"

Flynn had unfastened his restraints nearly the moment they stopped moving; he was in full crisis mode, his focus narrowed to a knife's edge. His response to Vince's tentative question was perfectly businesslike. "If you have to ask, yes. Status?"

Vince wasn't ready for businesslike quite yet. "We crashed."

Pausing, Flynn remembered exactly where they were and who he was working with; a small grin found its way to his lips. "Right. Thank you." He calmed a little as he started to sort out the alarms he was hearing. Damage was extensive, of course—but no imminent danger of anything _more_.

Pidge rolled his eyes. "Previous damage report still applies, except engine four is slightly more functional. Armor and structural damage to undercarriage. Telescoping and minor hull breach on gear two. Mechka seems upset."

"We _crashed!"_ Vince repeated indignantly, turning to glance over his own readouts. Nothing looked great.

"No. We performed a hard emergency landing."

"We crashed in one piece," Hunk translated as Vince gave Pidge a _look_.

Flynn sighed and shook his head. "Okay, wrenchlings? Can you _not_ be the bridge brats, please?"

Vince turned the look on him for a moment. _As if._ Then, looking down to release his own restraints, he blinked as a realization hit him. "Oh hey… no sparkage?"

That got another smile from the chief engineer. "That seems like progress." Off to the side, Hunk applauded as he clambered from his own seat.

Blushing, Vince tried to sort out what he could learn from that. It seemed like he did okay in the really high octane situations, the ones where he didn't even have time to overthink… though he really felt he didn't need that kind of stress in his life too often.

Exhaling slowly—it might have been the first time he'd breathed since encountering the anomaly—Keith looked around the bridge, and then at the comms. "Alright, let's figure out what we have to work with. I want environmental readings and any planetary data we have available." The presence of prominent plant life meant surely this world had at least been surveyed at some point. "Kleid, once we know about the atmosphere, get your people ready to go out and survey the damage."

"We have a hull breach, if the environment were toxic we'd be hearing about it." Flynn shook his head slightly. "Hunk, you may as well get down to steerage and find the patching foil… I've a feeling some of this is going to be well beyond _patching foil_, but it's a start."

Sven brought up the navigational charts. He was kicking himself, now that he had the time to do so. If he'd just caught the anomaly earlier, if he'd had his datapad and alarms set better… he _would_ be fixing some deficiencies in his system once they were out of here. For now, the immediate concern had to come first. "This system is called Kel. One planet with known sapient life, a species called the Krryn."

Cam had never heard of the Krryn, and brought his own database up. "Got them… Krryn, Type 3A. Primitive, first contact established. No further contact, no cultural data."

_Very_ primitive, then. The Alliance was not afraid to offer aid to less advanced races—indeed, the idea of well-meaning noninterference flew in the face of its history and its ideals. But they also recognized the risks; they weren't going to benevolently force-march a stone age culture into the space age just because it was there.

"Karen?" Lance repeated. "How Boomer."

"No, Krryn," Sven corrected.

Jace arrived to the bridge to check everyone over, though he suspected if anyone were injured he'd have already heard about it. He'd ridden out the whole mess in the sick bay, which—given that he hadn't felt like strapping himself down in one of the beds—had been a bad idea. "We don't need _any_ more booms right now, caralho."

"No one gets me," Lance muttered grumpily; Daniel looked at him and shrugged.

"It does sound a lot like Karen."

"Don't encourage him," Sven scolded—he'd really been preemptively scolding Jace for whatever he was about to say, but decided it could apply to Daniel just as well. Both of them just gave him a shrug.

Keith rolled his eyes. "Starr, run some sensor sweeps, see if we can pinpoint any nearby settlements. Just in case."

"Yes sir!" Cam was maybe a little too happy to have something to do with himself; the adrenaline from the crash was taking its time leveling off.

Looking around the bridge, Lance stretched his tense muscles and scowled. "So what, no 'thank you, Lance'? I mean, I did just make sure we landed right side up?"

"You're right," Sven agreed; maybe he hadn't caught the anomaly as fast as he should've, but their pilot had successfully salvaged the situation. "I apologize. Thank you, Lance."

"You're very welcome, Sven."

"We fucking crashed," Jace said flatly.

Lance glared. "It could've been fucking worse!"

"Story of our lives."

That was… actually not at all incorrect, though Sven wasn't going to just let it go. "He got us out of there before the anomaly could even clip us. If he hadn't been so fast we'd be dead."

"Well you warned me in time." Lance grinned. "Good thinking with whatever alarm you had set."

"Alarm? My system should've had an actual alarm to warn you! Not just erratic beeping." Though he knew fixing the ship would have priority, he was already planning to borrow Pidge to set up something better the moment he was free.

"Viking, stop acting like you're not a math badass."

_A math badass would have avoided this _entire _situation_. Sven knew he might as well let it go—it would be like arguing with a brick wall. Multiple brick walls, if the look Lance was giving him was any indication. So he nodded and settled back at his console, making a few notes of how exactly he wanted things to work for next time. The least he could do was be prepared.

Watching them, Keith shook his head and decided he wasn't touching that. "Alright, people. Good work, McClain. Let's see what we can do from here."

* * *

Much as the Bolt had gotten banged up by the landing, it was hardly insurmountable. They'd be here for a day or two, for sure, but it could all be fixed with what they carried with them. Repairs had been underway for several hours before someone had noticed their other problem. Even once the ship was back in working order, without a runway it wasn't going anywhere. And nobody had seen anything that might be serviceable on the way down—though, to be fair, they'd all had other priorities at the time.

So Keith had taken a small group to seek out the Krryn, or at the least, a flat surface they could use without bothering the Krryn. Sven had come along to help find their way around in the wilderness, Cam to facilitate communications, and Jace in case something somewhere went wrong. He'd been ordered to stand back and keep his mouth shut, which was still better than staying in his quarters and not getting hurt.

The _Bolt's_ sensor sweeps had not been terribly useful, but they had picked up some surface water in the forest near where they'd come down. Water seemed like a good bet for where a primitive settlement might spring up. Sven had brought some paper and was making notes—writing things out helped commit it to memory, and besides, it just felt better. Along with the map he was marking trees with his knife as they passed. Getting lost in this place would be, to put it mildly, _not great_.

Keith and Jace were quiet and serious as they eyed the surroundings. Cam had been trying to do the same, but the surroundings had quickly become much too interesting. Now he was basically just running in circles around them, trying to see everything at once.

"Look at these plants! They're so cool!"

The plants in question _were_ quite something; flowers with translucent petals, casting tiny rainbows around them when the sun hit just right. Though they didn't quite share his enthusiasm, Sven and Keith were amused. Jace wasn't, of course.

"Viking, you know I'd never doubt that you know where we're going, but… you sure you know where we're going?"

Cam looked up from some narrow twisting leaves to give him a reproachful look. "Doc, he's the navigator. Of course he knows where he's going." Then he leaned a little closer to Sven and lowered his voice. "You do, don't you?"

"Of course I don't know where we're going," the navigator answered patiently. "This is an unexplored primitive planet. That means no maps. But I'm marking where we've been so we can get back, and keeping a lookout for trails that might help us."

Jace snorted, then glared at Cam on principle; the comms officer blushed and shot him an innocent smile. "Oooh, look at that blue flower!"

"Yeah, it's really fucking depressed." He hadn't actually looked at the flower. "I can't do anything about that."

"What?" Cam asked blankly, pausing for a moment. Then it sank in. "Oh… doctor joke. Very funny." Sulking, he fell back into line behind Sven, though his eyes were still darting everywhere.

Shooting the medic a mildly disapproving look, Sven marked another tree and shook his head. "Just indulge it. Let him enjoy his first expedition into the wilderness of an unmapped planet."

"I'm just remembering our _last_ expedition into the wilderness of an unmapped planet." Scowl. "That flower is probably monster fur or some shit." He just was not going to forgive and forget Kithran any time soon. Or at all.

Even Keith chuckled slightly. "I think I see a clearing up ahead. Off to the left a bit."

It only took another minute or two to reach what definitely was a clearing. A small stream ran through the gap in the trees. "It's so pretty here," Cam said brightly, forgetting about the earlier discouragement and rushing to the water to look around.

Keith followed at a somewhat more measured pace. It seemed safe enough. "Which way do we try from here?"

"Upstream, if they have any sense," Jace suggested with a shrug.

Sven moved up to look for any tracks or other signs of life. There were some tracks, heading both directions, of course… but the sets heading upstream seemed uniformly slightly deeper, as though from gatherers weighted down with their finds. It was a guess, but as good a guess as any. "Yes. That way."

As they moved on, something new was appearing in the wilderness around them. Huge seed pods or leaf clusters were dangling from the trees; curiously, they didn't all seem to be on the _same_ kind of tree. It was an oddity, and no doubt one that would have garnered more attention had something else not come into view.

"Is that a building up ahead, Commander?"

"Looks like it." Moving slowly and cautiously, Keith approached to study the structure. A building for sure, though not a large one, with a much larger balcony space supported by a central core that wasn't much larger than one of the _Bolt's_ staterooms. Half a dozen thick braids of vines were fastened to the balcony's edge, trailing in different directions: some fastening to other structures, some to trees, all with more of the large leaf clusters hanging from them. He focused on the construction, looking closely but not touching. "Looks like… sandstone?"

"Proves there's some sort of civilization here." Sven stepped a little closer to the network of vines, looking at the other buildings. "Hopefully they can help us."

"Yeah, I hope so…"

"Yeah," Jace agreed, "but where are they all?" He took a step back, brushing against a leaf cluster… which abruptly unfurled with a high-pitched shriek. "Porra!"

At the same moment, Cam stepped around a second building and found himself face to face with… a _thing_. A large, furry, winged _thing_, about his height, with a catlike face and huge ears. "C… commander…?" The cat-bat seemed to be vocalizing, though no sound was coming out.

Sven sprang back, putting a hand on his knife just in case as several more of what they'd thought were leaf clusters opened up, revealing themselves as more batlike creatures. They ranged from gray to brown to black, though all had wings that were tinged with green; thinking they were leaves had obviously not been unintended by evolution. They approached cautiously, either walking upright or scrabbling on their legs and wing-claws. None seemed remotely hostile, and he lowered his hand from his knife. These could only be the Krryn.

Keith held his hands out, palms up. "We come in peace…" Even _before_ he'd said it he hadn't expected a whole lot, and wasn't terribly surprised when none reacted. "Cam?"

"There weren't any notes about their language, sir." He turned to the Krryn who'd first approached him. "Can you understand me?" He tried the same question in Ak-Kila and even Drakure—the so-called 'big three' diplomatic languages—but none of them got him anywhere.

The group of Krryn parted to allow another to approach. This one had a silver tinge to its fur; an elder? Whatever it was it clearly had authority, as its comrades backed away to give it some space. Approaching Cam, it wiggled one large ear and visibly shrieked something. All that came out was a few high-pitched squeak-chirps.

"They're… fucking cute, what the fuck," Jace murmured as one came up next to him and squirked a little.

Trying the big three languages again got Cam to the same nowhere as last time. "I think they must speak on a different frequency? Something we can't hear… I'm just guessing, I don't know, but it makes the most sense?"

As the elder tried another soundless screech, Sven nodded. The theory seemed apt—those ears would lend themselves to higher frequency usage. "I don't think it's all even in words, those screeches look more like…" This wasn't quite his wheelhouse, but it was close enough. "Sonar?"

"That's as good a guess as I've got, Lieutenant," Cam agreed. "But… what now?" He was good at learning languages, and trained to pick up at least the basics on the fly if need be. But he couldn't very well puzzle out a language he couldn't even _perceive_. Looking around, he didn't see any immediate evidence of a written language, though they couldn't yet rule it out.

"So the navigator didn't know where we were going, and now the communications officer can't communicate." Jace crossed his arms. "And I'm sure not doing any medic-ing."

"Normal day so far?" Sven suggested, drawing a snort.

"Yeah you're not wrong… Commander, wanna command? Or should we just go four for four here?"

Keith glared. He'd already been trying to figure out what the hell kind of commands to give here… though he knew Jace had really been joking, it still made him want to _do something_. Stepping forward with his hands still outstretched, he took his own best guess. "Keith." He pointed to himself, then each of the others in turn. "Sven. Cam. Jace. We came from…" He pointed to the sky.

Sven and Cam exchanged winces. Both were pretty certain that wouldn't get them anywhere, though neither could really blame him for wanting to take a shot in the dark.

Some more stuttering squirks heralded the arrival of another Krryn contingent. These were different, all with jet black fur streaked with white, wearing earrings of some silvery gray metal. These too seemed to have authority; the one with the most earrings came up next to the elder and looked at Keith with bright eyes. It pointed to the sky as if to mimic him, then gave a tortured-sounding series of click-squeaks. After a pause, as if waiting for those to sink in, it gurgled out an equally tortured low-pitched sound that if they hadn't known better, they would have said resembled something like _no eek._ That or it was just getting violently ill. Reflexively, Jace put a hand on his kit, as if he'd have any clue what to do for a sickened cat-bat.

The clicks had gotten it across better, though. "I, um… I think it just said 'we don't speak' in Ak-Kila." Cam winced. "This is going to be more difficult than we thought."

"Great." Keith ran his fingers through his hair, trying to avoid the reflex to start pacing. "Anyone have any ideas?"

Sven had in fact been struck with inspiration. The Alliance _had_ reported first contact with the Krryn, and even one of them being able to tell them anything in Ak-Kila meant they had some concept of aliens. And so, hopefully, some concept of spacecraft. And if verbal communication wasn't getting them anywhere… he took one of the sheets of paper he'd brought along, folded it quickly and precisely, then held up the resulting paper airplane. "Yes."

"This should be interesting," Jace said, raising an eyebrow. Then he startled as the Krryn next to him gave him a tentative poke. "Hey—claws off!"

"Easy, Doc, I think they're just curious." One had approached Cam and was touching his hair; nobody else was getting that treatment, but he could guess why. He was the only blonde in the group, and Krryn fur didn't seem to come in that color either.

Sven waved to get the attention of the Krryn, though he'd had the elder's attention since the moment he'd begun folding the paper. The one with the earrings—the ambassador? He decided to think of it as the ambassador—also turned to look at him with wide eyes and a small squirk. He pointed to himself, the plane, and the sky, then moved the plane a bit to indicate it was flying.

The elder squirked and mimicked his pointing before wiggling an ear. The ambassador responded, seeming to placate whatever had been said. As soon as he had their full attention again, Sven dropped to his knees and crashed the plane into the sand; both visibly startled, though their surprised cries made no sound. The elder rushed forward quickly, giving Sven several pokes, and it didn't take much to grasp that it thought he was injured.

Sven shook his head no, as if they had any way of knowing what that meant, then patted himself to try to indicate he was okay. Though maybe it was just as easy to let them check him over. He took the opportunity to try to think of how to explain what came next. It was going to be tricky…

"I was never too good at charades," Keith said with a half-grin.

Sven eyed him reproachfully; he didn't need distractions from the proverbial peanut gallery right now. "Commander," he said in his most even and polite tone, "with all due respect, shut up." Cam gawked at him.

Keith glared, though instead of responding he hissed at Jace. "You're a horrible influence."

"I'm so fucking proud of him," the medic answered without an ounce of shame.

The Krryn had apparently satisfied themselves that Sven was uninjured, and now the ambassador was attempting to respond. It pointed to the plane and the sky, then laid a claw on the plane, opening it up a bit, pointing between him and the opened plane with what seemed to be a questioning ear-waggle. He wasn't completely sure what that meant… he tried smoothing the plane's nose and wings and setting it down to indicate it, too, was 'uninjured'. Or would be when the engineers were done, anyway.

The elder seemed quite fascinated by that process, then said something to the ambassador. Upon getting a response it focused on Sven again, pointing to him with one hand and the plane with the other. Clasping both hands together, it struck them into the ground. Then the questioning ear-waggle again.

"I think they're getting it?" Keith said quietly. He glanced around at the others. Cam was sitting with a couple of other Krryn, seemingly still trying to get a handle on their language. Jace had acquired what looked like a very young one climbing up his back and peeking over his head at the scene; he clearly didn't dare move.

Sven thought they were getting it too, though he wasn't wholly certain how to confirm it. But the ambassador saved him by repeating its earlier gesture, opening the plane and pointing between them. Suddenly it hit him—they were asking if he'd been _inside_ the ship. Nodding, he repeated the gestures exactly. "Yes."

The ambassador seemed excited by that, turning to the elder and wiggling both ears. Then it pointed to the plane and launched into flight, circling twice before landing and giving a curious ear-twitch.

Was it asking if they could take off? He shook his head no, then decided to take a risk, reaching up and pulling his own ears down. Whether that was a normal component of their language or them trying to find a common ground, he didn't know and if it worked he didn't much care. To follow up he pushed the plane around on the ground a little and shook his head again.

The ambassador seemed to get it, and spoke soundlessly to the elder for a minute. Waggling its ears in understanding, the elder pointed to the plane and took flight itself, circling once, then landed and tugged the plane from Sven's hand to mimic his representation of the crash. It moved as if to take flight again, but stumbled and fell.

Keith really never had been any good at charades. "What do you think they're trying to say?"

"I think he's trying to convey what I said to the others?"

Cam doubted that. It was obvious enough the elder and ambassador were communicating without such charades. "Looks like maybe… the ship used to fly, crashed, and now it can't?"

Aha! "That makes sense." The elder was watching him expectantly, so he reached up and grabbed both ears, wiggling them. Hopefully that really did mean yes.

"They _are_ getting it," Jace whispered as the elder screeched excitedly, then turned to the gathered Krryn and did a whole lot of vocalizing that only sounded like a few sporadic squirks. The little one that had taken a liking to him was now sitting on his shoulder; it was taking everything he had not to reach up and pet the damned thing.

Turning back to Sven, the elder pointed to the plane and the sky, then gestured widely to the gathered Krryn and wiggled its ears emphatically. He was almost certain the question there was how they could help, which… well, this ought to be quite an endeavor.

Another idea struck him, and he pulled out another sheet of paper.

"Maybe try drawing?" Cam suggested, but Sven shook his head.

"I'm going to stick with demonstrating. Not sure how to _draw_ that we need a runway." He made sure he had the attention of the Krryn before using the paper to smooth out some of the sand in front of him. Then he skimmed the plane across the flat sand, lifting it into a takeoff, then pointed repeatedly at the flattened sand. _That_. That was what they needed.

"Huh." Cam grinned, impressed. "I wouldn't have thought of doing it that way."

If it just impressed the Krryn as much, Sven would be happy… and the ambassador seemed to get it. It gave a chirp-squirk and grabbed the paper and plane from him, crumpling the second sheet and running the plane along it, giving an eerie low-pitched whine and lowering its ears before crashing the plane into the sand. Then it flattened the second piece out, running the plane along it and lifting it up with a flutter.

Sven couldn't help feeling a bit of excitement. It was _working_. He reached up and wiggled his ears yes.

Seemingly just as excited, the ambassador indicated the sand and flattened a bit more of it out, then drew a circle around the flattened part and spread its wings. It wiggled an ear and gave a questioning squirk. That part he couldn't fully discern, so he tried tugging one ear himself, which seemed to work; it smoothed out the lines it had drawn, then seemed to come up with a better idea. Taking the flattened paper, it set it in the middle of the sand, then tugged on it in different directions and questioned with its ears again.

_Oh!_ "I think they're asking how big it needs to be. Flynn said about two miles, correct?"

"Yeah, around that."

"Think that was the minimum. Giant donut dude said 'go big to go home'."

Fair enough, then. Sven stood and brought his hands together, then spread them apart as widely as he could and made a little outward-flinging motion. It needed to be huge.

Understanding that as well, the ambassador turned and conversed with the elder for a minute. It was a bit surreal watching them 'talk', given how little they could actually hear of it, but the elder seemed to be understanding whatever the ambassador was telling it. In fact…

Turning back to Sven, the elder crouched on its haunches and touched the sand, making several indentations. Then it tapped the sandstone of a nearby building, lowering an ear in question.

Now that was something… though the Alliance did regularly stress to its crews that _primitive_ and _unintelligent_ were not at all synonymous, he was nonetheless impressed by how they seemed to have grasped the concept. Flattened sand would certainly not stay flat once the _Bolt_ got onto it. He tapped the building and wiggled his ears.

After a little more conversation with the elder, the ambassador looked back at Sven. Mimicking his 'huge' gesture, it pointed to the sand and then the northwest.

It didn't take being good at charades to understand what was going on now. Keith smiled. "Good job, Sven."

"Thank you, Commander."

"You're looking a lot like your mom now, Viking."

The thought that his mother would be proud had already occurred to Sven; he scowled at Jace anyway, dropping back into his most polite and even tone. "Jace, with absolutely no respect, shut up."

"…_So_ fucking proud of you." He shut up.

The Krryn weren't quite finished, though. Pointing northwest again, the ambassador clawed at the sand, making indentations again. Clearly it was indicating the sand wasn't hard… which wouldn't work. Shaking his head and pulling down on both his ears, Sven pointed to the sandstone wall again, knocking lightly on it to stress the point before knocking on the sand.

His contradiction didn't seem to bother the ambassador; it wiggled its ears in understanding. Then it flattened out a stretch of the sand and rested its clawed hands just above it, leaning forward with its earrings jingling. A few of the other Krryn approached, standing behind it and touching their claws together, as if waiting to assist somehow. Some sort of ritual? The team watched, confused.

There was a sudden, sharp _crack_. A shockwave like a small airburst from the ambassador's claws. And then it reached down to tap the flattened sand, now solid.

Four human jaws dropped at once.

"What was that?"

"What. The. Fuck."

"Whoa… bats with magic?"

"Fuck that!" Jace looked at Cam and shook his head almost frantically. "Magic lion robots is bad enough! There is a fucking scientific explanation for this and one of those assholes back at the _Bolt_ will be able to give it to us. Right?"

"I… I just _watched_ that and I don't believe it, you think any of the others will know how they did it?"

"Starr, with complete disrespect, shut the fuck up."

"Bite me, Doc. With equal disrespect."

Before Keith could formally shut them up, the Krryn ambassador performed the ritual again. It almost seemed to think they hadn't grasped it the first time… which to be fair, maybe they hadn't. Staring at the sandstone, Sven forced himself to push it aside. He could not worry about magic-not-magic now. He would definitely mull over magic-not-magic later. "I think they're offering to do that for us. Harden the sand so we can take off."

Keith frowned. It had solidified such a small area… "Can they do that on that big a scale?"

"They know we need a large area." He looked around at the Krryn with the earrings, and was suddenly reconsidering nicknaming their leader the ambassador. Perhaps what they'd been talking to was the leader of their _mages_. Which was… crazy. "I don't think they would offer if they couldn't."

"Right." Keith was having trouble believing it too, but it felt like they couldn't really afford to doubt. And it wouldn't even be the least believable thing they'd seen on this mission… well, maybe.

The elder approached and picked up a piece of the newly-formed sandstone, holding it out as if to mimic giving it to them. Then it made Sven's huge-area gesture. And finally, as they stared at it, it pointed to the paper.

If Sven was understanding it correctly, this had already become even more absurd than the sandstone magic itself. He couldn't possibly be understanding correctly. Taking the rock, he handed the paper over, then tugged his ear in a question.

Accepting the paper, the Krryn elder made an expansive gesture. Not as large as they'd been using for the runway, but enough to get the point across. Yes. Yes, he had been understanding correctly.

"They will do it, but they want… paper. They want a large amount of paper in exchange."

"…Paper?" Keith blinked, then shrugged. He was pretty sure that was workable. "How much do they want and how much do we have?"

"They just signaled that they want a large amount." What was a large amount of paper, really? "I have a couple of good sized boxes that I use for writing out navigational calculations. Daniel has some as well, but I don't know how much."

It seemed like a very fair price, to put it mildly. "If that's what it takes, then that's what we'll do. Tell them they have a deal."

Sven reached up and wiggled his ears, and he might as well have told the elder they'd won the lottery. The paper lottery, maybe? With an excited series of squirks it wiggled its ears in return, then pointed at the plane, pointed northwest, and mimicked walking.

Nodding and wiggling his ears one more time, Sven turned to the others. "They'll lead us and our ship to the area."

"Viking…" Jace looked at the little Krryn on his shoulder, then at the navigator.

"Yes, Doc?"

"You're fucking magical." Smirk. "And it's _adorable_ when you wiggle your ears like that." Cam giggled.

Sven knew precisely how to handle that, and just smiled. "That's very kind of you, Jace."

Shaking his head and looking at the Krryn, Keith found himself wondering yet again how he'd gotten himself into this to begin with. But… at least it was certainly always interesting. "Well then… let's head back."

* * *

Repairs had been going remarkably well, all things considered. The engines were back up and running, and the compromised landing gear had been restored to working order; a couple dozen layers of patching foil were still bonding in place to seal the breach, but it would be fine before they had to take off. All that was left was the damaged wing.

Of course, the wing was a disaster. It had been cored through in at least a dozen places, some quite large. The outboard flap was hanging half off its hinges, probably only one impact away from being left behind in space. The leading edge was largely intact, but the slats couldn't deploy. One aileron had a hole through it, and several spoilers were, well, spoiled. They had their work cut out for them.

Flynn was sitting on a large rock not far from the leading edge, watching the others work. He ached everywhere—more from tension than exertion, per se. The engine damage had been no damned joke. This part he would mostly just oversee, with any luck.

They'd drafted the remaining bridge crew into helping, which… well, the wisdom of that was yet to be determined.

"Pidge, Vince, how's the wiring?" The smaller wrenchlings were scurrying around on the wing, dealing with the major punctures while Hunk worked on the control surfaces from the ground. There were hydraulic lines and electrical wires to be patched up, and a simple framework mesh had to be put in place for the patching foil to stick.

"I _have_ seen worse." That was the most optimistic Vince was willing to be about the matter. "Fixable, shouldn't take long to finish, but we'll really need to restock on spare wires."

"Yes. Resource intensive, but nothing we can't handle." Pidge had been focused on the hydraulics and framework while their electrical engineer did the electricity. "The forward breaches are ready to be sealed."

"Sounds good…" Flynn turned to the people he'd been meaning to put in charge of that and frowned slightly. "Daniel, the patching foil is not a toy." 'Patching foil' was in fact shorthand for a hyperengineered laminate of graphene, aluminum and titanium alloys, and cerasilicate coating, structured to bond with itself or harden into a proper hull shell with exposure to relatively simple treatments. Whichever Glis scientists had devised the stuff millennia ago had _not_ done so just to have an unappreciative cadet turn bits of it into origami.

"Yeah, kid." Lance had been toying with a wrench while his sidekick turned a square of foil into a rabbit. Flynn scowled half-heartedly and pitched a screwdriver at him.

"The wrench is not a toy either, flyboy."

Dodging it with a laugh, Lance mock pouted right back. "What is with you throwing pointy objects at me, grease monkey?"

"You deserve it!"

"I probably do." He winked and went to retrieve the screwdriver as Daniel pointedly finished up his rabbit and glared.

"Are you actually going to do anything, or just sit there?"

Flynn eyed him calmly. "I just spent twelve hours straight repairing the thrust conversion chambers. Which, since you probably didn't take that class and _certainly_ wouldn't have paid attention to it, are very large and delicate chambers filled with toxic heavy metals and gamma radiation where one wrong move will kill you and everyone who attempts to save you." His tone remained conversational. "Would you prefer to have done that so I could help with the wing?"

"At least I wouldn't be listening to a lecture."

Lance looked between them with a slight frown. "Not sure I want either of you hulking out."

"Pit boss is bad enough when he's angry," Hunk agreed from where he was fixing the slats.

Rolling his eyes, Flynn slouched back on the rock and abandoned that topic. "Okay look—flyboys—can you just take some of that foil and patch the holes when Vince and Pidge tell you they're ready? It's not difficult. It smooths itself out and everything. If you can just handle that part we'll be ready to get out of here that much faster, assuming Kogane and company can find us a runway."

Nodding, Lance grabbed some more foil and tossed it to Daniel, who caught it and snorted. "Ah ah, I'm not an _actual_ flyboy. I don't have the training."

Lance groaned. "Would you stop whining about that?"

"When I'm fully trained."

"Aren't you a gunner?" Pidge asked absently, welding the framing mesh into place over one of the larger holes.

"That's what I was assigned here as. I'm actually a fighter pilot, but there are only so many available pilot positions on an Explorer Team. Especially if _someone_ hogs all the helm time."

"Hogs all the—?! And here I thought you were willing to learn to be more badass."

"Oh." The ninja nodded, ignoring Lance, and finished up with the welding. "Okay, this breach is ready."

Vince nodded to their reluctant gunner and indicated the hole. "Have at it, Daniel."

"You got it, Vince." He shot Lance a dirty look as he clambered up onto the wing. "More badass? With you as a teacher? Ha!" Not that he thought Lance _wasn't_ totally badass, but he couldn't very well admit that. He was going to fight off his inevitable fanboy-ness as long as he possibly could.

"I am _wounded!"_ Lance did not sound particularly wounded. He sounded like he was trying his hardest not to laugh as he looked away and started patching a hole.

Hunk had gotten the slats partially straightened out and was moving along the front of the wing. "Explorer Teams are basically Badass 101, little dude! Actually maybe more like Badass 501? We're totally the advanced course."

_Badass 404_, Vince thought, _badassery not found_. He kept it to himself.

"And I got drafted straight here!" Daniel smirked. "Guess that means I'm fully trained in badassery."

"Advanced course, definitely. And you can _always_ use more advanced training."

"You don't want to learn from Lance, you could learn from Kogane like Starr is…"

Daniel gave Flynn a horrified look. "I'd rather have another Kolaliri roommate."

"How 'bout a Terinian roommate?" Hunk suggested innocently. Lance snickered and gave a low whistle of approval; he hadn't _quite_ been willing to shoot down the kid's delusions of grandeur himself, but if Hunk wanted to do it he'd happily piggyback.

Daniel blushed bright red. "That's low, big guy. Very low."

"Naaah, they can fly!"

He shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"Wait, now it's flying things you don't like?" Flynn was grinning too. "That seems off-brand."

"It's not the flying! It's the birds being birds, okay? The beaks and the pecking and the flesh ripping talons! Flying is just how they catch you."

"You make them sound very admirable," Pidge commented from the hydraulic line he was patching; Vince looked up at him with great concern.

"What?"

He didn't get an answer, and decided to just make a mental note of it. He did that a lot.

Daniel looked up from the foil he was laying and made a face. "You wouldn't feel that way if you were attacked by one." Then again, given it was Pidge, maybe he would. "They're _evil."_

Things settled down for a bit after that; they were getting a good rhythm going. The wing did have a lot of holes in it, but it was all pretty much the same task. Internals, patching foil, treat, repeat. But routine could be dangerous, too. You could only stay laser-focused on every move for so long. And when you were operating on a fairly slick cerasilicate spacecraft wing, well…

Lance was working on a gash near the fuselage when the combination of the wing's own angle and the slope of their landing zone betrayed him. "Fffuuuuck!" Losing traction completely, he tried to grab for something to steady himself, but there was really nothing to grab—they'd already fixed all the holes between him and the edge. Naturally. Grimacing, he braced himself for the impact. The wing wasn't that high off the ground, but it was still high enough to _suck_.

None of the kids were really in position to intervene. Hunk even less, as he'd made his way to the wingtip to see what he could do with the punctured outboard aileron. But Flynn was close enough to jump up and half-catch him, breaking the worst of his fall; they both hit the ground, rolling a few feet down the slope in a tangle of limbs and curses before managing to come to a stop.

"_Really_, Lance…" Flynn dragged himself up and grimaced. There would be bruises. "Are you alright?"

Breathless from the fall—yes, definitely only from the fall—Lance blinked at the engineer for a few moments before letting him help him up. "Uh… yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

Helping him back over to the rock he'd been sitting on, Flynn stopped holding him just a tiny bit too quickly and met his eyes just a tiny bit too long. "You're sure?"

"…Totally. Fucking awesome, right?"

"YOU GUYS OKAY?" Daniel bellowing from the far end of the wing broke into the conversation, and both startled a little. Lance shot him a thumbs-up with a slightly shaky hand.

"They're alright," Pidge said without looking up from the breach he was working on, "they'd be complaining if they weren't."

"Probably true," Vince agreed.

Almost certainly true, Daniel admitted to himself, but he wasn't going to acknowledge it out loud. "That was totally _not_ badass. Don't go scaring people like that!" He turned back to Vince and the hole they'd been fixing, shaking his head and grumbling a few Korean curses under his breath.

Lance wasn't sure quite why he'd been so startled to hear Daniel yell. Like he'd outright forgotten there were other people around, or something. "I'm fucking awesome, kid, don't sweat it."

"So fucking awesome you just fell off a _spaceship!_" Flynn snorted. "Even Vince has only done that when the hangar literally got hit by lightning."

"That's because I'm meant to _fly_ them!" Running around on the _outside_ of the wing was no place for a pilot to be.

"Which is why we're fixing it, so you can fly it again, because that," he pointed to the mangled wing, "has already proved slightly beyond even your formidable capabilities. Know what, you sit down. I'll show you how it's done."

Hunk had come running, and was now close enough to object. "Pit boss, you just spent twelve hours fixin' the engines… and fell down a hill? Sit back down yourself, we've got this."

Blinking, Flynn supposed he couldn't actually argue that point, and sat on the rock next to Lance. It was a good-sized rock. "Fair enough. You still stay _put_, flyboy "

"I'm down for observing." He shrugged. "Even though I'm _fine_."

Flynn wasn't the only one doubting Lance's reassurances. "Don't sweat it," Daniel mimicked as he pulled off the next bit of patching foil, "like he didn't just fall off a spaceship and down a hill… sorry, Vince, did you say something?"

Vince had tried to say a few things while Daniel was grumbling, actually. None had gotten very far. "We're set on this hole." He smiled sympathetically. "And he's fine, Flynn wouldn't be scolding him like that otherwise." He'd seen that sort of behavior out of the moms pretty regularly.

Blushing again, Daniel shot him a sheepish glare. "I know he's fine! I'm just saying… I don't know what I'm saying."

"You're saying you'd prefer he not risk injury in your presence," Pidge offered helpfully. He still hadn't looked up from his work.

"…Thank you, Pidge." Their gunner did not sound particularly filled with genuine gratitude, and took a deep breath. "Anyone who mentions anything about this conversation to anyone, ever, will be treated like roommates number two, four, _and_ five."

That sounded sufficiently ominous for Vince to edge back slightly. "Mention what?"

"Exactly."

"I dunno what conversation you're talkin' about," Hunk said with a grin, "but I definitely wanna hear about roommates two, four, and five." That got him a distressed look from Vince, who wanted to hear no such thing, and a wicked smirk from Daniel.

"You really do. Those were some of my best work… well, I mean, not two, but I was still learning the ropes on how to effectively get rid of a roommate at that point."

Pidge wanted to ask about the missing roommate number three, but noted Vince's expression and decided it wasn't a good time for it. Hunk had caught their electrical engineer's expression as well, and chuckled. "How 'bout we finish patchin' this thing up for now, and once we're back in the air we can have roommate storytime? I'll make snacks." He shot Vince a wink. "Even for people who don't wanna hear the stories."

That got him a grateful laugh.

It didn't take too long to get back into the rhythm, though with a bit more caution involved, and they were making good time on the repairs. Even with two of the bridge crew doing the patching. Well, one of the bridge crew—Lance was still sitting to the side with Flynn, the engineer leaning over and explaining all the intricacies of the wing's internal structure, as the pilot listened with rapt attention that may or may not have been related to his actual interest in the wing.

Welding some framework into a particularly small and tricky hole, Pidge was facing the direction the others had left in. He was the first to see the movement on the horizon. "…Um. Sir? The Commander and the others are coming back." He stood and squinted into the distance, trying to figure out what precisely he was looking at. "They aren't alone."

"You don't have to sound so ominous," Daniel complained; Vince gave him a weak smile.

"That's just his tone."

"Oh."

"You get used to it."

"Sort of," Hunk added.

"If you say so."

_Was that ominous?_ Pidge looked at the others in confusion and decided not to worry about it. If humans considered factual statements to be ominous, well… that actually rang fairly true.

Standing and moving up under the wing, Flynn and Lance exchanged looks of bemusement. "Well… at least they don't have feathers?"

"They seem to have _ears_."

"That they do…"

Above them on the wing, Pidge and Vince were standing and looking equally confused. Finally the ninja laughed softly. "Never boring, kir sa tye?"

He wasn't wrong; Vince sighed. It was just that he'd said it like it was a good thing.

"I miss boring."

* * *

Driving the _Bolt_ through several valleys and rocky passes had been tricky, but doable. The average spaceplane was designed to _traverse_ all kinds of terrain, for situations exactly like this… just not necessarily to take off from it. The Krryn had led them to a huge, reasonably level desert far to the north, where the Vagrant could roll around to its heart's content.

They'd done a mock takeoff roll, to mark off precisely the distance they needed, and then it had been time for the hard part.

Pun definitely intended.

Dozens of Krryn workers had accompanied them to the desert, and had been helping to smooth the sand with great enthusiasm. It was understandable, really. The arrival of aliens needing their help must be an unimaginable novelty. It was hard not to imagine that many of them might have come along just to see the ship… and they all seemed quite sufficiently impressed.

Flynn finished helping a few of the cat-bats fill in a particularly stubborn hole, then walked over to stand by Sven and look over the sand. They'd been at it for a couple of hours, and the runway was shaping up pretty nicely, considering the utterly ridiculous premise.

"So… run this by me again. We help flatten out a couple miles of desert, they'll magically turn it into rock, and we'll give them a box of paper?"

"Yes." Sven shrugged. "They seemed impressed by paper airplanes."

"They should!" Hunk joined them, grinning. "Paper airplanes are awesome!"

The others were approaching as well, with varying degrees of skepticism. Lance had been keeping perhaps the sharpest eye on the preparations. What they'd marked in the sand was long enough, and the worker Krryn were diligent, it was just… well… the entire damn concept. "We sure this will work?"

"If the Krryn can do what they say they can, we'll be able to use it."

That hadn't been exactly what he was asking, but Sven got to the real question. "Fairly certain." He could still see the mage's demonstration in the back of his mind. "It was _something_."

"So they'll really bippity boppity boo this into working?" The pilot looked at the runway and shrugged. "I do kind of want to see that."

"We're gonna have to rename the ship _Jupiter's Pumpkin_," Hunk joked, drawing a slight glare from Flynn.

"No."

"_Cinderella's Bolt?_ That's how she lost her shoe, right?"

Daniel popped into the conversation then. "Does that mean we're Cinderella?"

"Why?" Lance smirked. "Do you want a prom dress?"

"I would totally rock a prom dress."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Hunk grinned as Lance brushed that off; he knew people. The same people who could once have gotten him fuzzy pink spacecraft carpeting, in fact—one of his brothers did side work for a textile warehouse. "Little gunner dude, we can _totally_ make that happen."

Eyeing him and grinning right back, Daniel took it in stride. "Alright, but nothing orange. I don't look good in orange."

The big engineer's grin broadened. "You learn that in prison?"

"Never been to prison. Been told I'll end up there, though." He sounded a bit too proud of that prediction; Sven sighed, and Vince arrived just in time to hear and shake his head.

Lance snorted, opting not to even address that. He'd be keeping the kid out of prison if he had anything to say about it… you only went to prison if you got _caught_. "Nobody looks good in orange, anyway."

"Bro…"

Blinking, he looked back at Hunk, who was suddenly pouting. Probably had to do with the brown and orange tech coveralls he was wearing. "…Okay, you can pull it off," he acknowledged after looking him up and down. "It just takes a pretty damn high cuteness factor."

"I'm _totally_ the cute one, bro."

That assessment was almost immediately countered by the arrival of the Krryn elder, fluttering and making little squirking sounds as it tugged Sven's arm. The cat-bats were the unquestioned masters of cute around here. It pointed back to where about half a dozen other Krryn were flying up the runway, seemingly checking for any last uneven bits, landing and wiggling their ears in what was presumably an all clear.

Lance watched, grinning as he noticed Vince seeming transfixed by the ear wiggling. He couldn't really blame the kid; they were adorable. "It showtime?"

"I believe so." Sven went over to where he'd placed the larger of his boxes of paper, intending to offer it to the Krryn before they got started. The same alien who'd so quickly picked up that they needed a solid runway clearly didn't grasp that the box was full of paper, though. Instead it tugged the battered paper airplane from his pocket. "Oh, this is their… elder, we think? Seems to be one of their leaders, anyway. Along with the one with all the earrings…" As if hearing itself referenced, the ambassador-mage approached as well. It had been one of those flying up the runway, and now wiggled its ears again as it joined them.

"I have _so_ many questions we aren't going to have answered," Flynn murmured.

Lance nodded. "Many, many questions."

"They're so cute!" Hunk whispered, and Vince nodded his emphatic agreement. That ear wiggling really was something. Even Daniel couldn't really disagree. So much better than birds.

Though he could guess at what they were trying to tell him, Sven really had no idea how to respond to any of that in a way that would be useful. Instead he opted to just hand the mage a sheet of paper. It might get across that they were ready to carry out the trade.

Squirking cheerfully, the mage turned and screeched at its companions. The other Krryn with earrings—were they all mages? So many questions—started to gather around the _Bolt_, while their leader crouched forward and unfurled its wings in what was actually a pretty decent imitation of the ship's appearance. Then it pointed to the paper, pointed to the other mages, and mimicked something hanging from the paper's edge with a hopeful little chirp.

Everyone stared at Sven, who grimaced slightly. The pressure seemed a little higher when the entire team was giving him that look. "I think…" His mind racing, he remembered when they'd first come across the Krryn, and his eyes widened slightly. "I think they want to hang from the ship's belly?"

"That's a good idea." Even though the whole team had gathered by now, Pidge speaking from whatever shadow he'd been standing in caused a couple of them to jump.

"Conservation of energy," Jace agreed, shrugging. "So they can focus on magical fucking sandstone transformation. Makes sense, to the extent any of this makes sense."

Sven ignored that commentary, though he agreed with it, and looked at Flynn. "Do I tell them okay?"

"I don't see why not." The chief looked back at the ship, then at the Krryn. "The undercarriage has carrier bars, they're rated for several tons. I don't think we have multiple tons of bats here…"

"Someone'd hafta drive them then, yeah?" Hunk looked at Lance. A few others also looked at Lance.

Lance was having none of it. "Yeah, but I've gotta make sure this runway actually goes flat enough." Anyone could have done that, for sure, but this was his ship and he was going to oversee the process, damn it. And besides… "And, well, it's _bat magic_."

"You don't need to say more than the last bit, man," Jace snorted. "We get it."

"Fucking good point."

Most of those who'd been staring at Lance now turned their gaze to Keith, who sighed. "I know, I know… the burdens of command." He'd wanted to see this too, but at least he'd seen the demonstrations back at the settlement. Besides, he had no doubt _whatsoever_ someone would get this all on video. "I'll drive."

As Keith headed for the boarding ramp, Sven turned to the mage and reached up to wiggle his ears. Which was the first time he'd needed to do that around the whole team, and had the wholly predictable result of getting him laughed at. Quite a lot. He glared at Jace anyway; this wasn't exactly new to him. "Do _you_ really have to laugh at me doing that? Still?"

"Fuck yes!"

Sigh. He hadn't really expected anything else.

Literally the only person who hadn't laughed was Pidge, who was staring transfixed at the Krryn mages as they arranged themselves. The leader had followed Keith, and the others scurried behind, spacing out with remarkable precision across the _Bolt's_ forward carrier bars. Usually those structures were meant to tow supplies on the ground in a pinch. Now they were playing host to what had to be dozens of the batlike creatures, hooking on with their feet and furling their wings to hang beneath the ship's structure.

"This was _not_ within the Vagrant's original design profile," Flynn murmured.

That was for sure. It was nothing short of remarkable… and perhaps a little ridiculous, but by now everyone was too intrigued to worry about that. Lance pulled his datapad out to start recording; nobody was going to believe _this_ without proof.

As the mages finished getting set up, the workers were lining up along the side of the soon-to-be runway. The elder screeched down the line, soundless to the gathered humans and even the Baltan, but apparently enough for Krryn ears to hear down the whole two-mile stretch. The workers stretched their wings out, touching claws, just as the few had done back in the settlement. Obviously it was part of the ritual.

Even more obvious when the elder scurried over and grabbed Sven's arm, then Jace's next to him, and touched their hands together.

"…Really?"

"When in Rome!" Lance said immediately, stepping up to the runway's edge and grabbing Flynn's hand. The engineer startled a little and touched hands with Pidge on his other side; why not?

"Just do what they say." Sven joined hands with Daniel, too, eyeing the gunner's hand with his own moment of doubt. _Mother always did say being a diplomat forces a person to do things they don't really want to do._ "They're making us a runway for a box of paper."

That was a hard point to argue; Jace shrugged and touched hands with Hunk on his other side. Vince took Hunk's other hand with a nod. "It's polite."

Watching them sharply until they'd all arrayed themselves properly, the elder trotted down the line and squirked its approval before returning to Sven. It pointed to the _Bolt_, then gestured up the runway.

The moment of truth. "They want us to start driving." Flynn let go of Pidge's hand long enough to relay that—the elder squirked at him with concern until he was back in position—and slowly, the ship came to life, engines whining a bit from the strain of being held near minimum power. Just as slowly, it started to roll, keeping a pace that would give the Krryn plenty of time to do… whatever it was, precisely, that they needed to do.

Several sharp high-pitched cracks and low rumbles began to emanate from the sand almost immediately, and not for the first time today, a lot of human jaws dropped.

"Um…"

"Dude."

"That's supposed to happen, right?"

Sven shrugged in response to Daniel's question. "I have no idea." There _had_ been that little bit of a shock wave from the demonstration, but how it was supposed to translate to a larger scale was anyone's guess.

"That's reassuring."

Glancing over at the elder, which had taken a spot at the end of the line beside Cam, Lance noted a distinct lack of any distress. If something were going wrong, surely the cat-bat would tell them about it somehow. "Kid, just watch the show." As he said it, he watched the sand in front of the _Bolt_ rippling. The huge tires were not making the slightest indentation, because by the time they reached the ground, it was solid.

"Wow."

"How the fuck…?"

Vince looked over at Flynn. "There's… a reasonable explanation for this, right?" He had sort of gotten used to his sparks being unexplained, even if he didn't care much for it. Unexplained _rock formation_ was at least a step too far.

The chief looked from him to the runway. "Magic is just science we don't yet understand…"

That sounded more or less like a no. Next to him, Pidge snorted; he wasn't at all impressed by the non-answer, but was far too interested in what the Krryn were doing to take issue with it.

Jace, though, was not so easily dissuaded. "They haven't even discovered _paper!"_ He looked slightly pained.

Flynn eyed him; having grown up thinking fusion plants were literally divine miracles, Clarke's third law was about the closest he got to an article of faith anymore. Explaining that to the medic was definitely not worth it. He tried something else. "Doctor, did you know that nuclear fission reactors can occur in nature?"

"…No, and I'll concede the point if you promise _not_ to fucking explain it."

Smirk. "Deal."

The _Bolt_ had made it about halfway down the runway by now, and the Krryn elder was suddenly a little distressed. It broke free of the line and ran in front of them, fluttering, gradually slowing to a walk with an urgent series of squirks.

"It wants us to slow down," Sven translated, as the elder repeated the process. "Possibly. That or it wants us to dance." That hadn't been in the ritual before, though.

"I can dance!" Hunk volunteered brightly; Jace glowered at him.

"Not holding my hand, you can't."

The big man pouted a little, muttering under his breath. "We can dance if we wanna, we can leave your friends behind, cuz your friends aren't bats and if they aren't bats then they're no friends of mine…" That earned him a light kick in the shins, and he laughed.

"Do they need a break?" Flynn asked, concerned, as the _Bolt_ slowed to a crawl. "I don't think we're really on a deadline here…"

"I'm not sure. I think they'd tell us if they did."

Probably, but then, who knew? Krryn honor code could prevent that sort of thing. If the Krryn had an honor code. Or something similar. Pidge tore his gaze away from the proceedings just long enough to look up at Sven and frown slightly. "Can't you ask them?"

The navigator exhaled. "Maybe." _Are you guys good?_ suddenly seemed like a remarkably advanced concept when it came to expressing it through charades. Still, he drew the elder's attention, pointing to the _Bolt_ and mimicking mages hanging from the wings. Then he reached up, wiggled his ears, and tugged down on one, hoping it would get across. It may or may not have, but the elder wiggled its ears excitedly and spread its wings. "I think they're okay." At the least they weren't _not_-okay.

It took a few more minutes for the last mile to be finished. But finished it _was_. As the _Bolt_ returned along the now-solid sandstone, several of the worker Krryn sprang into action to assist the mages—as best Sven could tell, they were too exhausted to even unhook their feet from the supports without help. But they seemed excited, soundlessly chirping and chittering as the alien visitors inspected their handiwork.

"Whoa."

"Ceve."

"De chyle…"

"This is fucking usable," Lance murmured, stunned, as he stepped onto the sandstone and looked it over. It was smooth and flat all the way to the distant horizon; Alliance paving trucks couldn't have done it better.

As the workers peeled their mage comrades from the carrier bar, Jace had reflexively moved up with his medical kit. The issue with that presented itself very quickly. "Uh, Viking? How you suppose I ask if they need medical attention?"

"I've got no idea." Sven was busy staring in awe at the runway, anyway. "This is amazing."

Lance grinned. "Try an interpretive dance."

Glare. "Try fucking yourself."

"Sounds boring."

"With you? Probably."

"Dudes!" Hunk gave them both a disapproving look. "We just watched a magical runway get built by dunuh nunuh nunuh nunuh BATMAGE, and you're just gonna have _this_ talk again? Priorities, bros!"

"…Good point, big guy."

"It's valid." Heading over to the exhausted Krryn, Jace opted to try his own hand at charades. Or his arm, more accurately; pulling free of one sleeve of his field jacket, he indicated the mostly-healed cut left from the fight with the Drules, mimed bandaging it, and pointed to the cat-bats with a shrug.

The elder approached Sven, carrying the paper airplane it had commandeered earlier. Pointing to the runway, it smoothed the paper, then mimicked accepting it. The navigator smiled. They'd _more_ than fulfilled their end of the bargain… he went back to the box and put it down in front of the elder, opening it to show off its contents.

With a screech and several ecstatic squirks, the elder actually launched into flight, fluttering a couple of circles around Sven while its ears fluttered like crazy. Landing and grabbing the box, it rushed over to the others, leaving the team staring in disbelieving amusement.

"That is just fucking _cute_."

"That was fun." As they watched, the elder distributed several sheets of paper to each of the mages and workers. Then another Krryn, with rings on its wingtips rather than its ears, accepted the rest of the box with what could only be described as reverence. A priest? Sven wondered what _exactly_ they might have just done, but really, watching how happy they were he had no regrets. "They really like their paper."

Pidge tilted his head. Several of the mages seemed to have gained a second wind and were experimenting with their sheets. "It's as fascinating to them as their sandstone transmutation was to us."

That insight rang true, and Flynn smiled. "Seems like it may be a fair trade, then."

"I've always liked pens and paper as gifts," Vince commented. Did he like it as much as the Krryn? Probably not. But, if it were up to him, he supposed he _might_ be willing to spark for some really nice paper.

Really, _really_ nice paper.

After a little bit more watching the Krryn and looking over the runway, Flynn turned back to Sven. "You'll be able to explain to them to get a safe distance away, before we take off?" Smirk. "Once Jace is done using up all his bandages?"

Jace, whose attempt at charades had resulted in him bandaging a lot of completely uninjured but very appreciative cat-bats, glared over his shoulder. "Fuck you! They like them!"

Grinning, Sven nodded in response to Flynn's question. "Yes, I should." His focus was more on the medic, though. Never before in the history of the 686 had Jace done _anything_, let alone used up his precious medical supplies, with the started justification of making someone _happy_.

It wasn't lost on Lance either. "Admit it, Doc, you think they're adorable." He earned a glare for that, and no such admission… though he also didn't say no.

"Doc likes big bats and he cannot lie," Hunk whispered, snickering.

With a snort, Lance stepped out onto the sandstone and stared down the runway again. He could still hardly believe what they'd just seen, even walking on the surface.

_Magic…?_

The memory of warmth tingled in his fingertips, and maybe it all sounded a little less crazy. But only a little.

* * *

The small group from the castle shelter had just returned from burying the King in a makeshift tomb. It was small, hidden away from the tunnel passageways and easy to overlook. Allura was tired from the trip. While she was content that they had been able to recover and protect her father's body, the near-secret burial was nowhere near what she wanted. Brushing her hair from her face, she reminded herself that what she wanted and what was possible in their current situation were two wholly different universes.

Of course in truth, what she most wanted wouldn't be possible in the best of circumstances. She didn't possess that form of magic that could raise a body from the grave. What ran in the royal blood of Arus was minor magic, granting minor skills… empathy, visions, the tenuous ability to speak to the dead. But no more than speak. It made her wonder if her family had ever possessed the level of powers spoken of in myth.

As she entered the shelter proper, raising her eyes up, she noted there were somehow more soldiers inside. It took a moment for her to recognize them as part of the royal guard, and then her eyes widened; they were the guards that had traveled with her brother and Nanny. Approaching the group, they snapped to attention, Captain Sherion stepping forward to greet her. "My Princess, we are so glad to have found you…"

The words carried something that struck Allura, the joyful thought of seeing her brother turned to nervous fear. Something in his tone… she couldn't hide the small shake within herself as the Captain led her to where her brother was.

In the small room, a small bed, laid a small form covered in blankets and heating pads. Nanny was sitting nearby, asking how the prince was feeling and fussing to get some food ready. Coran was also there, giving Allura a concerned look as she entered. Kneeling down the bed, Allura peeked under the blanket. A pair of soft green eyes perked up from underneath.

"Sis!" Tanner squeaked lightly.

"How's my lil' lion?"

Tanner coughed. "Tired… but I'm happy to see you."

Allura brushed a strand of hair from his face as she moved some of the blanket to see him better. It was as her hand cupped his cheek that she could sense it, shivering. The sickness that was in him. She had seen it in others within the cave shelters… a fungal-like virus that wove itself throughout the body, taking silent hold before a massive growth that overtook the host body in a short span of time. Biting her lip, she dreaded having to tell the others what she sensed, but this was not a matter she could lie about.

"Well, it looks like Nanny has a little bit of lunch ready for you now. How about you work on that and I'll be back to tell you all that I've been up to after that, okay?"

Tanner nodded, eyes bright, as Allura helped to prop him up so he could eat. Watching him for a moment longer, she closed her eyes and sighed. No, she couldn't put it off, either.

She moved to the doorway with Coran and one of the doctors that had been treating him since he arrived. The doctor immediately started to give a report. "Your Majesty, I'm suspecting something to do with his lungs. Perhaps even the cave-mold illness, but I'm—"

"—It is," Allura interrupted. "It is the cave-mold."

The group fell silent for a moment; it was broken by Coran asking in a low voice, "How far along, do you think?"

"The growth has begun. Days… maybe a week at most, but I don't think so. He's…" Allura trailed off, tears beginning as her voice started to break.

Coran placed an arm around her, looking at the doctor, who nodded gravely. "I'll make sure he is comfortable as preparations are made for him… and I will take it upon myself to inform the council," he added softly, earning a grateful nod from the princess.

"Nanny will not take the news well." Coran sighed. "Perhaps we can take solace in the fact that his time is not coming through violence, at least."

Allura thought about that as she leaned into the old advisor's shoulder. "Maybe there is something we can do for him yet…" Coran looked at her, curious, and she shook her head slightly at the unspoken question. "Nothing that could save him, but there is something he would dearly love… something that would mean everything to him," she murmured.

"Oh? What would that be?"

"It's where I recovered my father. There is something that he loves… more than anything in all of Arus. If you were to help me in getting him there, he would be so happy." Her eyes lifted, pleading for his help. "He would be at peace just to see it one last time."

It was hardly something Coran could refuse, though he tried to convince himself. But looking into the room where the young prince was settling down after his meal, then back to the pleading eyes of the princess, he sighed. It would be tricky, but not impossible. They'd managed once. "Alright, my princess. But after this… you _must_ stop placing yourself in such dangerous positions that could risk everything. Do I have your word?"

Allura nodded silently. She understood. After this… her safety would become even more paramount.

"Then I'll get things started. As soon as we have things prepared, we'll head off."

Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, Allura headed into the room to be with her brother. Coran sighed as he looked after her. He really could no longer shake the feeling that his princess was going to be a _bit_ harder to deal with than her father.

* * *

_*Sorry about last week! Just working out a few glitches in the new schedule. (...Not that anyone was planning for the three-day power outage one of us got, but, you know, no plan survives contact with the 686. Even from a meta perspective.)_


	33. Guidance Beyond

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 32_  
Guidance Beyond

* * *

The rest of the trip to Ixapre had been mercifully uneventful. Perhaps _too_ uneventful. It was enough to have at least some of the team wondering what chaos was going to come along next—though by now, some of them just wondered that as a matter of principle anyway.

It turned out the answer was Ixapre itself. The fifth planet in the system Zathaster had directed them to was a small, lifeless chunk of rock that showed no hint of civilization… unless you knew where to look. Bringing up the _Bolt's_ magres scanners, Cam quickly started to pinpoint metallic tracers on the surface. "I have the passive beacons, sir. Just as the Vex-Cha said. They're pointing towards the southern pole."

"Good." Keith was pacing the bridge. "Any sign of what we're looking for?"

"Not yet."

Coming in around the equator, it took a little over another hour to reach the pole. Daniel was resisting the urge to spin on his chair; why couldn't they have waited until something was actually _happening_ to be called to the bridge? He was about to say as much, when suddenly the main screen flickered out entirely.

Okay, something was happening.

"Um."

"Sukin syn…"

"Switch to glass," Keith ordered immediately. In space and especially hyperspace, the main screen displayed several filters and enhancements over the ship's frontal viewport. 'Switching to glass' removed all those, leaving the _Bolt_ running on the windscreen—which wasn't actually glass, but that was beside the point—and good old Mark I Eyeballs. "What do we have?"

"Sensors are being blocked somehow." Cam was typing frantically. "We're exactly where the guide points were telling us to go, but nothing is showing up. The only thing I'm reading is a faint radio signal, but it's an incredibly narrow frequency and the direction keeps changing."

Keith took a moment to steady his own thoughts. "That's what the information from Zandrek said to look for." It hadn't said a damn thing about sensor blocking or directional shifting, but it _had_ said they'd need to follow a precise signal in. "Can you keep a fix on it?"

"I…" He paused a moment, then his eyes narrowed with determination. "Yes, I think I can hold it, sir. It'll be tricky to follow."

"How hard can it be?" Lance snorted, earning a side-eye from Sven that he probably deserved. Shrugging, he returned to shifting uneasily in his seat, guiding the _Bolt_ in a slow circle as he waited to hear where the hell to fly them.

The engine bay had their comms open, even without anything to report; they had extra analysis running on what little sensor data was incoming. It wasn't the sensor data that gave the first real hint of what they were facing, though. It was a nearby ship Pidge was keeping an eye on as it came in to land. As it slipped closer to the planet, the space around it wavered slightly, like ripples in a pond… and it vanished entirely.

_Komora…_ "Sir, you should see this."

The urgency in his tone brought Flynn across the bay almost immediately. By that time he had some more useful scans running. He knew what they were looking at now.

"…Faex." It only took a few more moments to confirm. "Kogane, we're picking up quantum scrambling back here. Fluctuating. We can't get a solid read, but there seem to be transient safe zones."

Things fell together for Cam then, too. "The signal is giving us the path." Refining his equipment, he managed to bring up a visual representation of the signal, a line that danced and wavered ahead of them before fading a little ways into the quantum field. Those sensors were blocked too. "It must be broadcasting from the target zone and sneaking through the gaps… I can't get a solid image. But it's narrow. Probably just enough for the ship to fit through."

Lance had gone from impatience to all business. He didn't like the sound of this. Flying a maze, fine. Flying a maze he couldn't see? "Kinda sounds like something that calls for a solid image."

"I think I can relay you the headings." Pressing a few more buttons, Cam wrinkled his nose in displeasure. _Apparently_ only the navigation console was designed to transmit directly to the pilot. "…I can do it, but I'm going to have to call them out on the fly."

_Shit_. Lance looked over at him. "I'm going to need _exact_ bearings."

Keith looked between the two of them, then at the comms. "What happens if we hit the walls?"

"Formally advise we _don't_," Flynn responded as if it were an actual answer. In a sense he supposed it was.

"That's… okay." Pressing that issue would be of minimal benefit. "Starr, McClain, are you ready?"

Setting the comms console up to even _give_ him the headings took a minute; it was a makeshift system, relying on an abstract model. But finally Cam looked up and nodded. "Ready here."

"Born ready." Lance had them pointing towards the planet's surface, his muscles tensing. This would be tricky… but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Alright. Proceed."

A few moments of tense silence fell over the bridge as Cam waited for a solid lock on the signal. "Got it. Entry trajectory at 041, 07."

"Alright." Pushing the _Bolt_ forward, Lance took a shallow turn to follow the heading and drew a low breath. Whatever they were getting into here, there was no turning back now.

"046, 36 on my mark… now." That was a much sharper turn, and nearly took them right back out of the blackout zone, but the signal wavered and turned much more quickly this time. "168, 11, now."

It was becoming immediately apparent that the area around them was _off_. The stars were shifting at odd angles, making Sven glare at his monitors even though he knew it was irrelevant at the moment. Worst of them was the closest star; the sun at their backs seemed to have vanished outright. The only frame of reference was the planet's surface, featureless rock, the magnetic tracers no longer detectable. It was disorienting as hell.

An alarm sounded in the engine bay, and Pidge sprang to attention. "Contacts. Multiple…" He trailed off as the identifiers came up. "…_Vagrants_?"

Vince, holding tight to a bracing bar and trying to keep his breathing even, looked over in confusion. "That can't be right." They'd seen a small handful of other _Vagrants_ over the course of their mission, but several of them at once? Here? It was implausible—a kind of very mundane implausible, not the sort they kept actually running into.

"I know," Pidge agreed, then he looked back at the screen and blinked. "…They're gone."

"Sensor ghosts," Flynn murmured, drawing answering nods. "Careful, flyboys. Can't trust anything in here."

Wasn't that the truth. The next signal fluctuation was sudden, and Cam nearly yelled it out in surprise. "168, 11, now!"

"This is so much fun," Daniel muttered sarcastically as the _Bolt_ took another shallow turn. He'd almost rather have been crashing again, at least that had been exciting.

Lance didn't even have time to not have time for that crap. "Someone glare at the kid."

"On my way!" Jace broke in much too cheerfully over the comms; alone among those on the bridge, Sven allowed himself a tight smile. At least it was a tiny distraction from his not being able to _navigate_.

Cam pitched in too. "190—Daniel, shut up—34, on my mark… now." His roommate looked indignant, but shut up, and things were calm for a few precious seconds before the signal changed again. "094, 18, now."

Zigging the direction he'd been given, Lance felt the controls seeming to fight back an instant before a massive jolt rocked the ship. "Fuck! Cam, _exact_ headings!"

"I'm trying, dammit!" Having nearly been flung from his station entirely by the jolt, Cam struggled to regain his equilibrium and figure out what had gone wrong. "This isn't exactly my—" Another sharp impact slammed through the ship. "—Der'mo. I've lost the signal!"

"Starr!" Keith leaned forward as he was rattled against his own harness. "Don't panic. Focus. Get it back."

"Y—yes sir." Get it back? Of course, except he wasn't sure how. The _Bolt_ was still tearing through the quantum field, literally; every jolt seemed that much closer to ripping the hull apart. And stopping wasn't exactly an option. Calling back the last few seconds on his tracking module, he shook his head in confusion. The heading had been correct, as best he could… _wait. There it is!_ "157, 40, now! 165, 32 as soon as we're clear!"

"Fucking bumpy flying," Lance growled, pitching the ship down and rightward as another heavy impact struck. A second later, all the jolting stopped. He didn't even stop to breathe before switching headings; pushing into a second, slightly shallower turn, he gritted his teeth and waited for something else.

Nothing but silence.

"…So to answer your earlier question, Kogane?" They could hear a few alarms in the background as Flynn spoke up. "Hitting the walls leads to planar rupturing and massive inertial oscillation spikes. Can we not do it again? We just _fixed_ this damn thing."

Keith made a face. "Noted."

"I'd fucking love to never do that again," Lance muttered, sparing a half-second glance around the bridge. Daniel no longer looked bored; Sven had his eyes closed and seemed to be muttering in Norwegian under his breath. Did Vikings meditate? This did seem like the kind of thing that could make a person take it up.

"058, 90, now!"

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me, Cam?" Wrenching the unwieldy Vagrant into a ninety-degree turn, he braced himself for another jolt. But it didn't come; apparently he'd pulled it off. Obviously.

"Don't yell at _me_, I'm just the messenger," Cam protested. "Upcoming turn, 166, 67 on my mark."

Back in the engine bay, they'd managed to get all the alarms silenced. No real damage had been inflicted by the quantum scrambling. Lasting damage would happen if they were subjected to it for too long… and would pretty much consist of the entire ship disintegrating at once. No pressure.

Hunk, as he did, flipped on some music. Flynn was pretty sure he recognized a game show tune and shot him an annoyed look; Vince knew Jeopardy when he heard it, and glared outright. "Really?" Shrugging, Hunk switched to something else. He was pretty sure this one belonged to an old show called Press Your Luck, which… well, at least he was making apt choices?

Not everyone was so impressed. Flynn took his datapad and stashed it in a toolbox.

"No fun, pit boss."

An erratic loop had brought them to pretty much the same place they'd originally hit the walls. Why wouldn't it? "Getting a little wavering in the signal, hold on… 002, 81, now!"

"Oh, only a little sharp this time," Lance snorted as he zagged them upwards. "I hate flying like this, I never hate flying!"

"I can take over for you if you like," Daniel volunteered. He knew perfectly well where that was actually going to get him—

"Someone fucking glare at the kid!"

—Yep.

After being thrown all around the corridors trying to make his way to the bridge, Jace finally arrived, obligingly glaring at Daniel until the next heading. Then they seemingly clipped a wall; a single violent tremor shook the hull and threw him back at the hatch. So he glared at Cam, too.

"Fucking…"

"We're clear. Next heading to follow."

"Nice recovery, McClain."

The next several minutes were far less eventful, and seemed like they might even be getting productive. The _Bolt_ was making its way into low orbit, though there was still no sign of anything on the surface. At the edge of what little atmosphere Ixapre possessed, they found themselves leveling out, completing one full circle—well, perhaps one full concave polygon, not so much a circle—before a reading came up that Cam couldn't quite bring himself to believe.

The signal be was tracing pitched straight down.

No, no time. He had to trust his readings or they'd be in the quantum field again, and they damn well knew they didn't want _that_. "Okay. 180, 90."

Dropping the _Bolt's_ nose sharply, Lance followed the heading, waiting for the next one. And waiting. And not hearing anything as he watched the rocky surface coming closer and closer. "What the hell—Cam, what's next?"

"I'm not getting anything else, I swear!" He'd already been swearing. Quietly, in Russian, almost nonstop.

"Oh, shit."

"Que porra?"

Even Hunk, still sulking about his music, had a comment. "So what, we're puttin' the 'dead' in 'dead reckoning' now?"

Sven really wanted to tell him why dead reckoning had nothing to do with this situation, but decided it could wait until they survived. Looking instead at the sensor ghosts and vacillating stars, he shook his head slightly. "We're in a quantum cloak. We can't trust anything else in here, there might not really be ground ahead of us either."

The bridge crew all exchanged looks. They were quickly running low on time… Keith nodded slowly. "Starr, you're certain there's nothing else?"

"Yes sir. Positive."

_Be a hell of an elaborate trap to just destroy incoming ships. A couple of defense turrets would be simpler and cheaper_. The path they were following had to be real. So the only remaining question was whether they had trust in their comms officer's abilities.

Slowly, the others nodded.

"Alright. Then everyone hang on tight… McClain, hold the course."

"You got it, bossman." As a large crater began to fill their viewscreen, he clutched the controls in a death grip and held his breath.

The _Bolt_ cut through the planet's supposed surface with a ripple of disturbed space, and emerged into a completely different world.

"We're… we're out."

"Holy spaceport, Batman."

"What. The. Fuck."

Stretched before them was a massive cavern, filled with ships and traders of nearly every kind imaginable. A series of shifting lights along the ground was directing them off to the left. Looking around and taking a few moments to recover, Lance let a wide smirk cross his face. "Alright, I take it back. That was fucking _awesome_."

Hunk reclaimed his datapad and started blasting his usual heavy metal Ride of the Valkyries; Flynn shook his head but didn't really have the heart to object. Vince eyed him and exhaled slowly. _I need to stop being so surprised when I don't die…_

Looking over at him, Pidge offered a smile that might have been a little sardonic. "Never boring, kir sa tye?"

"…I _really_ miss boring." Vince sighed. All he'd wanted was a career of nice, quiet electronic work, maybe in the merchant marine, but _no_.

Cam's console blinked, and he cocked his head. "Landing data incoming. We're cleared immediately for the left landing strip, then we follow frequency 149.8 to our berth."

"What, no shouting for old time's sake?" Lance snorted, finding the runway and bringing the _Bolt_ into a final descent. Cam glowered.

"With complete disrespect, Lieutenant… _bite me_."

"Drop the rank next time you disrespect me, kid."

"Way to go, Doc," Keith muttered, earning an indignant look from Jace.

"The fuck did _I_ do? …This time?" He had _not_ been responsible for the 'complete disrespect' cracks. The Viking had started that one all by himself. But the commander didn't seem inclined to pursue the subject, so he rolled his eyes and dropped it.

"Okay, everyone… let's get parked and make a plan."

* * *

The plans were simple, as the best plans often were. Being simple did not _guarantee_ they'd be good plans—the 686 knew all about that—but at least it might increase their chances. They'd formed two teams to head out and explore the Scavenger's Exchange. Keith wasn't on either; he would remain on the _Bolt_ to deal with spaceport business and keep a lookout for Galra. Flynn had been intending to stay with the ship as well, but every plan did have its one snag. In this case, it had been putting Sven in charge of a group with Cam, Pidge, and Vince.

He'd immediately protested having to be the sole source of adult supervision, but that wasn't why Flynn had been put on his team. Not exactly. It was the fact that all three of the kids had—immediately and in unison—offered to help their navigator with the necessary babysitting.

So now the five of them were wandering through the Free Market, where various scavengers and suppliers and _probably_ petty thieves had stalls set up to offload their finds. They were doing their best to give the impression of wide-eyed newcomers.

It wasn't hard.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Cam said quietly, stepping a little too quickly past an aggressive knife salesman's booth.

Vince was studying a display of colored rocks. "Why?"

"Really?" Sven took it a bit less in stride. "This, _this_, out of everything we've done?"

"This is where you draw that line?" Flynn agreed. "Literally the last time we landed, magical bats built us a runway. This is almost _boring_."

"Well… okay, yeah, I can't believe half the things we've done. But this either."

It was fair, Vince supposed. He was still looking at the rocks, grouped by size and color in several large bins. He'd picked a couple up to examine, and was about to have a look at some kind of blue-green opal when the canine alien running the stall stopped him. "Careful! That one's contact poisonous to primates."

"Eeep!" Vince startled and took a step back; the shopkeeper chuckled and reached into the bin with one furry hand, straightening out a sign that turned out to say **WARNING** in several languages. "Uh, thanks."

Sven, who was at the stall next to him looking at a collection of old leather-bound books, glanced over momentarily. "Please don't die." He could only imagine the lecture he'd get from Jace if he actually let one of the kids _die_.

The shopkeeper gave its barking chuckle again. "It'd just give you a fever and a cough, but still. Bad for business, you know?"

"Yeah, for sure." Pointing to a bin of shimmery orange and purple rocks he'd been studying before, he asked, "Are those safe?"

"Absolutely! It's just the cyanostone you've got to look out for."

"Perfect." Giving the cyanostone bin a _wide_ berth, Vince picked out two of the orange and purple rocks and fished out a credit chip. They were much too pretty to pass up.

Grinning, the shopkeeper turned to bag his purchases, revealing a pair of wagging tails and a pair of heavy rifles strapped across its back. Running any kind of shop in a place like _this_, Vince supposed that was a good idea. "Nice choice! Relic Kedurien agate. Local legend says it gets its color by trapping bits of the sunset." It handed the bag over. "Appreciate the business!"

"The Moms will like that story," Vince said with a grin of his own as he accepted the bag. "Thanks!"

Behind him, Cam had picked out a prismatic crystal to purchase; over to the side, Sven had managed to restrain himself to only buying one of the books. It may have been related to its being the only one he could read—the set had turned out to be a series of obscure folktales, translated into various interstellar languages. Meanwhile, Flynn had found a large booth filled with bits of scrap, obviously scavenged from ruined spacecraft. _Somehow_ he'd come away with a miniaturized flux-purifier array that looked older than the Alliance.

Watching the others go convincingly full tourist, Pidge grimaced slightly. Not finding a souvenir made him feel like he wasn't quite doing his job. A display of swords caught his eye; he doubted they were scavenged at all. Probably a supplier figuring the denizens of the Exchange needed what they were selling. Still, he wandered over, and was surprised to see Cam approaching as well.

"You like swords?"

Cam startled a little at being spoken to, but nodded. "Yeah. I've been learning how to use them from the Commander."

_De chyle_. Pidge couldn't really imagine _peanut butter boy_ being proficient with a sword, but he supposed everyone could search for improvement. "It's a good skill…" He ran a finger lightly along the nearest blade. Swords weren't his preferred weapon, but he could tell a quality edge when he saw it. "These _are_ nice. Are you ready for your own, then?"

Pausing a moment, Cam considered brushing that off with a nod, but then decided otherwise. "I actually have one, sort of." He hadn't even told Keith this—he'd been worried it would make him sound like he was just trying to take advantage—but he suspected the ninja would take it differently. "It's an heirloom, waiting at home. Not supposed to really inherit it until I prove worthy of the family legacy, you know? But knowing how to fight with it isn't really the requirement, that's just… something I felt like I needed to do."

Pidge eyed him, nodding slowly in what may have been approval, and Cam felt pretty good about how that had gone. He was probably about to say something else, too, but then he got distracted by an array of sharpening stones—specifically one carved in the shape of a sleek, feathery dragonlike creature.

Souvenir mission accomplished!

As they continued wandering through the market Vince had found what initially looked like another display of rocks, or more accurately shiny seashells. He was about to pick one up when it moved and made a chittering noise. "Ack!" Looking up at the sign—he really should get in that habit _before_ he went to touch things—he found an explanation that they were in fact a kind of large bug that made a popular pet. "Er… okay, never mind."

Shaking his head, Sven opted to keep one eye on their electrical engineer as he half-read his new book. Vince noticed his Viking shadow quickly, and would have _liked_ to be mildly offended, but really it was probably fair.

Leading them from the market sector, Flynn found signs pointing in all directions. One indicated a food court about a mile deeper into the caves. The winding, poorly-lit caves, with several branching and overlapping paths that all led to the same place. "Well that's not ominous at all," he murmured to the others, drawing a few nods of agreement. Then he plastered on the most innocent expression he could muster. "Let's go get lunch!"

"Never do that again, sir," Pidge muttered.

Cam and Vince were frowning at the tunnels. "It looks creepy."

"It _is_ creepy."

"Lunch sounds wonderful," Sven said pointedly, nudging them both in the back.

_Oh right, undercover_. "I'm starving, yep, starving. Lunch sounds great!"

"I'm not really hungry?" Cam got another nudge. "…But a drink would be nice."

None of them looked to be ready for confrontation. Flynn had his scout rifle slung over his back in a way that would be impossible to draw with any speed; his jacket hid his pistol holster, which was much more accessible. Vince and Cam had their sidearms, but those were nothing impressive. Sven and Pidge were carrying no visible weapons at all… but each had their typical assortment of hidden knives, and in Pidge's case a wrist sheath of shuriken under his sleeve.

Flynn was pointedly leading them through the darkest and shadiest tunnels, while doing his best not to _look_ like he was intentionally choosing such tunnels. Just trying to avoid the crowds. Yes. That was it. A bunch of naive, innocent treasure hunters with no idea where they were going…

Vince tripped over a rock. It hadn't been intentional, but it was definitely helpful. "You alright?" Sven asked, turning to help him up, in no real hurry about it.

"Fine." He flushed a little, then hesitated. Even he could tell things felt less friendly around them.

"…They're coming," Pidge hissed, as nearly a dozen small saurian forms appeared from the shadows. Mostly blue, a few tinged with violet, they were led by one with a crest of silvery horns.

_Bataxi?_ Flynn blinked in momentary confusion before taking a step back. They were definitely not friendly.

"Ah, fleshlings!" The leader motioned with her sharp claws, gesturing to a small alcove behind them. "A pleasure. My name is Klipce, and my brothers and I have some _business_ with you…" Her words were sharp, her tone just daring them to run.

Which they weren't about to. "Business… of course." _Hooked one_. Flynn nodded to the others, feigning nervousness as they backed into the alcove. "What sort of business?" Sven drew a knife, causing one of the enforcers to laugh. They may as well laugh first; they wouldn't be laughing last.

Two of the males took up station at the entrance, while the others moved to surround the group in a rough semicircle. Klipce studied them, flicking her tail. "You seem like agreeable fleshlings. We, too, are agreeable. Surrender your wares and leave unharmed."

_Bataxi_. This was not exactly what Flynn had been prepared to deal with. "That seems like an unfair exchange…" She wasn't acting, or even speaking, like any Bataxi he'd ever encountered. He wanted a little more information before springing their trap. Besides, until they got the opening they needed, best to play along.

Klipce looked derisive. "You mistake us for the godfollowers? That won't last. Your belongings for your lives—the fairest of exchanges."

…_Heretic Bataxi?_ That explained a surprising amount of this, actually. "What now?"

She was not interested in playing. "We are not obligated to explain ourselves just because _you_ have not encountered the Liberated. Surrender your belongings, or we will teach you with our claws."

Okay, that seemed like enough information. And this might work in their favor… the pirates might have the numerical advantage, but Bataxi were well known to rely on their speed and claws over firearms, which they weren't well-suited to wielding. Pidge also seemed to think this had gone on long enough; he glanced over with narrowed eyes. "Orders, sir?"

"We can share something with them, I think…" In a smooth motion he drew his pistol and aimed squarely at Klipce's face. "Ammunition, for example… if they don't mind it used." One of the males sprang at him—a hulking-by-Bataxi-standards one who was most clearly the leader's bodyguard. He pistol-whipped it across the face, knocking it aside, and re-sighted on Klipce as if nothing had happened. "Or blood, if they'd like?"

Sven and Pidge sprang immediately into action. Sven grabbed the one who'd laughed at his knife, whipping him around and pressing the blade to his scaley throat before even the swift Bataxi could react. Pidge loosed a couple of specialized throwing stars at one near him, which had stepped a bit too close to the wall; the stars caught its armor straps and buried deep in the stone, pinning it in place.

Cam drew on another, smirking. "Who actually cornered who here?" Even Vince, after briefly musing that he needed to learn to spark on command, remembered he had a gun and pointed it. The Bataxi didn't have to know how little confidence he had in actually firing.

Stepping back with a surprised hiss, Klipce narrowed her eyes. "Clever monkeys."

"Don't you know, monkeys _are_ smart," Cam agreed. "Sad how the universe thinks otherwise."

"Who are you even calling a monkey?" Pidge added, flipping his shard knife between his hands.

Vince looked at him and frowned slightly, muttering just loud enough for the ninja to hear. "I like monkeys."

"They're fine, mechka." It really hadn't been the point. Baltans were descended directly from felines, was all, and he preferred accuracy in his alien terms of contempt.

Speaking of alien terms of contempt, Vince couldn't even grumble about mechka right then… it sure seemed better than _fleshling_.

Klipce was not impressed with their protests. "My brothers are not afraid to die."

"But are you?" Flynn asked mildly, keeping his aim squarely on her forehead. The ambushers could win this fight, if they were willing to incur heavy losses. But somehow he doubted their leader wanted to die for plunder she couldn't spend… and was vindicated when she signaled for the others to stand down. "We did have business here, you're right… you're the ones who decided it was with you. But we _are_ reasonable, also." Smirk. "Tell us what we want to know… and leave unharmed."

"…Information?" She visibly relaxed. "Who comes to Ixapre for information? Clumsy fleshling police, is that what we have here?"

"You know, I'm tired of being insulted." Flynn stepped forward and dropped his gun against her teeth. "Maybe we should talk to one of your _brothers_."

"Oh, ouch, that's a serious burn," Cam whispered; he knew the Bataxi were a strictly matriarchal society. Pidge and even Vince snorted.

Klipce hissed, though she'd taken the point. "Perhaps I should speak with one of _your_ comrades, if you have nothing but threats."

"You've been earning the threats, to be fair." Flynn glanced over at Sven, who still literally had a knife to one of the enforcers' throats, and shrugged. "But fine, he can take over."

"Gladly." Sven gave his scariest grin—which seemed to frighten Vince more than anyone else in the room—and pressed his knife a little closer to his hostage's throat.

Klipce was now _clearly_ annoyed, and hopefully off balance. "Very well! What information do the fleshlings demand?"

Sven smiled. They'd planned their story out ahead of time; it really hadn't taken much thought to realize they shouldn't come into a place like _this_ pretending to be bounty hunters. "To make a long story short, we're attempting to reach certain artifacts from a lost world, before a…" He shifted a little. "…competitor of ours does. And we know some of those artifacts have passed through this exchange. So we were hoping you'd be kind enough to give us any information you've heard of such artifacts."

The Bataxi had been surly and indignant; now she looked genuinely stunned. "You're trying to use the Scavenger's Exchange to acquire information for use in a… professional rivalry? You surely know how improper that is?"

"You're literally here because you were trying to steal from us," Pidge said flatly, and she immediately looked indignant again.

"We like to take advantage of all opportunities," Sven added smoothly. "Even if they are… slightly immoral."

Klipce made an odd grumbling noise. "We are hunters of profits, not explorers. Remarkable that you think _anyone_ here can help you with supply lines, least of all us."

What she didn't seem to be considering, of course, was that that was information in its own right. The kind of information they'd been looking for, in fact. It was the rumors undoubtedly circulating this outpost, not details on the Altean relic itself, they'd been hoping to gain by this ploy.

Sven grinned and re-angled his knife a little. "Yes, quite remarkable. So what I'm hearing is: you attacked us, completely unprovoked, meaning to steal from us. And when we've offered you the courtesy of not just outright killing you, in exchange for information, all you have is a long-winded version of 'sorry, we don't know'?"

The others stared at him for a moment, and Flynn couldn't help wondering if letting the Viking room with Jace had been such a good idea after all. The medic seemed to be _wildly_ contagious.

"I gave you the courtesy of _honesty_, fleshling. How easily I could simply make something up, when you clearly have no idea what you're looking for. Everyone knows this is only a distribution center—everyone except for _you_."

"I doubt that," Cam snorted; the Bataxi with Sven's knife at his throat growled slightly at him.

"She speaks truth. Is Exchange…"

"I believe her," Sven said calmly. "If you don't have the information we're looking for, that's fine. We _are_ reasonable… generally. Mostly. Sometimes. But we still need something in exchange for your group's _appalling_ behavior. You could give us the name of someone who would know, or at least point us in the direction of information."

The male growled something; Klipce hissed at him. "Silence, brother. The fleshling is too eager with that blade." She turned her attention back to Sven, sparing a glance at Flynn as well. "Ask the local cargo pilots, then. They will all tell you the same. Goods come in from all corners of the Spur, and leave to all corners, but the profits go always to Sapzon."

"Really? That's interesting." Sven knew of Sapzon. It was an Alliance planet, a border world in the Rimward Corridor… nowhere remotely near Ixapre. It was the kind of answer that was so nonsensical as to be credible; if she were making it up she'd pick something that made more sense. Turning his to Flynn, he gave a short nod to indicate his thoughts. "Would you say that's good enough to let them go?"

"It's not very much." The chief was still aiming steadily at Klipce—it seemed like his arms should be getting tired by now, given the sidearm he was carrying, but Sven was no expert. "But if it's the best they can do, we'll take it."

"See? I told you we're reasonable." Sven pulled his knife away and shoved his former hostage forward.

The Bataxi leader still seemed annoyed. Understandable, probably. "You didn't even need to play this game for that open secret, but take it. We know nothing else… that isn't our operation."

"Fair enough." Flynn didn't lower his weapon. "Get out of here, then."

Issuing several orders to her enforcers in their harsh native tongue, Klipce turned back to Flynn and scoffed. "May all your transactions be cursed and your profits be lost, fleshlings." She turned and stalked out with her enforcers tailing just behind.

Once they were out of sight, Flynn finally lowered his gun and exhaled slowly. "And here I thought normal Bataxi were disconcerting."

"That was creepy," Cam agreed.

"I enjoyed that much more than our usual encounters with them," Sven declared with a grin.

Vince eyed him. "You're getting scarier."

"I'm impressed," Pidge said at the same moment, which his roommate felt absolutely proved his point.

Not quite certain how to respond to a compliment—especially that compliment—from the ninja, Sven opted to just address Vince. "Surprisingly, I'm not opposed to that." It seemed useful, anyway.

Flynn smirked. "Jace is going to be so proud."

"We don't have to…" Sven stopped halfway through that, making a face. It wasn't worth it.

Laughing, Flynn nodded and turned to the mouth of the alcove. And then he frowned slightly. He had a bad feeling… "Let's go. Pidge, take the lead, would you?"

"Yessir." Nobody really had to ask why he'd said that; not one of them had actually put their weapons away yet. And sure enough, the second Pidge stepped out of the alcove, one of the Bataxi sprang at him with claws extended.

Sidestepping, he gave a deep slash to the attacker's side and slammed him to the floor with a mildly derisive look.

"Can't say I'm shocked," Sven commented lightly, stabbing at a second.

"Not a bit." Flynn shot one as it took a leap at him, reducing its shoulder to a spray of silvery blood. Cam took a shot at another one, cursing, just missing but convincing his target it wanted no part of the fight.

None of them wanted any part of it, really. As the Bataxi pirates realized their targets were fighting back, they turned and ran for it.

Nobody else in the tunnels even paused to look at them as the pirates fled the scene.

"…I'm so disappointed in them," Sven said as he wiped his knife clean. "I felt like we had a _connection_. And even if we didn't, they could have executed a much better ambush."

"Even I didn't think to run for it," Vince agreed. He hadn't thought to shoot, either, but he hadn't run for it.

Shaking his head, Flynn holstered his pistol and looked at the glittery blood trails. "Maybe there's a reason we don't see Bataxi pirates more often. Come on… let's go find some cargo pilots. May as well ask around to be sure."

It did seem like a good idea… with answering nods, they headed out.

So much for lunch.

* * *

Lance, in his best leather—so, pants that matched the jacket, basically—was leading the other half of the 686 to the Exchange's administrative sector. They were not playing innocent at all. They were _pirates_, and they were on a mission.

It would hopefully involve less gunfire than their counterparts, but who knew.

The ceilings in this part of the outpost were high, almost uncomfortably so. It felt like they were in a cave when they were actually just walking down a hallway. But the place was well marked, at least. "I think it's up this way."

"You think?" Jace snorted, eyeing the sign they'd just passed. **Acquisitions Administration**, it said. They'd been directed here after a few charming winks and a couple of minor bribes, in search of someone named Pirev: the "primary procurement and distribution manager".

The longer the title, the less legitimate the job. Probably.

"It's pretty spacious down here."

"Kinda nice." Hunk grinned. "Don't hafta run people over."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "You were running people over?"

"Nah, cuz they get outta the way." Even Daniel looked at him and snorted.

"Like you wouldn't roll them over and yell 'vroom' if you had to," Jace retorted, and the big man grinned.

"Got that right!"

"Alright, alright." Lance had to fight down the laughter; they were getting close now. "Everyone knows the cover story, right?"

"We're looking for a criminal who's searching for Altea and it's definitely _not_ because we're bounty hunters," Jace recited.

Daniel nodded, answering at the same time. "We're pirates, looking for the criminal the bounty hunter versions of us are hunting." He gave his best, fiercest smirk. "I'll make an awesome pirate."

Nodding, Lance looked over at Hunk, who was looking a little pouty. He'd tried to wear a paper pirate hat, but Flynn had confiscated it before they'd left the ship. He'd also tried to bring Cam's flamingo on his shoulder, but Daniel had threatened to chuck it into the engines. He didn't feel very pirate-y, and thus wasn't quite giving off the air of menace the team might have preferred. "Big guy, can you look more… like your size?"

Hunk blinked. "Uh… ooga booga!" He waved his arms wildly, and Jace facepalmed.

"Dude, they don't know you go vroom… I mean Jace's face will make up for a lot."

"Yeah, man. Giant donut dude brings the size, I bring the gravitas."

"Is that treatable?" Hunk asked innocently, drawing a groan, then he straightened and crossed his arms while plastering on his surliest expression. "You mean like this?"

"Ah! Better, better. Let's fucking do this." Setting his sights on the door ahead, Lance stalked forward into… another hallway. Well, that had been a little anticlimactic.

"Yes sir," Daniel smirked, drawing a disbelieving look.

"Did you just call me _sir_ when we're _pirates?"_

"Figured I never do it when I'm a cadet, pirates should be the opposite, right?"

"Arrr, matey!" Hunk chimed in, getting an elbow from their medic. He was pretty used to that, really.

Shaking his head, Lance looked around where they'd ended up: a short hallway ending in a trio of doors. The one on the right was labeled **Procurement and Distribution**. "Okay, here we go." Lance walked to that one, pushed it open, and damn near drew his guns.

_What the fuck?!_

A _snake man_ was standing there.

It wasn't Bokar. As his initial reflex wore off he could see that; never mind Bokar being twenty feet tall and—as of their stop on Khoru—dismembered and crispy, this one had different markings. He was positive the eyes he'd had to _shoot at_ hadn't been framed in the red scales this one had. Would've made things so much easier.

"Who are you?" The Najari didn't seem a whole lot happier to see them, raising a stun baton and stepping forward. "What busssinesssss do you have here?"

Lance managed to keep most of his shock from his expression, and eyed the baton without flinching. Daniel gave a big grin. On one side of them, Hunk put on his best scary face; on the other side Jace was just wearing his normal face. "We're looking for some information."

It wasn't much of an answer, and the snake wasn't impressed. "And what, or who, are you sssseeking?"

"Pirev. We have some questions regarding a criminal and an artifact."

Knowing the name seemed to give them a little credibility, though the guard still wasn't convinced. "She issss very bussssy. Do you have an appointment?"

_Seriously?_ He put a hand on one of his guns. "Do I look like I need a fucking appointment?"

The guard jabbed his chest with the non-business end of the baton. "Yesssss."

"Naaah, I don't think so," Hunk countered in his most threatening tone; Lance looked between them and smirked.

Looking up at Hunk, the guard gave a slightly contemptuous hiss. "You do not sssseem prone to thinking."

Hunk didn't even flinch at that; his Big Dumb Hunk persona hadn't come out of nowhere. Jace, though, glared daggers. Nobody _else_ got to call giant donut dumbass a dumbass and get away with it. "You watch your mouth, scales-for-brains."

Before things could get really ugly, a door opened behind the guard and admitted a second Najari. This one was female; Lance could tell by her black and silver scales. More to the point, he could tell because after the Bokar incident, Daniel had gone and read the _entire_ diplomatic entry on the Najari and given a full report on what he'd learned. Just to annoy him. If he'd known it would be useful someday he might not have done it.

"What's all this commotion?"

Lance gave his most winning smile. "Pirev?"

She looked back at him, impassive. "Earthling?"

"We need to have a chat with you about a criminal?"

"Thesssssse onesss think they do not need an appointment to sssspeak with you," the guard interrupted grumpily.

"At least we can think," Daniel snorted.

"I have yet to ssssee proof."

"That's enough, Ammab." Pirev looked between them, red eyes sparking with skeptical curiosity. "I will listen to them." She spoke without the hissing accent of the guard; in fact her s-sounds were noticeably shortened. Clearly it was a practiced skill.

"Yeah, Ammab." Lance looked pointedly at the baton still jabbed into his chest. It didn't budge. Well, maybe soon.

Pirev didn't seem inclined to tell him to knock it off, either. "One is best not to ask after criminals in this outpost, Earthlings. Not least because the category is rather broad. Explain, perhaps in more detail."

He could do that. Sort of. "This one has a jones for all things Altean?"

"This guy," Daniel added helpfully, pulling out his wanted poster. "See? He's so good even the Alliance is after him."

The Najari seemed deeply amused. "You surely have not come _here_ in hopes of having a fugitive turned over to you."

"Of fucking course not."

"Are you fucking joking?"

"Do we look like authorities to you?"

There was little arguing with that point, and finally she nodded. "Ammab, stand down. Earthlings, come to my office." She headed back in the door she'd come out of as her guard gave an irritated hiss.

Lance pushed past Ammab with an equally irritated glare, and Daniel couldn't help the smirk. "I don't think he likes you."

"Likewisssse," the snake man grumbled, returning to his station by the door.

"Bokar was prettier," the kid murmured sadly, just loud enough for Lance to hear.

"Dude, don't even."

Pirev's office had several very large, heavily padded chairs; they seemed designed to accommodate as many different races as possible, with the heavy padding easily contouring as they sat. Daniel grinned as he sank into one. "These chairs rock."

The Najari sat in her own chair, in a cross-legged pose that couldn't possibly have been comfortable for nearly any other humanoid, and studied them contemplatively as they got settled. "You are new here," she finally observed, her tongue darting out a few times.

"I am," Lance agreed with a wink. She actually was quite pretty, as snakes went, though _anything_ would be better than that Bokar.

"The Scavenger's Exchange is a marketplace, and I am an officer of logistics. It complicates my job and our profits if I ask too many questions of our patrons, you understand." He nodded, and she continued. "It is not within our interests to take sides in the squabbles between criminals; we must be a trusted arbiter. To go against that, I would require a convincing argument…" Her tongue flicked out again. "Or a convincing price. What is your business with this criminal you seek?"

Here went nothing. "From what we've heard, this guy's found some good Altean bits and bobs. Quality stuff. Hefty prizes. I want to figure out where they're coming from, and get my hands on the next ones before he does."

"Altean…" She was quiet for a few moments, and her eyes darted over the monitor on her desk before she nodded. "I can count on the scales of one hand how many such relics have come through this place in my tenure."

"You see why I'm so interested, then."

"Indeed. I wonder why you think this would be the place to look."

_I'll bet_. "I've heard great things about you, Pirev." He rolled the R dramatically, then snatched the poster and waved it; Daniel glared for a moment. Why were people always snatching his stuff? "Our guy here stole the Altean relic you, or someone else here, sold to Zandrek… and now you say you've seen other Altean relics as well. Where else would I go?"

Flattery didn't quite seem to do the trick. "I specialize in procurement and distribution, not recording. Nonetheless…" Her expression became a bit predatory. "There are many paths to profit in the galaxy. What is beating this thief to these relics worth to you?"

_Okay now that's kind of hot_. Meeting her gaze, Lance leaned forward and cracked a small smirk. "I plan to be a legend." Fortunately, he had her full attention, because Daniel couldn't suppress rolling his eyes at that; Jace and Hunk exchanged bemused looks before getting their scary pirate faces back on.

Pirev gave an amused hiss. "Legends are fleeting. But those willing to expend the costs can find that status… we do have a keeper of records. They could tell you the source of every Altean artifact to ever cross through our markets."

"I'm not averse to doing what's necessary," Lance answered calmly. They were getting somewhere. _Ask for something simple, just ask for something simple…_ for a long moment she just stared at him, and he held her gaze. He wouldn't be the one to back down here.

"…Such information is critical to our operation, Earthling, and it is very well-protected. Make me an offer."

_Well, fuck_. Looking back at the others, he briefly considered offering Jace, but then decided against it. _Who'd want him?_ Maybe it was better to just throw the question back… "Legends have more to offer than mere pirates," he pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

"That is true." She made a noise that was somewhat akin to a laugh. "And if I were interested in betting on legends, I'd have become one myself…" Reaching for a small figurine on her desk, she flicked it open and revealed a keypad beneath. The team tensed slightly, but she simply typed in a code; there was a hydraulic hiss as the room's vents sealed themselves, and a low crackle of white noise filled the room.

"…Security seal," Hunk commented, exhaling. "Neat trick." He'd had to put something similar together in an Academy class once, though his had involved more explosions and classic rock.

"Cool?" Daniel shifted in his chair and shrugged. As long as it hadn't murdered them he was fine with it.

"Security is paramount here." She bared long, thin fangs. "We may speak freely now."

"Perfect." Lance gave another winning smile. "Who says you aren't a legend? The stories I've heard are impressive." Did anyone tell stories about her? Seemed like they ought to. It hadn't taken _that_ much effort to get her name.

She snorted. "I am intrigued by your boldness, Earthlings… and by your _utter_ lack of guile. I'm willing to make a bet on you. But if you are burned as so many other would-be legends before you, I am unwilling to be caught in the blast. You will pay me well if you want this information, and you will do exactly as I tell you to… or my agents will see you exterminated."

Oh. Well _that_ wasn't concerning at all. Lance kept his bravado up, smirking in response to the threat. _Just play it cool_. "Alright, tell me your requests and we'll consider them."

"Twenty thousand alcreds, as… a down payment, shall we say." She leaned back in her chair, tapping her clawed fingers on the desk. "That will give you the name of a contact, one of those who protects our records. You will go to her, you will give her the coded message I give you. _One_ of you will be permitted access to the record keeper. At the first sign of duplicity, that one will die."

That was… one _hell_ of a starting offer. Lance's mind raced. They weren't actually planning any duplicity—this time—but those still didn't seem like the sort of terms a sane person would agree to. Of course, there were only so many sane people in this operation, and they did have the invisible ninja trump card to play…

Finally he decided to start at the easiest part and work from there. The 686 still only had so much of a bribe budget, too. "Two thousand alcreds."

"And why would I agree to that?" Her eyes narrowed. "If you find what you're looking for, that down payment will be well worth your while, don't you agree?"

_You have no idea_. He smiled slyly. "Because we'll also give you twelve percent of what we earn off any Altean artifacts we find."

Pirev's scales tensed. He wasn't sure how else to describe it; they rippled and seemed to stand slightly on edge, casting shadows along the silver mottling that covered her body. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Glancing to the side, Lance saw Jace's hand going to his sidearm, and Hunk tensing himself. Okay, at least he wasn't the only one worried.

"You are either very confident," the Najari finally murmured, "or you think I am very naive."

"I doubt you're naive." Lance winked. Jace was giving him a doubtful look that he resolutely ignored. _I've got this. …Right?_

Daniel wasn't doubtful at all. Charm was Lance's thing! They'd be fine. And if they weren't, he could at least snark about Lance's charm needing more training before they all died. It would be a good way to go.

Nobody was dying yet, at least. "I don't need the paltry bribe I first demanded, Earthling. That was to ensure _your_ honesty. Your offer is very attractive, but it still requires trust I am unprepared to give."

_Hmm_. That did make sense, he supposed… inconvenient as it was. "And what can be done to gain trust?"

"Value must be exchanged for value. This is the basic rule of both commerce and trust, wouldn't you agree?"

That probably wasn't how he'd have put it. "Of course."

Now she definitely looked predatory. "Two thousand as the initial payment, fifteen percent of your profits… and a tracking beacon on your ship. To ensure you are what you claim to be."

"Que fucking porra."

Lance turned to glare at Jace; Hunk and Daniel clearly had thoughts along similar lines, but both managed to keep quiet. So did Lance himself, come to that. _Flynn would kill me before Keith even got the chance…_ maybe he could sweeten the deal enough to be worth the risk upfront. "Five thousand, no tracker, and twenty percent."

"An insult?" Or not. "I will do you the favor of pretending I didn't hear that."

Jace was not impressed with Lance's negotiating skills. To be fair, he wasn't unimpressed either—they didn't have a whole lot of leverage here, what he was offering was at least making sense. But they needed something _more_. The relic from Zandrek was right out, and unlike their first mission, they hadn't been collecting a whole lot of…

…Wait. Their first mission…?

_Snake-chick would probably love the fucking garden of murder._ But even as he was sorely tempted to blurt it out, something he couldn't explain stopped him. Turning over the temple, even with all its fuckery, to looters and scavengers just felt _wrong_. But then a second thought came on the heels of the first. Something that had pissed him off almost as much, and something much less significant to, well, anywhere.

He leaned over to their pilot and whispered, "Think they trade in giant monster parts here?"

Lance's eyes widened. Even though he hadn't seen the thing himself, it only took a moment to grasp what he was getting at. And it might be just what they needed… "Do you like mysteries and monsters, Pirev?" He rolled the R again; Daniel rolled his eyes again.

The Najari gave a low, curious hiss. "We trade in mysteries… and even monsters, at times. Do you have a better offer?"

Nodding, Lance leaned forward. "We've found some interesting things in our travels. A long way away, on a planet near Earth, we found the graveyard of a very large, very unknown beast." That got him two highly intrigued looks—one from Pirev, and one from Daniel, who was immediately irritated at the realization of _another_ fun first mission story he must have missed.

"You know the location of this beast?" She still sounded skeptical. "Yet you haven't scavenged it yourselves…"

"I prefer living creatures and shiny things."

"Besides, the thing's gotta be like a mile long." Hunk had figured out what was going on too. "Ain't exactly our operational specialty. You get that, yeah?"

"Yes, I do… and how do I know this tale is real?"

Jace grinned slightly, pulling out his datapad. This was the easy part. "Because we've got pictures." Bringing up several of the shots they'd taken back on Kithran, he handed it over to the Najari and waited.

Daniel craned his neck to see the pictures as they passed by. He only had time for a glimpse, but that was enough. _Holy shit…_ seeing his wide-eyed expression, Lance gave him a quick kick in the shins. _Ow…!_

Leaning forward, Pirev hissed softly, red eyes becoming very wide. There was no way the Earthlings could have fabricated this so quickly…

"This is appealing to you?"

"I am… extremely interested."

Smirk. "Twenty percent, no tracker, and the location of the beast as a down payment."

She barely even hesitated. "Yes. I will accept that trade."

"Beautiful." He looked back at Jace, who nodded, burning a data chip with the pictures and the location of the red desert on Kithran; the medic gave the chip to him, and he looked at the Najari expectantly. "Our information?"

"Of course." She was already typing. "Standard Alliance data format, I presume… our record-keeper, too, is on a distant world. Too many in this region of space sought to acquire our information the hard way." She fixed Lance with a deadly look; that was _definitely_ hot. "Protect this information well, Earthlings. His security has not been breached in a decade. I'm sure you understand how it could… inconvenience you, should that change in the near future."

"It's safe with us," Lance assured her.

"Very well." She handed over two data chips; one in the Alliance's primary format, one seemingly etched onto a Najari scale. "Present the scale-chip to the contact that information leads you to. Without it, she will lead you nowhere. And Earthlings…" She gave a mildly unpleasant smile. "I wish you luck in your hunt. For our mutual profit."

"Thanks!" Daniel said brightly, winking; she wasn't near as hot as Bokar, but she _was_ hot.

Lance snorted, handing over the chip with the Kithran data and accepting the two she offered. "And luck to you, Pirev."

But the Najari was not _quite_ done twisting the knife. "Ammab will escort you back to your ship… to ensure you reach it safely. This outpost _can_ be quite dangerous, and the information you hold is delicate. You understand."

_Well, fuck_. "Of course."

"…That's the kind of stunt I'd be so proud of the Viking for pulling," Jace muttered under his breath. He shrugged and tossed her a salute; he knew when they were beat.

Hunk gave a huge grin that wasn't remotely scary-looking. "Sure, we'll keep 'im safe." Daniel snerked.

Even Pirev seemed a bit amused by that. "Tell him you are favored clients. He will show you more politeness."

Oh, now that did sound fun. Lance couldn't help the huge smirk as they walked out of the office. "Oh, Ammab? You're to escort us back to our ship. We happen to be _favored clients_ now."

"…Of coursssse you are," he muttered with resignation.

"The Drule mob boss was easier," Lance whispered to Daniel as they headed back into the corridors.

"Yeah. Your charming skills might need some more training."

Glare. "Are you dead? You look very alive."

"And it takes some fucking effort to keep you there," Jace agreed, "maybe don't tempt hellbent for leather here to shoot you."

Following behind the bickering Earthlings, stun baton at the ready, Ammab silently wondered if his boss hated him.

* * *

Prince Avok walked through the quiet hallways of Castle Pollux, enjoying a brief moment of normality. Where he was heading would not be enjoyable. But for now, he smiled and acknowledged the servants as they passed by, helping a pair lugging a large desk into a study, and generally forgetting about Drules for a few precious minutes.

It wasn't Drules that were about to ruin his mood, either. Which was novel, anymore.

The best-kept secret of Castle Pollux was no locked tower or hidden catacomb. It was a simple door shrouded behind a beautifully woven tapestry of the Arus system, a silent reminder of beloved things lost. And behind that tapestry lay the quarters of the Dead Queen.

She wasn't dead.

Queen Ansala the Second was the rightful ruler of Pollux, but she was in no shape to hold the throne these days. It had fallen to her devoted king-consort, and perhaps not to the planet's benefit… Avok remembered his mother. Remembered her playing catch with him in the gardens, teaching Romelle her letters and numbers, walking with their father in the far-flung villages to gauge the mood of the people. His memories were probably a bit idealized, but how could they not be?

It was the birth of her third child that had changed everything. There had been complications; Bandor had been born on the very edge of death. The royal doctors had saved him. But not before the Queen had seen his still, shriveled body, and plunged into a psychosis from which she'd never recovered.

Avok remembered that too. The screams. The panic. Shielding Romelle from the worst of it while their father raged and the servants wept. None of it had done any good. And now?

Speaking of the Queen, as she currently survived, in their father's presence was forbidden… though he did often speak fondly, even achingly, of her memory. As far as King Kova was concerned, Queen Ansala had tragically passed in childbirth. And he was left an embittered shell of a man, scorning the good of fragile individuals as a distant afterthought to the survival of Pollux.

It was ironic, considering…

"Avok! Avok, I'm sorry I'm late, Lady Aldrys made me stay until I could tell her the whole Drule pantheon…"

"Of course she did," he snorted as his brother came running up the hallway. Just one more insult. What was the point in preserving Pollux if they were expected to even worship the Drule gods? There wasn't going to be a Pollux left for long, one way or another… he shook it off. "It's alright, your studies have to come first. Come on, let's—wait." Frown. "You know you can't bring that _thing_ with you."

Bandor looked up at him, then at the little ball of fluffy feathers and glossy scales curled on his shoulder. "That _thing_ has a name," he protested. "It's Dóro, and he's coming with me. Maybe she'll like him!"

"Or maybe she'll think he's a devil and have one of her fits," Avok muttered, "the same as she thinks about _every single living creature_ who walks through those doors except us and Lady Zeralle."

"Dóro won't be walking," his brother answered stubbornly, as if that were the point at all. "If she doesn't like him I'll tell him to go, he can fly a little now and everything."

"Oh, fine." It wasn't even that Avok _disliked_ his brother's pet. He wasn't fond of its origins, to be sure, but Bandor doted on the little calcatrix and seemed to be learning some responsibility from it. "But the moment it seems to upset her, it goes."

"Promise." Then he turned to the creature with a stern expression. "Hear him, Dóro? Don't upset her!" The calcatrix looked back at him, gave a quizzical shake of its tiny wings, and sneezed.

Shaking his head, Avok pushed the door open. The rooms beyond were cold and dusty, with black sheets hanging from furniture and walls. Ansala herself had done that. And she emerged from a side door almost the moment they entered… a corpse-like creature with marble-white skin and gray cheek markings, both drained of color and life by her years of isolation.

"Mother!"

Bandor had no memory of their mother before the madness. Sometimes Avok wondered if that made it easier for him. He scurried forward now and took her hands, drawing a rare smile from the woman who thought he was a ghost. "Bandor." She looked up past him. "Avok. I am so happy to see you safe again from the devils…"

"I'm sorry it's been so long." He bowed his head before stepping forward and patting her cheek. "Are you well?" Of course she wasn't. But she didn't _know_ she wasn't.

"Well enough. You needn't apologize." She reached up and touched his cheek in return. "I know the dead are very busy. But please, stay with me for a time."

"Of course." He stepped back and sat in one of the black-sheeted chairs. Marked for the exclusive use of her children, all of whom she was convinced were dead… so as not to leave any traces for the 'devils' to follow. Sitting in an uncovered chair would cause one of her fits; she couldn't abide the ghosts of her children putting themselves at risk.

When you knew to work around her many triggers, she could still be quite pleasant. Sometimes that made it worse.

"Bandor," she said with a small smile, "have you acquired an angel?"

"Huh? He's, uh—" A sharp look from Avok made Bandor reconsider whatever he'd been starting to say, and he grinned sadly as he sat on another covered chair. "Yeah. He's an angel, a kind of protector angel. His name's Dóro, do you like him?"

"I'm happy to hear he's protecting you."

When their mother looked away for a moment, Bandor shot Avok his best _told-you-so_ look; his brother shrugged. Her not being set off by the calcatrix was definitely a _good_ thing.

"But speaking of protectors… Romelle has not come to me in a very long time," she murmured, looking at them with pleading eyes. "Tell me the devils haven't taken her."

…Oh.

_But they have_. Avok could hardly bring himself to speak that truth, so he went for the next closest thing. "No, Mother. It's alright. Romelle is away on an important mission, to protect us from the devils. But she'll be able to visit again in time."

He hoped he wasn't lying.

* * *

As far as anyone else in the shelter knew, it was just a trip to the surface so Tanner could see the sun. It was a partial truth; they would be on the surface, and he would see the sun. They would just be going a bit further than anyone would know. He was also going with the knowledge there was a strong chance he would be returning to be by his father's side.

Nanny had busied herself with the welfare of everyone else within the shelter. Larmina was tasked with overseeing things again; she and Nanny were already butting heads about things, which felt strangely normal. Coran made sure a different group of guards would travel with them than last time, per Allura's request; most of them this time were part of Sherion's group. Tanner had a chuckle with the small sparkflint device they were bringing. It was carved into the shape of a salamander, and though clearly carefully crafted, he couldn't help but find it comical with its beady eyes and goofy wide-open mouth.

"Do you want me to light an Uma leaf, Tanner?" Allura asked as they were just about to move. The plants were rare, evolved beside the fireblossom cacti of the Arusian deserts; exposed to flame they would create an intense heat reaction, rather than burning and being consumed. They were much more efficient than conventional heating packs, and one of few things that could bring relief in the final stages of the cave-mold.

"Just a small one please," he replied quietly as he handed the sparkflint to his sister.

Picking off a small piece of the plant they were bringing, she placed it in front of the nose of the sparkflint device. Giving it a good squeeze a few times caused small reddish sparks to fly from the salamander's mouth. As a few caught onto the plant, a slight sizzling sound came from it, the fire seemingly being wicked away into the veins of the leaf. Allura then wrapped the plant with a special cloth made to handle the Uma plant's unique reaction. Once she could feel the heating effects, she handed it to her brother, who tucked it within the blankets.

"Sis…" Tanner's voice was soft and slightly hoarse as they began. This seemed like more than was needed for just a trip to the surface. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to see someone… someone I know you would love to see once more," she said with a soft chuckle. "Why don't you rest right now? Save your energy for when we get closer." He nodded, intrigued by the promise of a surprise, and clutched his blankets as they started out.

Most of the trip was quiet. While they were above ground, Tanner smiled widest as he played with a leaf that fell into the small sled they were carrying him in. Allura tried to keep a strong and hopeful face, but she could sense time passing far too quickly for him. She was worried they would not reach the place in time…

Coran took the lead, noting the lack of movement around them. It would seem the Drules weren't scouting as much anymore, but he was not going lower his defenses. Allura was only happy to know they were able to reach the side access with little trouble.

"Is this where I think we are?" Tanner asked with a slight cough.

Allura nodded as she tapped into the hidden control panel. "Coran… I'll need your help to bring Tanner with me."

Coran looked at her briefly as he finished directing the guards to keep watch on the tunnel entrance. He had assumed he would stay by the tunnel doorway like the last time, and he knew she didn't really _need_ his help for this when she'd handled Alfor's body alone. Her wanting him to join her, then, was a matter of trust. "Of course, my princess," he replied with a knowing smile.

They carefully carried the prince up the stairs by the edge of the tunnel, and he coughed a bit more as they grew close, asking more than once if they were there yet. The excitement in his tone was clear. Coran was curious as to what precisely they might be approaching, and was surprised by the sight of machinery at the end of the rail tracks. His focus on the computers there was broken by Tanner, calling for him to fully enter. As his eyes moved from the computers by the walls to the main cavern, all of his thoughts seemed to flee his mind… replaced by pure awe at the massive robotic lion that lay within the den.

"Hello, Lion of Storms. Please say you can speak today?" Allura called out softly.

"Hello Black…" Tanner squeaked between coughs.

The Lion's eyes lit up bright, and a rumble came from deep within him. "Just barely, royal cubs. Why have you come here?"

Allura placed Tanner by the great Lion's jaw, looking up at the golden eyes with worry. "Tanner… I hoped you would be able to speak to him. I felt he should see you… one more…"

"Ah… I see now." Black didn't force her to finish her words.

Tanner's ashen face was suddenly glowing with joy. "I can… your voice! Sis, he's _speaking!_ It's incredible!"

Another rumble came from the lion, a purr that might even have been a sad chuckle. "Thank you, tiny cub. My time is short before I must rest, but may I tell you some things?"

"Yes, please, Black. Tell me anything!" the young prince squealed between coughs.

Allura could feel the soft rumble of Black's voice, but the words seemed to fade as the great Lion's focus fell fully upon her brother. Nodding sadly she separated herself from their conversation to focus on Coran, who was still gazing spellbound at the Lion's form. He could hear nothing from it, but he didn't really need to. "Behold… the family secret. The Lions are real," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Coran looked at her, only pulling his gaze away with some difficulty. "Lions… as in all five Lions of the tales?"

Allura nodded. "They have been sleeping for generations. Father found something at Zohar, something that managed to begin to wake them. But something still keeps them from fully waking up." She sighed, then raised her head as the light within the den flickered. They both turned, looking at Black's eyes, watching them fade into darkness.

"Was that…?"

Walking back to the Lion and placing a hand on his jaw, Allura sighed again. "I fear he has gone back to sleep." Turning her attention to Tanner, she knelt beside him and smiled sadly. "I hope you're not upset that the Lion of Storms has fallen asleep so swiftly. I know he is trying to wake."

The young prince didn't respond, or even move. He was just looking at Black with a wide smile across his face, his body seemingly relaxed. Allura touched his cheek cautiously, and shivered as the Golden Mark dimmed beneath her fingers. While his body was still warm, she could sense the truth. They had come just in time… everything else had been claimed by the illness.

Even knowing it was coming, to see the truth…

Allura collapsed to the ground by her brother, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall. Coran knelt down beside her, taking her by the shoulders and leaning her up against him.

"I heard him mention hearing the Great Lion's voice," he said softly, hoping to offer even just a sliver of reassurance. He could see the expression on Tanner's face, the dying peace so many Arusians had been denied. "You have given your brother the greatest gift one could ever imagine." The princess looked at him, nodding, before burying her face in his shoulder once more.

Looking up at the sleeping Lion, Coran couldn't help but feel as if the world were shifting madly around him. The loss of Arus, of the King and the Prince, and now the revelation of the Lions combined into a certainty. _Whatever it takes to wake the Great Lions again, whatever is required of me to aid this mission… I shall see it done. I swear it._

For now, there was only Allura to worry about, his greatest priority from this moment on. Nodding sadly, he held her for as long as she needed.


	34. Mistakes Were Made

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 33_  
Mistakes Were Made

* * *

Keith was last into the briefing room, after setting up the passive perimeter sensors as a precaution. He was pretty sure he'd have heard about it if anyone had seen Galra here, but it didn't mean they _weren't_ out there.

Besides, he didn't need to hear whatever bickering was undoubtedly going on as the team got situated…

Any conversation was silenced as he entered. "Alright. What did you all find out?"

"I make a fucking amazing pirate."

"There are Bataxi heretics."

"The snakes chill here."

"It was interesting."

…Maybe he would've preferred the bickering. Looking around blankly at his crew, he tried to figure out how to rephrase his question a little more helpfully, but Pidge did it for him. "Sir, I think he wants to know where we're going next?" He'd directed it at Flynn, who gave him a mildly irked look.

"Oh, we figured that one out," Lance said with a smirk. They'd already looked at Pirev's data. "We're looking for a planet called Sapzon."

"Snake lady drove a crazy-ass bargain for that one, too," Jace muttered.

"You mean I drove it down," Lance corrected with a snort, "and damn well. And we lived!"

Blinking, Flynn looked over at them and tilted his head. "You had to bargain for that?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't we?"

"Well," Cam shrugged, "we held ours at gunpoint for the same information."

"I didn't hold anyone at gunpoint," Sven objected.

"I was holding a gun, anyway," Vince muttered.

Lance gave them the same questioning look Flynn had given him. "I thought you guys were meant to be the nice ones?"

"We were!"

"We were very nice!"

"Until the Bataxi tried to steal all our stuff because we looked like dumb tourists."

"And even after they attacked us we were completely reasonable."

Keith looked between Flynn and Sven, one eyebrow slowly raising until it all but disappeared beneath his hair. "Sounds like you had an… adventure."

"We didn't violate any regs," Cam offered; it was about the best endorsement he could think of for what they'd done.

Pidge nodded his agreement. "We were even nice after we were finished with them. We let them live." That got him a look of sheer disbelief from Vince, and he shifted a little uneasily. "…What? We did, didn't we?"

"Letting them live was a given!"

"It was? Oh."

Vince gave what may have been the longest-suffering sigh of his life.

Looking at the others with a small frown, Daniel grumbled, "Why does it feel like they got to have way more fun than we did?" It didn't seem fair. He'd been in the group playing actual _pirates_.

"I had a fucking blast," Lance retorted immediately.

Shaking his head and pressing a palm to his forehead, Flynn broke up that discussion. "Anyway, they told us Sapzon being the administrative center for this place is an open secret. We went and asked the cargo pilots, they all said the same thing. Anything important goes there." He shot Lance a look. "Didn't even have to bribe anyone."

"…Well fuck." Their pilot sighed. "We bribed the snake. Of course we did. I mean, she is a fucking snake."

"Cute snake," Daniel commented.

"For a snake."

"Bokar was hotter."

Glare. "We _will_ have that discussion about your taste in men, kid."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Freaks," Jace muttered, then raised his voice and looked at their navigator. "Hey Viking, I think telling us all about Sapzon would be a great change of subject from how hot the _snakes_ were."

Sven agreed, personally. "Sapzon is… a very long way away. _Very_ long."

Nobody was listening. "He once said _I_ was hot, Lance," Cam snorted, "pretty sure he hit his head somewhere."

"There's no cure for that," Jace declared immediately, giving up on changing the subject. He exchanged looks with Lance as he spoke; the two of them did it _so_ much better.

"WOW." Daniel stared at his roommate, betrayed and indignant. "I never said you were hot! I said you were cute but not my type—and why are you still stuck on that?"

"How far, Lieutenant?" Pidge was not prepared to deal with this again.

"Yes," Keith agreed, his command tone shutting down the discussion. "How far, Sven?"

Giving them the actual numbers wasn't even the best way to get the point across. "It's in the Rimward Corridor, on the other side of the Fourth Kingdom Incursion Zone. A bit spinward of Dradin."

Vince gave a low whistle. "That's far."

"The Rimward fucking Corridor?"

"Jalekya sa kye."

"Welp."

Keith shook his head slowly; if only they'd known that a couple of _months_ ago. "Well… that's inconvenient. Why do they have it so far away?"

"Operational security?" Jace suggested with a snort; that was pretty much what Pirev had said, anyway. "Nothing anyone _here_ fucking understands."

"Guessing that means it's not our next stop?" Lance wondered just how quickly their friendly snake woman expected them to show up.

"It doesn't seem like the most efficient choice, from this far away." Keith looked to Sven. "What are our other options?"

Sven frowned slightly. He'd been making routes from Zandrek; he knew the options, but he could think of multiple ways to handle them. Before he could settle on one plan to offer, he was startled by Vince pushing his datapad forward, projecting a map.

"We have two places nearby, don't we?" He'd been trying to keep track—it seemed like the least he could do when he kept sparking and getting knocked out by mysterious relics and forgetting to shoot pirates that ambushed them. "Butterborg mentioned a crashed Altean ship, and the Glis mentioned a planet in a nebula. They're both in this area, right?" He tapped with his stylus, marking the two spots and looking at Sven for confirmation.

That someone else seemed to actually be interested in the mapping made the navigator smile broadly, and he nodded. Flynn eyed his wrenchling and cracked a small smile as well; between the two of them, Vince felt himself flushing with more than a little embarrassment.

"Those are way closer," Hunk noted, leaning forward a little. "More efficient, yeah?"

"Much more efficient. Now we just need to decide which is most beneficial to start with." Keith swept his gaze around the room, waiting for suggestions.

Lance shrugged. "Eenie meenie mo it?" Jace shot him a scornful look.

Pidge was focused on Vince's map. They were close to the edge of the Interior Expanse; the planet labeled 9-XRL, where the ship had supposedly crashed, was in a bit of the Outer Reaches bordered on three sides by three Drule kingdoms. Following the border of the Ninth Kingdom back into the Expanse led to the nebula planet. And following it beyond that… eventually you wound up back in the Outer Reaches. Eventually you wound up… he closed his eyes, a moment rushing back that he'd nearly forgotten in the chaos.

…_Shinori?_

"We should go to the ship first," he said quietly. "Because there's another place we might want to try."

All eyes fell on him, surprised and curious. "Where might that be, Pidge?"

Leaning forward, he tapped Vince's datapad, the distant star that essentially marked the Alliance's coreward border. "Balto." He hesitated a moment, knowing exactly the response he would get for this, but that was no reason to compound the error. "The Galra I fought on Zandrek recognized me as Shinori. Most _Alliance_ races don't even recognize a Shinori when they see one."

The stunned looks were, indeed, exactly what he'd expected. So was Jace's irritable scowl. "When the fuck were you gonna tell us _that?"_

"Seems fucking relevant," Lance agreed.

"I just did," he muttered. Then, a little defensively, "Mechka nearly getting killed by the relic seemed like a priority, vara sa tye?"

"Argh…" Vince was just as happy _not_ being reminded of that out loud.

Hunk reached over and squeezed his shoulder, then looked up at the map. "Ninja's got a point—and we wouldn't've gone that far out before now anyway, yeah?"

"I mean sure, but—"

"Everyone calm down," Keith ordered, looking to the map as well. They would certainly _not_ have gone there before Ixapre; it didn't seem worth arguing about. And it wasn't as if they were on a strict timetable to begin with. "He does have a point. If they'd be willing to share any information the Glis may have lost…"

"If they knew anything about the Galra wouldn't they have told High Command a long time ago?" Flynn asked. "We know there's a whole task force on them."

Pidge snorted. "My people are very far on the 'autonomous' side of the Selective Autonomy Doctrine—"

"—Just say they're fucking asshats."

"Lance…" Keith glared.

"What? Ninja appreciates honesty."

Sven shook his head. "Sometimes I forget that your charm is selective."

Their pilot winked. "Someday I might select you to work on it, Viking."

"I'd be honored." It was hard to tell if that was sarcasm or not, though the exasperated sigh was pretty unambiguous.

Pidge rolled his eyes. "The Lieutenant isn't wrong…" He looked between Lance and Sven. "…either of them."

"Still, they're your people," Keith said with a frown in Lance's direction. "Tact is necessary."

"Tact is illogical." He shrugged. "I _don't_ really think my people would withhold militarily relevant information about the Galra. But Altea? It's a possible connection, and it's not the slimmest of leads we've followed."

"I think, if there's any chance they can help us, we should try it." Flynn's voice was quiet but firm; he could see it in Pidge's expression. The ninja did not _want_ to go to Balto. Knowing what he knew about the situation, Flynn couldn't much blame him. And if he wasn't suggesting this lightly, they could at least take it seriously. "So the easiest path then would be what… up to 9-XRL, then down the border to the nebula planet and then Balto? And then we're basically on the edge of known space but at least everything's in the same direction?"

Sven nodded his agreement, though there was one glaring exception. "So long as we're going back to known space." That got him a few worried looks, but also a nod of understanding. It was a fair point.

"9-XRL is a treasure hunt," Lance said with a grin. "Sounds good to me."

"That sounds like the best plan, then," Keith decided. "Let's make it happen."

"Sir, yes sir!" Daniel barked with a mock salute; he had literally no part of accomplishing anything they'd just discussed, unless they happened to run into hostiles. Cam rolled his eyes.

"You are so weird sometimes, dude."

"I'm not even gonna bother with you right now, man…"

"There is one possible issue," Sven broke in, his eyes still on the map. "That region of space has a lot of Ninth Kingdom recon stations."

That _was_ a complication. "Can we avoid them?"

"Possibly, but only through luck. I don't have the exact locations." Their navigator's tone took on a distinct note of bitterness. "Intel doesn't either, or at least they won't disclose them."

That unfortunately rang true, given they were going to the Outer Reaches. Incredibly inconvenient, but true. Still, it shouldn't be too much of an issue. "We should be safe passing through given their treaty obligations, shouldn't we?"

"Technically."

"We're fucking supposed to be, doesn't mean it's _true_." The controlling treaty for this situation, the Deros Convention, granted the Alliance free movement through the outskirts of Ninth Kingdom space; it was designed to prevent the Ninth from cutting off supply lines. Without question it applied to recon outposts. Exactly how scrupulously they believed the Drules would follow it was a separate question.

"Intel's track record is what, a perfect zero?"

"They'd never make it on an Explorer Team."

Cam frowned, just slightly. "Well, treaty obligations aren't the same as questionable intel, right?" The Deros Convention was hardly some obscure bit of paperwork.

"He has a point," Sven agreed; Vince nodded too.

"I mean, it is a _treaty_."

"Yeah," Lance smirked, "but bitching about intel is more fun."

Though he didn't entirely disagree with that sentiment, Keith felt like he probably shouldn't let it go on too long. "Alright. We'll need to be careful when we breach out, but we move forward and hope for the best."

Sven narrowed his eyes. He really hated that phrase, especially with their track record. Next to him, Jace caught his eye and snorted. "Do we ever hope for the worst?"

"That'd really be us asking for it."

"I ask for wurst all the time," Hunk said brightly, "but this ain't a German deli." That got a couple of confused looks, several laughs, and one medic changing the subject.

"So what I'm hearing is we're gonna be stuck at our damn battle stations if we have any waypoints out here?" Sigh. "Sure, why not."

Lance eyed him. "You don't have a battle station, Doc."

"Unfortunately, yes I do."

"Since when?"

"Please don't get him started," Sven mumbled, to no avail. Jace shot their pilot his best death glare.

"It's to stay in my quarters and _not get hurt."_

Lance snorted.

"Are we finished, sir?" Pidge asked quietly. This seemed unlikely to be going anywhere at all productive.

"Yes."

"Thank goodness," Vince muttered.

"Thank god," Daniel agreed sarcastically, "some of us have things we have to _do_." Gunflowers and badass heroes and hot snake people wouldn't draw themselves.

Looking down at his clothes, Lance sighed. Leather pants were not the most practical spaceship attire. "Guess I have to de-pirate." Noting Flynn looking at him with amusement, he grinned. "I had fun."

The engineer laughed. "I bet you'll get another chance."

That _did_ seem like a pretty decent bet.

* * *

Dinner had been _interesting_, as ever. Hunk had made something called 'Cincinnati chili', which Jace had immediately declared _not at all chili_, and now they were apparently going to be having a chili cook-off sometime soon. Or at least Hunk was going to be having one. Jace had technically not yet agreed to participate.

Whatever it had been, Flynn had opted to go read up on the Deros Convention instead. Which hadn't told him much that he hadn't already known, but at least it made him feel a little better-prepared for whatever was to come.

Well, whatever was to come with the Drules, anyway. Not so much what was _actually_ awaiting him.

The bay was empty a few hours later when he arrived for his shift. That was… strange. Pidge should be on duty, and he rarely left the systems console. There was something else that didn't feel quite right in the bay, something he couldn't place, but he set it aside for the moment. "Pidge?"

Silence. That was more than a little worrisome.

"Pidge?" He flipped the comm switch to the younger engineers' room. "Vince, is Pidge with you?"

"No sir. He wasn't here when I came off my shift."

Which was precisely as it should be. Stranger yet. It wasn't as if he could have left the ship… but this _was_ Grumpy Ninja, so Flynn didn't consider the unease running down his spine to be all that unwarranted. Maybe the engine shafts? He should've heard Flynn calling to him there, but it wasn't as if he had any better ideas…

Turning to start checking the shafts, he abruptly realized what was wrong with the bay. Color. There were flashes of color out of the corner of his eye that didn't belong there.

Slowly, Flynn raised his head, and found himself staring at a bizarre mess on the ceiling. It looked like… lions? Yes. Lions. Except lions with electrical cables for manes, and bolts like Frankenstein's monster sticking out of their necks, and he was pretty sure there were rivets on some of them.

_Robot lions._

He forgot entirely about Pidge. "Ceve! Hunk! What the _fuck_ did you…" He trailed off, realizing he hadn't actually hit the comms yet, and took a few deep breaths. "…Hunk, get to the bay. I'd like a word."

"Uh, that sounds kinda ominous, pit boss. Be there in five."

Flynn sighed and looked back at the ceiling. The artwork was actually fairly impressive—sharp lines, careful musculature, fine details, even _crosshatching_. All the more impressive considering it was on the ceiling. But the damn things were kind of terrifying, and also staring right back at him, and he was positive he had not authorized using the engine bay as a _canvas_. Letting it go just didn't seem prudent.

The bay door slid open slowly, admitting an unusually nervous-looking Hunk. "What's up, pit boss? This ain't about the playlist, is it?"

Playlist? He didn't want to know. "No, it's not about the playlist. It's about why there's a mural on the ceiling of my engineering bay." Flynn crossed his arms. "It's very nice, I guess, but there are _plenty_ of other ceilings you could've done this to, not to mention—"

"—Uh, pit boss?" Hunk held up a hand, looking completely lost. "Not to kill your roll here but I've got no clue what you're talkin' about." He looked up at the ceiling too. "Wasn't me. Pretty badass, though."

_What now?_ Flynn hesitated, watching him carefully. Hunk never shied away from talking credit for his craziness, and his eyes were tracing over the lions in fascination. As if he'd never seen them before. Of course he was far from incapable of lying, but…

"…Help me find Pidge, then," he said finally, the original issue returning to mind. Even if the ninja had been checking an engine shaft he should be out by now. That should be the biggest concern. Then he could go drill Kogane on which of the bridge brats was vandalizing his bay. "Check the main engine shafts, I'm going up to check the hyperspace thrusters."

"You got it!" Hunk threw a salute and went to engine four, as Flynn headed for the exit and the elevator. He didn't have time to actually get out of the bay. "Uh, pit boss? We might have a problem."

…Oh, they had problems, alright. Flynn crossed over to him and stared in disbelief. Pidge was curled up just inside the engine four access hatch, out cold… and clutching a package of colored markers in his hand.

"The hell?" he said softly. "After all the noise we've made in here? Pidge!"

Nothing.

Confusion and worry were battling for supremacy now. He knelt, reaching out and shaking him, half expecting a knife to flash. Still nothing. He was able to take Pidge's wrist without incident; his pulse was rapid. Was that normal for Baltans? Flynn didn't know. But the fact that he still wasn't waking up was the real issue here. "Go get Jace."

"On it!"

As he listened to Hunk run off, Flynn looked back down at the ninja. And the markers. "The hell," he repeated quietly. What could possibly have led to stoic, businesslike Grumpy Ninja drawing fanciful ceiling murals was beyond his ability to imagine. "You'd better be alright, you little brat, if anything's going to kill you it's going to be _me_."

It only took a couple of minutes for Jace to come sprinting in with Hunk on his heels. "What happened? You just found him like that?"

Flynn nodded. "No idea what he was doing there, let alone—"

"—Move." The medic pushed him out of the way and knelt next to Pidge, hooking up a few biometrics monitors and muttering under his breath as he looked him over. "No trauma evident. Vitals are mostly okay. Pulse and temp are up, which is the opposite of what they should be. Fucking Baltans." He set his datapad on the floor next to him and scrolled through faster than it seemed possible for him to have read anything. But apparently he had; nodding to himself he carefully repositioned Pidge's limbs, tossing the markers out of the way. "Come on, ninjerk. Don't make me shove ammonia up your nose."

Flynn caught Hunk's eye and gave him a questioning look; he recognized the recovery position, but he was pretty certain ammonia was toxic. "Old-timey smelling salts," the big man whispered. "Must not wanna use the synthetics for some—"

"—They don't work on most aliens," Jace interrupted. "This one included. Gonna give it another minute though, see if he eases out of it before resorting to that shit."

Another minute felt like an hour. But finally Pidge twitched. Slowly his eyes fluttered open, taking in the metal floor he was laying on. Then he looked up.

"Komora sa kye?!"

Flynn exhaled—had he been holding his breath? Oh. "Welcome back."

"Back?" Pidge blinked and sat up, which earned him a sharp look from the medic. He ignored it. "What's going on?"

"Don't move your spine again until I tell you you're clear," Jace ordered. "Look at my hand here. Follow my finger, eyes only."

He obeyed, though he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it. Even Flynn could see he was unfocused. "I said what's going _on?"_

"You tell us. They found you unconscious in an engine shaft and apparently you decorated the bay ceiling before you passed out, and you're asking _us_ what's going on?"

Rather than firing back, the ninja hesitated. "I what? What are you talking about?"

Flynn retrieved the markers and held them up. "You don't remember these? Or more to the point, drawing a big robot lion mural in the bay with them?"

"Komora?" He looked around, eyes still seeming to dart a little more quickly than usual. "I don't… I don't even remember coming down here for my shift in the first place."

Jace's scowl vanished again. "Well shit, that's a bad thing." He picked up his datapad and typed a few things in, though his eyes never left his patient. "What's the last thing you remember? Does your head hurt?" Frown. "And you seem pretty aware but I'm gonna need you to tell me who and where you are, to be sure."

Pidge was silent for a moment, then he looked up at Flynn. There was a definite question in his eyes, though what exactly that question _was_ he couldn't tell. "Just answer the jackass," he finally ordered; it seemed reasonable enough. "We need to know what happened."

Jace didn't seem at all bothered by the characterization.

"…Specialist Darrell Stoker, serial 1549-1055, Explorer Team 686. I'm aboard the ACS _Jupiter's Hammer_, which the Lieutenant Commander will object to me calling it, outbound from Ixapre." He recited it mechanically, then closed his eyes. "My head feels fine, but the last thing I remember is… you and Hunk arguing over the cold?"

"Over chili?" Hunk offered.

"That's what I said."

"No, it's really not," Jace muttered, typing something else. His eyes widened slightly. "Here, I need to take some blood. How _do_ you feel? Anything unusual at all?"

"Only like I've been asleep for weeks." Pidge opened his eyes and watched the medic intently. "Can I at least stretch some?" he asked as soon as the needle was out.

"Yeah, go ahead. It's nothing physical."

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "So what is it?"

"Twitchy eyes, rapid heart rate, slight fever, gap in memory formation…" Jace turned and looked pointedly out at the ceiling. "…solid evidence of being high as fuck, both literally and figuratively…"

Pidge glared.

"You've got theobromine poisoning." Jace glared right back. "Eat something you shouldn't have, ninjerk?"

Immediately Pidge's glare vanished, replaced by wide-eyed indignation. "I… no, of course not! I'm not an _idiot_."

"That's debatable, but it's not what I'm diagnosing." The medic frowned. "You know all the sources? I assume you're damn sure aware of chocolate, but no tea? Coffee? Esoteric shit like—"

"—Wait," Hunk broke in, looking between them. "He can't have chocolate?"

"This isn't the time to be shocked about people's food options, giant donut dude."

"It's not that!" He shook his head in frustration. "There was chocolate in the chili earlier."

All three of them turned to stare at him. "You put _what_ in _what?"_

"But isn't chocolate a dessert?"

"Why would you ever…?"

"It's part of the weirdness that makes the dish!" Hunk shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, little dude. Had no idea you couldn't eat the stuff, you never said."

To Flynn's surprise, Pidge did _not_ pull out his knife. He just scowled. "It's always been easy enough to avoid before, I didn't think it was relevant."

"It's always _relevant_," Jace snapped. "You're lucky the worst that happened was some crazy-ass artwork. You need to be more careful!"

"Right, I'll remember to ask next time if there's dessert food in the spaghetti sauce," the ninja muttered spitefully. "_Humans_."

"Sure, sure. Mock the humans, you little alien asshole. You're the one who went all Sharpie all over the ceiling." Jace snorted. "You can either come with me to the sick bay and finish sleeping it off, or you can stay here where Chief can keep an eye on you. You should be okay, but I don't want you alone until I run the blood test."

"I'll stay here."

"Thought so. Leave those monitors on. Chief, if he so much as swerves a little, bring him to me."

"Got it." Jace was still muttering about things that were _not at all chili_ as he left.

Pidge crawled out to the opening of the engine shaft, looking at his own artwork in bemusement before standing up. He was shaky, and almost immediately crashed back to the floor; he shot both Flynn and Hunk his most impressive death glare. It didn't really have a lot to do with his falling down.

"Not. One. Word. _Either_ of you."

Hunk bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Flynn had to fight down a smirk himself. "Wouldn't dream of it. Come on, let's get you to the sick bay."

* * *

Daniel was in the gym, doing something that he should have done a _long_ time ago. He glared at the pile of plush birds, topped with Cam's stupid flamingo, and poured the fuel he'd procured straight from the _Bolt's_ tanks over the mess. Watching the silvery liquid flow over the birds with a small smirk, he lit his lighter.

His glare turned into a confused frown seconds later when the fuel wouldn't ignite. What the hell was going on? Rocket fuel was supposed to burn like crazy. He lowered the flame right onto a flamingo and slowly—_too slowly—_it ignited. Even then it was a slow burn…

Standing outside the gym, Lance waited for Keith to show up; he was getting some extra sparring lessons. He _was_ going to beat Jace at least once in his life, just to see the asshole's face.

Keith grinned as he walked up to him. "Ready for this, Lance?"

"You don't have to look so happy about getting to throw me around on the floor, Boss."

"You might end up throwing me around. Shall we?"

"Fucking hope so," Lance said and pushed open the door… only to stop suddenly, causing Keith to bump into him. Both of them stared. Daniel was there, sitting down in front of the pile of bird paraphernalia with a frustrated scowl on his face.

"What is he doing?" Keith asked quietly.

"What the _fuck_, kid?" Lance shouted at the same time, having taken in the fact that the pile of stuffed creatures was smoldering.

"Dude!" Daniel spun around, startled by their sudden arrival; he'd been far too intent on his failing bonfire to hear the hatch open. "Don't you know it's bad form to scare someone when they're trying to commit arson!?"

Keith stepped around Lance to get a better look at the situation before them. It didn't really improve anything. "Arson," he repeated flatly. "On the ship."

"Well, I can't exactly do it _outside_ the ship." Daniel looked around; they'd made him drop his lighter, and now it was scorching a dark spot into the gym mat. He pointed. "Chill, the mats are fireproof, there's little tags on them and everything, see?"

"Why are you trying to set plushies on fire?" Keith asked, trying to process the situation.

"Because they're birds!" Daniel shouted as if that explained everything—which personally he was pretty sure it _did_.

"But what… why are… I expected you to be better at fires," Lance stammered out; Keith looked over at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Really?"

Lance rolled his eyes at himself. That was what he was going with, the kid should be better at arson? But why _wasn't_ the kid better at arson? "Well, yeah," he finally confirmed, shrugging as he stepped closer to the pile of birds. He really should have seen this coming, when he thought about it for more than a minute… he'd never realized just how quickly he could get a screaming headache.

"Usually I _am_ better at arson, man. I think it's this shit fuel I put on there, I should've just went old school, you know? But I wanted them to die a quick and fiery death."

Keith froze, a feeling of dread washing over him. "What kind of fuel?" he demanded, looking at the pile more closely.

"Fuel, what fuel?!" Lance took it even less in stride.

Daniel tried to shove down the sudden panic as he realized what he'd already admitted to. Why had he said all of that? In front of Commander Sword-Up-His-Ass, no less?

"It's too late to even fucking try to get out this, kid," Lance snapped, recognizing the look on Daniel's face.

Lance, _Lance_ was why he'd admitted to everything. He was always confessing to things he had no business confessing to when their pilot was around, it was ridiculous. "I didn't even say anything… I don't know? The fuel kind of fuel?" No way he was explaining that he'd siphoned a bottle of fuel from one of the engine shafts. No way, that would go over _so_ much worse than this already was. But one look at Lance had him wondering if trying to stay quiet was even worth it—Daniel's train of thought stopped in horror. Since when did he consider trying to get away with stuff _not worth it?_ Lance, Lance and the stupid confusing feelings he created. How did he fucking _do_ this to him? _Ugh!_

With Daniel frozen, Lance's eyes went to the smoldering bird-pile as well. None of the fuel seemed to have caught fire at all; much of it seemed to have rolled right off the birds, even. He could see bits of it, shimmery silver staining the mat… _well fuck_.

Standard Alliance fusion-rocket engines, the type used on most long range spacecraft, didn't use combustible fuel. They used extremely heavy, inert liquids, that could be blasted apart by fusion-powered processing lasers into harmless hydrogen exhaust. Ixapre had, among other things, carried the Alliance's standard heavy fuel mix. Which was composed mainly of…

"Mercury!" he bellowed, glaring at the kid in disbelief. "Fucking _MERCURY!"_

…_Mercury?_ Daniel blinked, staring at the bottle. It _had_ seemed like a weird color, but he really hadn't been worried about that. "Oops?"

_Oops? _Keith shook his head, wondering if Daniel even realized just _how_ toxic mercury was. "Doc is not going to be happy about this…" They were going to have to decontaminate the whole gym, among other things. Such as their gunner.

Daniel shrugged. "I didn't get any on me. Just the birds!"

The room filled with Japanese curse words as Keith finally lost it a bit. Just a bit.

Lance stalked closer to Daniel, grabbed him by his shoulders, and bodily moved him away from the spilled poison. He looked him up and down to make sure nothing was on him.

"Hey!" Daniel yelled—why was he always getting manhandled?

"Don't _hey_ me, kid. That stuff is fucking toxic!"

"Well, I didn't think it was a health drink. I didn't touch it directly."

Lance shook his head and looked at Keith. His first instinct was to protect the kid, even—especially—from his own horrible ideas, but even if he'd found Daniel on his own he couldn't have kept a _mercury spill in the gym_ a secret. It was too late now, anyway.

As if on cue Keith started speaking. "Lance, get him to sick bay. Full decontamination. I'll stay here until one of the engineers can come and clean this up. Brennan…" He shook his head slowly. "I know you have a brain somewhere in your head, you need to start _using_ it. I'm placing you on restriction for a week, and be glad it isn't more. A _lot_ more." The fire had pretty much fizzled out as they'd been arguing about it. Or he would _really_ have been in trouble.

He was in enough trouble anyway; Lance nodded and dragged the kid with him out of the gym. Immediately Daniel tried to pull a little understanding from their very weird pilot. "Aw, come on. Restriction? For what?" He was hardly new to restriction; he'd spent plenty of time confined to his quarters in the Academy, and it had always sucked.

Sympathy wasn't happening. "What do you expect when you try to _bonfire_ a bunch of fucking toy birds? With _mercury!_ Really, kid?"

"Fucking snart… I don't need decontamination, I'm fine. This is all so unnecessary!" How had this gotten so far out of his control? Even for _him_ this situation had gotten out of hand way too fast. "You're very manhandly today."

"Yes, you need decontamination. We're taking no fucking chances. And if you think I'm bad, just wait until I hand you over to Jace."

"Awwww, man."

Suddenly, Lance stopped and grabbed Daniel's shoulders, hazel eyes locked on his. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I… I… I just got sick of looking at the birds…" He tried to ignore Lance's death grip and the look on his face, because it was all telling him he'd fucked up and, ugh, why the eye contact?

"You're smarter than…" Lance just felt disappointed, and it was probably showing, but fuck it.

Daniel blinked at Lance's expression. _What the fuck is that look?_ Dread at the guilty feeling that was bubbling its way up in response to Lance's disappointed expression knocked any answer he might have had out of his brain. _Oh no._

"…Come on, let's just get to Jace and get you sorted. Then you can start your really boring week of restriction."

"Can you stop with the face? And the…" Daniel trailed off in horror as it fully hit him that Lance expected him to be _smart_.

"I don't know what my face is fucking doing, but no, I don't think I can stop."

"Wait, wait, hold on. I think I've fucked up here…" He shook his head trying to ignore the irritating feelings Lance's face was giving him. Disappointment was not supposed to do that to him. Someone having high expectations was not allowed.

"You _think?"_

"You expect me to be smart?"

"Yes."

"Why? _No._ You _can't."_

"Yes, yes, I _can!"_ Lance was pretty sure he had a migraine. Unless it was mercury vapor… no, this was definitely a migraine.

Daniel shook his head frantically, because _oh. Hell. No_. This was not good. Not good at all. "_No._ I've got a system, okay? The first rule of the system is keeping everyone's expectations _very_ low." Low expectations meant that they were easy to meet, and Daniel didn't have to deal with too much bullshit when he didn't meet them. "The second rule is not giving a shit about people's potentially high expectations, so that I don't feel obligated to meet them. Alright? So _you_ cannot have anything above low expectations." He wasn't quite willing to draw the throughline there, at least not out loud… the rule about not giving a shit just hadn't been working out so well, where Lance was concerned. Caring what the pilot thought of him was something he'd barely accepted at this point. How was it already fucking him over? This had never been so hard before—it was how his damn system had become a system. He _knew _how this was supposed to go. "Them's the rules!"

"Kid, I never play by the fucking rules," Lance shot back with his trademark smirk. "I expect you to use your goddamn _brain,_ and also to fucking _not_ play with mercury. I don't care how much you hate fucking birds. You got that? I've got expectations and you're gonna have to live with them."

"That… but that's…" Daniel whined, but it was no use. "_Fine_. I will accept your expectation for me not to play with mercury anymore." He was very pointedly not mentioning the 'use your brain' expectation. He had a feeling his definition of using his brain and Lance's definition were very different.

"Let's get you to Jace," Lance said with a frustrated sigh. He'd noticed the omission, but figured he'd gotten what concessions he would get for the day.

"In my defense, I didn't know it was mercury. I just thought it was regular jet fuel." The fighters he'd trained on sure as hell didn't use this mercury nonsense.

"Next time pay more attention to the class of ship you're in. You should know that, you know, as a trained pilot."

Daniel bristled. That stung.

The infirmary door was in sight, and Lance felt a wave of relief. "Okay, decontamination time."

"Fuck…" Daniel whined, but followed. May as well get it over with. They walked through the door… and stopped short at seeing Jace already working with Pidge, Flynn standing by the wall looking concerned.

"What are _you_ doing here?" both groups demanded at once, and both answered in equally resigned unison.

"You don't want to know."

* * *

Sven had managed to chart a course to 9-XRL that only required one waypoint. He _could_ have charted one without any waypoints at all, but there were at least a dozen Alliance regulations about that sort of thing. They all said _don't_. Hyperspace travel was perfectly safe… for a time. Spending too long in an alternate plane of reality where the laws of physics were more like suggestions would eventually take a toll on ship and crew alike. A few minutes to recover and reset was all it took to stave off the dangers, but those few minutes were important indeed.

There was no way of knowing if they were about to appear in a Drule-occupied system or not. And no matter how many treaties and theories said they should be safe if they did, they _were_ an Explorer Team.

Sure enough, everyone was at their battle stations when the ship breached out at the waypoint.

Sure enough, a contact came up immediately.

"Reading a station…" Cam's fingers raced over his console. "Tentatively a Ver'glauz class. That's Drule." He hadn't really needed to specify, but as tension gripped the bridge, maybe filling the silence was for the best.

Swallowing back his own nervousness, Keith nodded. "Anything else?"

"Two fighters in a patrol pattern. They haven't… no, scratch that, they're coming about."

"Triqir light recon fighters," Flynn reported from the bay. "They're minimal threat to us on their own."

"Then let's do our best to not attract any greater threats." Keith looked at their comms officer. "Do it."

Cam took a long breath, nodded, then opened the comms and spoke in careful Drakure. "Local station, this is the ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_, newly arrived in-system and requesting acknowledgment. We are here on a routine waypoint stop as permitted under the Deros Convention. We'll be out of your way soon."

Nobody else on the bridge could understand more than a token bit of what he'd said, but they could understand the long silence that answered. Keith and Sven tensed, checking their harnesses, as Lance and Daniel readied themselves on their controls. The fighters were coming closer, though they weren't making any aggressive or evasive maneuvers.

Static crackled. "Alliance vessel _Jupiter's Bolt_, we have received your signal." The voice that came across the comms spoke in slow, roughly-accented Common. "In the benevolent name of His Imperial Majesty, King Zarkon, your request is hereby granted. Be quick."

Everyone on the bridge breathed a sigh of relief as one; the engineers were doing pretty much the same thing. Nobody spoke. Nobody was really quite certain what to say… things going smoothly and calmly wasn't really their area of expertise, after all.

But every so often it could be nice.

* * *

Larmina was still minding the castle shelter, sort of. She'd just finished reviewing the spoils of a recent hunting and scouting trip. The reports were strange; Drule patrols seemed to have thinned dramatically. But why? Not that anyone was going to complain, but an ominous sense hung over the shelter… and the return of the princess had made it that much worse.

Her return from the gryphon den had been somber again. Few had realized just how close Prince Tanner had been to death; if anyone would have questioned Allura for taking him outside in such a state, it was almost certain the peaceful look upon the young prince's face kept those questions at bay. Nanny took it upon herself to take care of the matter of Tanner's burial, in hopes that it would ease the strain on Allura. While the Council was content that the princess appeared to be mustering on, it was clear that the blow to her family weighed heavily on her. How could it not?

Those closest to her could see it easily; she only moved when called upon to do something in public. The moment Allura was in her private quarters, she would collapse in one spot and had to be coaxed to do anything else. For the most part, they'd been trying to give her some space, though how much space was really being given when the Council kept dropping by to inquire when exactly she would be ready to resume her full duties?

Hoping Auntie had improved a bit since her last visit, Larmina decided to veer off and go check in on her. Instead she found her sprawled silently on her bed, staring at a plush black lion that had red felt wings pinned on. That seemed a bit odd; the tales she'd heard of the legendary beasts of the plains had never mentioned any wings. She decided it must be an aesthetic choice that Tanner had made for his old toy. Sitting down beside Allura, she joined in just staring at the feline for a few moments before curiosity overcame her.

"Why the red wings?"

Allura wasn't startled by the sound; she reached out to stroke the plush's chin. "For his burning mark across the sky, and…" She paused for a time, and Larmina waited patiently. Looking lost in a multitude of thoughts, she finally finished, "It's just how he is." She tucked her hand under the plush creature's chin and sighed. "Does the Council need me? I can come…"

Larmina looked at Allura strangely; that didn't answer a thing. But she shrugged it off. "Look, I don't blame you for staying shut up in here." Allura shifted her eyes toward her. "You deserve time to mourn, and if you weren't royalty nobody would bat an eye at you needing time, but _no_." She picked up the plush and looked at it more closely, seeing memories of ghosts reflected in its shiny golden eyes. Nobody here had known she was royalty; she'd been given her time, and she'd used it pretty much the same way, hadn't she? "It sucks. I mean, even if Arus weren't being kicked around by the sinycka… what would you be doing if you really had a choice?"

Allura rolled over to stare at the cave ceiling. That wasn't something she'd really thought about… what she might do without the weight of her title upon her. "The mountains," she murmured finally. "I would stand on the highest one, and scream until my voice was gone."

Larmina gave a soft snort. Since Allura's return, she had been almost mute unless absolutely required to speak. Now she seemed to have found a voice, though still soft. "Maybe you'll get your chance once we've given the Drules a good kick or two back." Her aunt made a slightly strangled sound, and she paused, looking worried. "There's still some hope for that, right?"

"Yes… there's still hope." It didn't feel like there was much hope to be had, but she wasn't ready to renounce it either. Why bother to survive at all if she was going to abandon hope?

Studying her carefully, Larmina nodded her understanding as the feeling of loneliness drifted over her. Wiggling herself onto the bed next to Allura, leaning her head against her shoulder, she plopped the plush lion on Auntie's chest. "Well, we're here to stay by you, anyway. Me and…" Tapping the lion's nose, she trailed off in a question.

"Black."

"Yeah." The black lion's name was Black, it seemed appropriate enough. Hadn't Auntie mentioned Tanner's favorite stories being about a Black Lion? "Me and Black, with his funny wings and all, are gonna ride this mess out with you. First chance we get, we'll get you up to your mountain so you can scream it out. Sound like a plan?"

Allura smiled a bit and lightly tapped her forehead against Larmina's. "It's a good plan."

"You bet it is. We can yell about the fates together, five hells, let's have a whole party for it if you want. Does Black want to come yell about something too? Bet he does!"

_You don't know how much he probably does_… Allura pulled herself into a sitting position and squeezed Larmina's hand, managing a bit more of a smile. "Thank you…"

"Your Highness!" Both of them snapped their heads up as Coran's voice made its way into the room. Of all those who'd been intruding on the princess' mourning, he was about the last to show up unannounced. This had to be something serious. "Your Highness, forgive me. We have reports from the surface you _must _see."

"I'll come—" Larmina started, but Allura shook her head and touched her shoulder.

_"We'll _come," she said softly, but firmly. "Tell us what's happening."

"Our last scouts picked up a broadcast… couldn't help but pick it up, really. It's on a repeating loop on at least six main frequencies. They broke off their run and came back with it immediately." He led them to one of the outer corridors, where they could still pick up signals from the surface if they were positioned just right, and pulled out one of the few full-function comm devices left to the shelter.

The image flickered to life on the small screen before them: a dignified-looking Drule in formal garments, standing on a balcony. Not just any balcony—the intricate reliefs of the parade balcony of the Castle of Lions were unmistakable. As was the broken crown sitting on the railing in front of him. Allura felt her fists clench at her sides.

"People of Arus, my name is Governor Tarlok. I greet you in the name of His Imperial Majesty, King Zarkon. Your world is now part of the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. Your king has perished; the last of your forces have been swept aside. There is nothing left for you to fight for. I offer you this gift: all who beg for our pardon will receive it. Step free of your shelters. Lay down your arms, swear your loyalty to Lord Zarkon, and I personally guarantee your safety." He paused. "Continue to resist, and you will be made the most grievous example."

Larmina's eyes narrowed as she looked at her aunt; a few remnants of tears seemed to be giving way to blue-hot fury. She was feeling it herself.

"They've taken the castle, then," the princess finally murmured, her voice twisted with pain and anger.

"Yes. We think the recall of enemy patrols may have been related to securing the castle perimeter. Our scouts noticed increased activity in the area since His Majesty's death, but believed it to be looting or perhaps awaiting a burial party."

Those reports sounded familiar; they'd seemed reasonable at the time. The sheer nerve, the sheer cruelty, of _this…_ as the message started to loop Allura switched off the comm device, a little more forcefully than necessary. Her eyes darted from Coran to Larmina. "What do we do?" It couldn't be allowed to stand. But their options… did they have any? The Great Lions still slept, even with one speaking…

Larmina looked at her and found familiar words on her lips. Her mother's last words to her, becoming a mantra. "Survive," she said softly. "Fight. They haven't killed all of us." She looked back to the blank screen, her own turquoise eyes dark. "They won't kill us like this, right Auntie?"

Slowly, Allura nodded. If hope couldn't sustain her alone, perhaps this would. "Right."


	35. After the Fact

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 34_  
After the Fact

* * *

The planet the Vex-Cha had designated 9-XRL was uninhabited, but it was a far cry from lifeless. It was a watery world, with most of the land consisting of swamps, and in several of those swamps life had taken hold. Namely mushrooms. Or at least something that looked a lot like mushrooms, other than being a soft blue-violet and standing taller than the average Earth tree.

It had taken a good bit of circling to find a place they could set down—or perhaps more to the point, a place to set down that they would be able to lift back off from later. But finally they'd found a rocky stretch bearing half-covered scorch marks. Some previous scavenger had apparently blasted themselves a landing zone.

At least they knew they were in the right place.

Most of the team had gone out to investigate, with Cam and Hunk left to mind the ship. Daniel had been sure he would have to stay on the ship as well; being off restriction didn't mean he was wholly forgiven for the arson incident. But it had turned out to mean the exact opposite…

"Brennan, stay in sight."

…Namely, the commander was keeping an unnecessarily close eye on him. "I'll do my best," Daniel grumbled, rolling his eyes as they entered a thick stand of mushrooms. _I hate this_. The ship had better be worth it.

"This is fucking awesome," Lance declared as they climbed over a fallen mushroom trunk, reaching a pool of shallow water filled with glittery blue spores.

"It's beautiful," Sven agreed, looking at the feathery undersides of the caps high above. Hopefully they wouldn't release any more spores right now; Jace would have a fit, and it would really detract from the ambiance.

Given that they _weren't_ being caught in a rain of mushroom dust, their medic was having more benign thoughts on the place. "I think I played an old video game about this once." Whether he considered that a good or bad thing wasn't quite clear.

Vince was very clear, on the other hand. "I hate mushrooms." It wasn't the giant alien mushrooms' fault they looked so similar to gross Earth food, really… but he was holding them accountable for it nonetheless.

"Sven, how much further in should it be?" Keith asked as they skirted around the edges of the pool.

"Not too much further." Getting precise orbital coordinates here wasn't really a thing, and they certainly didn't have a good map. The _Bolt_ had detected a large concentration of metal, though, and it seemed like a pretty good bet that they would be able to tell once they saw it.

Sure enough, just a couple of clearings later, they stepped around a particularly large stalk and found themselves face to face with the site.

"Whoa."

"Faex."

"Damn…"

"Definitely did not see _that_ in an old video game."

Part of the crash site was simply a hill, covered in small mushrooms and moss. But a massive chunk of gleaming silver-white metal emerged from beneath the soil to rest on the surface; it looked like the ship had actually won its battle with the ground when it impacted. What might once have been an engine block was now a spidery framework of half-scavenged girders, but the hull still seemed largely intact.

"Well… looks like we found it." Keith wasn't quite certain what else to say, and looked back at his team. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

"Please."

Finding an entrance wasn't too difficult. Centuries of scavengers had worn a path to the hatch into the surrounding soil, the hard-packed earth resisting anything more than some scrubby moss taking hold. As they got closer it became evident just how _small_ the hatch was; they were looking at something easily the size of a stellar cruiser.

"Yo," Daniel muttered as they stepped into its shadow. "This thing's _huge_."

Lance looked up and down the hull and shook his head. "Is it just me or does it seem… newer than you might expect?"

"It could've crashed here yesterday," Pidge agreed softly. "Except for the mushrooms."

Moving a little ahead of the group, Flynn ran his fingers along the hull. He half expected to feel something magical, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when it was just metal. "No oxidation."

Lance eyed him. "What?"

"Rust."

_Damn it._ He'd heard it fine the first time.

They each climbed through the opening with Jace watching carefully; nobody had any apparent reaction to the hull. A small mercy, in Keith's mind. "Alright. Let's split into pairs and look around. Be careful as you're investigating, we don't know how stable this ship is…" It _seemed_ pretty stable, but believing that too readily would be how they got into trouble.

"The buddy system, really?" Lance asked.

"Better safe than sorry."

Jace snorted and slung an arm over Sven's shoulder. "I've got a buddy! What's wrong, caralho, don't _you?"_ The navigator rolled his eyes fondly.

Oh, well if he wanted to be like _that…_ Lance eyed Flynn up and down and grinned. "Sure do."

Keith shook his head. "Brennan, you're with me."

"Haven't I been punished enough?" Daniel's question got him a glare. No, then.

"Kid, just go with it and show you're trustworthy."

Now it was Daniel doing the glaring, just for a moment, feeling wholly betrayed that Lance was actually not going to back him up on this. Stupid expectations. And worse, he found himself agreeing. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he grumbled, moving up next to Keith and sulking. This was gonna suck.

Flynn looked over at Vince and Pidge, who had exchanged shrugs and stepped a little closer to each other. At least by now they were finally used to getting along. He grinned at Lance, then turned to Keith and nodded.

"Alright." Their commander crossed his arms. "I think finding the bridge and engineering areas might be most fruitful, assuming they're even recognizable anymore. Keep your eyes open… but remember we can't expect too much." It wasn't much of a pep talk, but they had to keep their expectations realistic, too. This _was_ a slim thread. "Move out."

* * *

Keith and Daniel walked down a dark corridor. The others had broken off down other halls as they continued down what seemed like the main access corridor, and it was soon eerily quiet. Keith flicked on a flashlight as they entered the underground portion of the ship, any last vestiges of daylight fading away.

"This is so much fun." Daniel sighed, still grumpy that he was being babysat by Keith fucking Kogane. If he had to have a sitter, why couldn't it have been someone else? _Anyone_ else.

"Makes me think of haunted houses."

"Well, if you get possessed, I promise to shoot you before you try and kill us all," Daniel offered with a snort. He knew he was acting like a little kid, but he was also being babysat like a little kid. So really he was just taking Lance's words to heart and meeting the set expectations, and that seemed like the mature thing to do.

Keith blinked, looking at his young companion. That had seemed a little… extreme. "No trying to actually save your commander?"

Daniel growled softly. _Doesn't he know what a joke is?_ Sure, his tone might not have been the most jovial, but his words were _obviously_ not meant to be taken seriously. _This guy…_ He put on a fake smile. "Good of the team and all that." He made sure to turn away to roll his eyes.

"…Right." They turned down another hallway, shining light into an empty room as they passed. "Well, it seems they were about average in height, judging by the rooms." He waited a moment but didn't hear a response, then turned and looked behind him. "Daniel?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. It's kinda creepy. The ghost ship itself, not the height thing. Super interesting observation." He made an attempt at sounding respectful, but it didn't really work. At least he'd tried? Daniel felt like that counted for something.

Keith wasn't so sure_. Patience is a virtue…_ "What do you find creepy about it? Other than it being dark and empty?"

"The dark and empty parts! I mean, come on, think about it. This ship had a crew at one point, now they're all dead. This ship is all that's left. That's kinda creepy." Frown. "And sad, but mostly creepy."

_He's not wrong._ Keith shined the light down the hall, turning in that direction. "Come on. We should keep looking around."

Daniel followed. "So, what exactly are we hoping to find in here, anyways?" He might not have paid as much attention in the mission briefing as he should have. Wait, had there even been a briefing? _Oh fuck, did I miss a briefing?_ He internally panicked for a second—no, he'd still be in the middle of a lecture if he had. Whatever, it didn't matter anyways.

"Honestly? I'm not sure. Would be nice if there was a computer log or something, but from the way this ship looks, we probably won't be that lucky."

"This ship has been abandoned for a long time. I doubt there's any computer log," Daniel muttered. He felt awkward, very awkward, talking to Keith. He hated it. The conversation didn't seem to flow like it did with the others. _Maybe it's all in my head?_

The commander nodded. "True. Though, just seeing the layout of this ship is beneficial. If we find another one, we might be able to recognize it. And the engineers can make educated guesses at what the Alteans were capable of."

"Yeah, those things are also true."

"We may not find much, but we can still come away with something."

"Yep." Nope. It was not in his head.

Silence dropped on the two of them, nearly smothering in the darkness of the abandoned halls. It wore on Daniel, especially, but he didn't know what to say to the commander. Though in a way he was happy for the silence. He could almost pretend he was there by himself… that was, until Keith suddenly broke the silence.

"I'm glad you've found a mentor of sorts with Lance."

_Wait…what?_ Daniel floundered for a moment, snapping his head up. "I've found a what in who?"

"A mentor. In Lance." He raised an eyebrow. "And I know you're smarter than you let on; you _could_ have found a different way to get rid of those birds of Cam's."

Daniel stopped cold, staring at Keith's back. Horror crawled up his back as he realized what this conversation was turning into. But he didn't have long to focus on that, because he was still stuck on the _mentor_ bit. "What the hell do you mean by 'mentor'?"

Keith chuckled. "A mentor is someone you can look up to and learn from." He stopped and looked back at him, grinning. "I'm proud of you for that. Even if I question your sanity in your choice of mentor… you take what you can get on an Explorer Team." He shook his head. "Just do one thing for me. Don't try to set my ship and the gym on fire again, okay?"

_Oh no. No, no, no-no…_ "Stop it, man! You're wiggin' me out!" This was not something he needed right now. Or ever. Keith's other eyebrow had risen at Daniel's hysterical tone, but he stayed quiet and waited as the kid found his argument. "Okay, listen here. Lance is not a… mentor person, okay? I don't need a mentor person. And you being proud of me means I'm doing something so very, very wrong." He pressed his hands to his temples, starting to feel a bit lightheaded from breathing so fast. "Oh, God. It means I'm Cam. Oh, _God…_"

Keith blinked. This had gone well beyond where he'd expected. "What did you join the Academy for, then?"

"To get the hell out of Utah! And to fly fast ships! Not to turn into… oh, God!" He might have been a tad hysterical but he did not give a fuck. This was something that deserved hysteria. He wasn't sure what was worse—the panic caused by this mentor bullshit, or the misery swallowing him whole because there was a high probability that despite all his efforts, he had indeed been turned into a more talented version of Cam.

"…What's so bad about Utah?" It wasn't the most relevant question but it was all Keith could seem to produce.

"Utah is unbelievably boring. And desert-y. Deserts suck. Like mentors!"

"Having someone to look up to isn't a bad thing, Daniel."

"Yes it is! Mentors equal authority, and authority fucks you over, man. Oh, God!" Daniel hung his head. Why was he trying to explain how inconvenient authority was to his main authority?

Keith blinked. "Authority…?" He thought of Sky Marshal Wade for a moment, then shook his head. "That isn't what your superiors are supposed to try and do, Daniel. They're supposed to train and teach you to help you become the best version of yourself."

"Yeah, for people like you and Cam who fit into their precious little molds of how soldiers are supposed to act, yeah, authority does all of that. The rest of us get fucked over," Daniel answered sullenly, then looked away. "I wanna go back to the ship. You've sucked all the fun out of exploring a ghost ship. Do you know how hard it is to do that? To suck the fun out of exploring a _ghost ship?"_ This entire conversation had left him depressed.

Keith frowned. _What does one say to that?_ He sighed; it rang too true, much as he'd have wanted to say otherwise. He'd have liked to believe such poor authority figures were a decided minority in the Alliance, but if the kid had just had terrible luck, that was a problem too. "Well… for what it's worth, I'm sorry that happened to you. But you can make this a second chance, you know? To make it better."

"Oh, God," Daniel muttered, shaking his head, then looked to the ceiling and howled. "GET ME OFF THIS SHIP!"

* * *

As Flynn and Lance moved down a narrow corridor, a yell echoed through the ship's vents and framework to bounce around them for a few moments. As it dissipated Flynn looked up with a small frown; distortions aside, the voice was familiar. He looked at his commset for a few seconds, but it didn't activate. Probably nothing major, then…

"What the hell was that?" Lance looked up, frowning too. He also thought the voice had sounded familiar… "So uh, you think Keith is okay alone with the kid?"

Smirk. "I think your problem child is the one that's having trouble."

"That's kinda my point," the pilot chuckled, stepping into a side room and looking around. It was empty; a few dents in the near wall might have once indicated fastenings of some sort, probably furniture or decorations. Who knew, really? "Always feel like a grave robber on these types of missions."

"I see your point, not that we're the first." Flynn entered behind him and shook his head and the emptiness. "Someone ought to remember…" He doubted there had been much focus on _remembering_ anything when this site was scavenged.

"Yeah. Nothing left here to take, or to remember." Lance eyed him and decided he may as well try again. "Though no… oxiaction?"

Flynn snorted, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Flyboy, I _refuse_ to believe…"

Lance offered his most innocent smirk. "What?"

"That you don't know what rust is!" He smirked right back.

Knowing when he was beat, for the moment, Lance grumbled theatrically and then changed the subject. "So how's _your_ problem child?"

"Oh, fantastic. He hasn't drawn his knife once this week—at least that I know about. And he hasn't tried to poison himself any more recently than yours has, so that's something?" There was more, _much_ more, he'd have liked to say about that, but Lance had already heard it all. Repeatedly.

_Fucking chocolate?_

_Fucking mercury?!_

Laughing, Lance moved on through the next opening and blinked as he turned a corner. The chamber in front of him was not what he'd expected to find here at all… he stepped back immediately, eyes narrowing. "I think I found the garden. _You_ first, I've had bad luck with gardens."

"Garden? You know I hate flowers." Nonetheless the engineer moved up past him, poking his head in the doorway and hesitating. He'd expected to actually find a breached hull and a bunch of mushrooms. There was a hull breach, but… "They don't look like mushrooms."

"Nope, not at all. Seems pretty leafy." None of it had attacked Flynn, so Lance dared to approach again. "Think they're from Altea?" He definitely remembered Butterborg mentioning agricultural exports—what had they been called? Juney berries? Something like that. He approached one of the plants and gave it a careful poke after making very sure there were no thorns to be seen. The stems and leaves were thin, with what looked like large bulbs here and there.

A few of the bulbs had indeed opened into bright pink flowers; Flynn was giving them a wide berth. "Surely not?" He looked more closely at the gash in the hull. Clearly it had been allowing light and water in, but the mushrooms for the most part stayed outside and the flower plants stayed inside. He supposed he could understand this room becoming its own little ecosystem, but it still didn't quite fall together. "As well as this place has been picked over?"

"I mean, maybe. Do people really trade in plants?" It seemed like they might be a tricky thing for looters to deal with.

Snort. "Yes, yes they do, just ask my ex…" He knew that had not been precisely the question—illicit alien plants were a completely different matter—but the opening was a bit too easy.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you super allergic to flowers?"

"Flowers, fur, and feathers!" He looked at the hull breach again. "Unclear on fungi."

_Sounds like some asshole deserves to be an ex! _He didn't say it out loud; it might get all awkward. "At least it's not chocolate."

"Yeah, I'm not sure which I'm over less." Flynn had his datapad out and was getting pictures of everything, just in case. "Pidge being poisoned by chocolate, or Hunk putting chocolate in the chili. I know I don't understand food, but chili?"

Lance couldn't help a laugh. "It is a thing."

"Ridiculous."

"You think cheeseburgers are ridiculous." _Which is cute, but totally weird_. He had started picking through a few of the plants himself, and come across a cluster of pale pinkish spheres. "Are these berries?"

"Might be?" They got some pictures of those, too. "And cheeseburgers aren't ridiculous, they're just disgusting."

"Your taste is questionable."

Flynn eyed him for a moment. That opening was _much_ too easy, too, but… he shook it off. _Superior officer, damn it_. "Why would I want to eat something with more grease than an engine casing joint?"

"Why wouldn't you want to eat something with gooey cheese?" As the engineer shuddered, Lance put his datapad away and feigned sulking. "Now I want a cheeseburger."

"Of course you do. At least your kid has the sense to try to poison himself with an actual _poison_."

"At least Pidge is as clueless about chili as you are." There didn't seem to be anything else in the flower room. Had this been useful? Considering what other Altean relics tended to do, maybe they should be glad they'd encountered potential Altean life and not had any kind of crisis… "Daniel doesn't like to think he has any sense, anyway."

"He makes a fair case." Shrug. "But then, he's survived this long… with _us_."

"He's smart. Smarter than he acts… thinks it's cool not to be." Lance could kind of understand the sentiment, he thought. Too many people thought being smart and playing by the rules had to go together. Enough time on this team, and no doubt the kid would realize that wasn't the case… even if he needed a push or two. Or ten.

Flynn nodded. "And Pidge is brilliant and he knows it, but thinks he can't grasp human contexts for anything… might be a tad self-fulfilling, I think."

That sounded right. "I'd suggest a play date, but it'd probably create something terrible."

"It probably would, we should d…" Flynn stopped, his amusement fading into something between confusion and abject horror. "…I'm sorry, are we standing here discussing _play dates_ like they're our _children?"_

Lance blinked, his expression mirroring Flynn's. "No… NO. We are _not_ discussing play dates, why would you _suggest_ such a fucking thing?"

"It was your word!" His friend glowered. "Not mine!"

"It's that kid breaking my brain…" _Play dates. Fuck's sake._ It seemed like they'd pretty well documented the room's contents, so he turned away and shook his head. "Come on, let's get out of here before you start sneezing."

"Yes, let's." Flynn followed him out. "I wonder how Grumpy Ninja and the mechka are doing…"

That got him a raised eyebrow. "What the hell is a mechka?"

"I've no idea."

* * *

"This place is creepy."

"It's interesting."

Vince and Pidge had headed for the front of the ship, which had given them a bit more than they'd bargained for. There had been no way of knowing just how much of the vessel was hidden underground; apparently the answer was _a lot_. It was damp and musty, thanks to scattered cracks in the hull, and the native life was attempting to encroach.

As Pidge approached a broken door with a few tiny mushrooms poking out, Vince glared at them. "Creepy. And it also has mushrooms, the worst fungus ever."

"Do you rank fungi by their positive features?" Pidge tugged at the door but couldn't get it to move; he couldn't see any rust, but the frame looked to have been warped by the impact.

Vince came forward to help. "Fungi has no positive features."

"That seems categorically unlikely…" Between the two of them they managed to push the door free, which definitely wasn't how it had been designed to open. Pidge stumbled forward into a cavernous multi-leveled chamber, just barely catching himself before his teammate tripped over him.

"Hyperbole." Walking in behind the ninja he hesitated. The layout of this room was alien, yet there were familiar elements. A huge area that had been cracked open and plundered, almost certainly once a main viewscreen. A couple of seats, and the remnants of shock absorbers where there may have been others. Framework that might once have held computers and controls. "Is this…?"

"It's something," Pidge murmured noncommittally. He could guess at what Vince was guessing, but this _was_ an alien ship… he approached one of the surviving seats, for certain definitions of 'surviving'. The damp and the mold had claimed the seat coverings before looters had had the chance.

"I think it's the bridge." When the ninja seemed unimpressed by his guess, Vince walked over to the large hull crack that seemed to be admitting several mushrooms. And glared at them. Just because.

Pidge had moved ahead to one of the consoles, finding little more than a few remnants of circuitry. Or at least he assumed it to be circuitry; the thin metallic filaments failed to come with convenient labels. "Could have been. Not enough to tell for sure, though, kir sa tye?"

"Not at all," Vince agreed. "Looks pretty well stripped of anything usable, too." His focus was still on the mushrooms. Something was bothering him about them—something more than their existence—something that might have been pertinent, but he couldn't quite get a handle on what.

Following his gaze, Pidge couldn't help marveling at the relative lack of damage. For that matter… "It's kind of amazing nobody's dismantled the hull itself, yet. Though with as well as it seems to have withstood this crash, maybe nobody's been able to?"

"Yeah, it does seem pretty intact." A particularly large mushroom caught Vince's eye, and he reached for it before he could think better of it. Pushing it aside he found a glint of something beneath a thick layer of spores and fungus bits, and shuddered. "Ugh…!" Staring at whatever was glinting there—an intact panel?—he had a nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it. But it was gross… he wrinkled his nose and backed away instead.

His roommate had moved on to another stripped panel, and was studying the remnants of some wires. "They're just mushrooms, mechka. They don't bite. Usually."

"Uh, yeah, I _know_ that…" He couldn't seem to tear his attention away from the panel, and that was creeping him out almost as much as the fungus covering it. _Why would I want to put my hand on that thing so badly? That's weird._

Pidge looked over and tilted his head. "Are you okay? You seem twitchier than usual."

"I don't know…" He _felt_ twitchier than usual. "Maybe I need another risotto lesson from Jace. He'd better not suggest adding mushrooms."

"…Didn't you set the galley on fire the first time?"

"Well, yeah." He flushed. "But Hunk has more than enough extinguishers and stuff around, believe me."

"I'm not worried about putting the fire out," the ninja snorted. "It just didn't seem like the sort of thing you'd voluntarily do again."

"It was actually fun until I blew up the basil." _Keep talking, ignore the urge to stick your hand on the spore-covered panel…_ "Do you have any other suggestions for zen?" It seemed like a long shot, but what the heck.

A very long shot, if the confused look Pidge gave him was any hint. "Zen?"

"Zen, you know, inner peace? Relaxation?"

"Oh." He shook his head. "It isn't a specialty of mine. I usually just kill whatever's bothering me."

Vince eyed him and snorted; that was about what he should have expected to hear from someone with an emotional support knife. "Yeah, that's not really what I'm looking for."

The ninja snapped his head up. "I don't _really!"_ He looked away and made a face. "That would be _frowned upon_."

"I know you don't. Daniel and Cam are still alive."

That actually won him a bit of a laugh. "True, they are…" He paused, seeming to actually consider the question for a minute. "I've heard meditation works. I was never any good at it, though."

For some reason, hearing that even Pidge wasn't good at meditation actually made Vince feel a little better about things. "Commander Kogane tried to help me with that, I was awful." He was edging towards the panel almost unconsciously. It was the only thing in here that was relatively intact, they really should check it out.

Having finished his own investigations, Pidge approached, still on the topic. "The thing about emptying your mind is that things insist on coming along and trying to fill the space."

"Exactly!" Thank god, someone who actually _understood_, even if it _was_ the terrifying alien ninja. "You can't just stop thinking!"

Nodding his agreement, Pidge tried to think about what he actually _did_ to stay calm. The unavoidable answer was that he really didn't. He'd been through enough in his life to not be truly rattled by much… but part of that was seeing everyone and everything as a potential threat, and getting used to it. That did not seem like useful advice for actual calm.

Then again… he had been _taught_ meditation, and he'd had to fake his way through those classes. And he'd been taught psionic shielding—the fine art of keeping out the unwanted fragments of other people's telepathy, since he lacked any ability of his own. "Have you tried just thinking about something more… productive?"

"Just redirecting my thoughts?" That seemed way too simple. So simple, in fact, that he couldn't recall anyone else ever making the suggestion. Certainly not _here_. If the moms had tried, it had probably been in the middle of a list of things that just made him that much more anxious. "Probably worth a shot." The conversation had been good, but his resolve was gone, and he indicated the panel. "I'm gonna pop this open and see if there's anything useful."

Pidge's eyes widened as he came up next to him and got a look at what he'd been staring at. "And it hasn't been ripped off yet? Go for it."

"Weird, right? Given everything else… I think the mushrooms were covering it up." He went to try to open it, but whatever kind of latch might have held the panel down refused to give, and the next thing he knew he'd simply placed his hand flat on the metal.

There was a spark.

—_He felt both in and outside of his body. He was standing on solid ground and looking up at the sky and seeing bright stars above him. Making out constellations he'd never seen before, yet it felt like he knew them… he took in one the shape of spiral, another that reminded him of a lion. He stood up on his toes, wanting to get closer, thinking they were trying to tell him something—_

"Komora sa kye?!" Pidge jumped back at the spark, more a blinding flash of white light that raced over the panel and into the walls. A few of the mushrooms started smoldering. "Vince? Hey!" He tried to pull him away from the panel and about half succeeded; the other engineer was dead weight, but at least he wouldn't burn his hand.

—_He was back on the Altean ship, but still in and out of his own body. The ship was brighter, cleaner, and people surrounded him. They were alien, speaking but he couldn't hear any words, as if they were ghosts—or maybe memories. But they couldn't be his own. He stared at the closest, manning a station at the panel he'd just touched. Their skin was pale and it seemed like something bright blue-green was shimmering underneath it, except for patterns of dark spots and markings on their face and necks. He tried to move closer—_

Pidge was still trying to move him, poking his ribs, getting nothing. Vince's eyes were open wide, as if he were in some sort of trance… he knew he needed to call Jace but he'd left his datapad across the room, and he didn't want to just let Vince fall. So he kept slowly trying to drag him across the floor, illogically hoping he'd just wake up and it wouldn't matter.

—_He blinked, suddenly back in his own body but dizzy and confused. Looking up he could see Pidge staring at him wide-eyed, but he couldn't speak, his mind was swimming—_

"Mijtairra… Vince!"

Everything went black.

* * *

Sven and Jace had gone back, up the sloped corridors, finding a broken hatch and squeezing through into what on a human ship would have been the engine bay. On the Altean ship it was impossible to be certain, but…

"I freely admit I don't know shit about spaceships, but why is there a giant _rock?"_

"How am I supposed to know?" Coming around him, Sven looked up at the rock, which was certainly… well… a giant rock. It was a pale gray-white, dull, and crusted over with inert spores in places. It was also inexplicably connected to what looked like a few remaining cables—though upon a closer examination, the cables had been cut open, whatever metal had been inside of them removed.

Jace approached and poked at the stone, wondering if it might not be quite what it seemed. Nope; felt like rock. "Space is supposed to be your thing?"

"Navigating space is my thing. Alien spacecraft technology is not."

Fair enough, he supposed. Less than helpful, but fair enough. "Well that's disappointing."

"Sorry." The navigator raised an eyebrow. "Though I do know enough not to go around poking it."

Jumping back as though it had scorched his hand, the medic shot him a dirty look. "It's a rock! You cut pieces off a _giant monster fin_ that you thought was a rock."

Sven half nodded, smiling slightly. "That's true. In my defense, I would think dead giant monsters are safer than unknown alien tech."

"There's… actually something to be said for that, sure." Shaking his head and grumbling in Portuguese, he started making his way further down the chamber. It was mostly empty, other than the rock, though some partitions and the remnants of control stations remained. "This place is pretty well cleaned out."

"Makes sense." They hadn't expected much else. "The last anyone we've encountered had heard from the Alteans was over five hundred years ago, wasn't it? This thing's been around a long time."

"It's creepy," the medic muttered.

Sven laughed; he couldn't really dispute it. "You're not wrong, it is a ghost ship…" A huge smile spread over his face. He had a joke for just this situation. "Who says 'shiver me timbers' on a ghost ship?"

Jace turned back to face him, dark eyes narrowing slightly. He knew how this went. "You're going to make me guess, aren't you?"

"Yes." He was barely holding back the laugh.

_Fucking…_ "A cold lumberjack?"

"A skeleton crew!" Sven said gleefully, laughing as much at the joke itself as the expression on his friend's face.

Staring at him, slowly shaking his head, all Jace could really do was wonder why the hell he never saw this coming. "Do you save these jokes just for me?" he finally asked with a dramatic sigh. "To make me suffer?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm hilarious."

Now the medic did laugh. "I mean, that's certainly a word…"

"Hmph." Sven crossed his arms. "It's not _my_ fault your sense of humor is as bad as your bedside manner."

"I have a fantastic sense of humor," Jace objected. "It's just less dad jokes, more a healthy disrespect for—"

Out of nowhere, the rock erupted in blinding light.

"—What the _actual fuck?!"_

"What in holy heavens…"

Both of them had jumped back, and both of them had grabbed the other to drag them along; both of them had thus ended up on the floor, staring at the glowing stone in disbelief. "What in the holy _what?"_ Jace demanded, belatedly realizing he'd drawn his sidearm, his adrenaline falling as he realized the glowing rock was still just sitting there. It looked a bit more crystalline with light pulsing through it. "…Uhhh… no really, what…?"

Sven certainly didn't know and wasn't quite sure he wanted to. "We should go. Before…" Before what, exactly? What had even just happened? Never mind what might be _about_ to happen. "…Well, before you shoot the alien rock and make it angry."

He was rewarded with Jace's best indignant look, which in all fairness was quite good, if perhaps not fully justified. "I'm not gonna shoot the fucking alien rock! …Probably." He stood carefully and holstered his gun; as he did so, the light started to fade from the stone. "Yeah, you better run!"

Pulling himself to his feet as well, Sven couldn't tear his eyes from the rock until the glow had faded entirely. "…Maybe it thought my joke was funny?" Immediately he winced at the inanity he'd just spoken, but what _else_ was he supposed to say?

Jace didn't even mock him. "Tell it another one."

…Well, he did have a very appropriate one on hand. "Why did the sun go to school?" He paused a moment, then snickered. "To get brighter!"

The rock remained dim, and Jace looked over at him, completely deadpan. "It didn't like it."

"I have better ones I could try."

"I dunno, man, that's not a high bar… here, I have a better idea." Finally gathering his wits enough to remember his commset, he pulled it out and flipped it on. "Hey! Engineer types!"

Pidge's voice came back almost immediately—it almost sounded like he'd started transmitting while Jace was still speaking. "Doctor…? I was just about to call you. Vince is a bit unconscious."

"…What." Jace looked at the comms, then at the rock, then at Sven; the navigator's eyes and thoughts were following a similar track. It didn't seem like it could be a coincidence.

No real time for speculation, though. "You'd better go check it out. I'll stay here with the rock, it likes my jokes."

"I mean, someone ought to." Jace thought for the half-second he felt he could spare, then tried his damndest. "Besides, we don't want it to get stone-ly."

He took off before Sven could pass judgment.

* * *

Nothing was happening on the _Bolt…_ well, almost nothing. Loud music was thumping from the engine bay, down the corridors, even making its way onto the bridge as a few faint hints of an echo.

The bridge had been boring, anyway. Cam wandered back to the bay, wincing as the volume increased, and found the big engineer playing air guitar by a console. "Hunk?" His only answer was either bellowed lyrics or indiscriminate yelling—or both. Shaking his head, he looked around and located the datapad the noise was coming from, then crossed over and flipped it off.

Hunk blinked and looked over at him. "Rude!" He didn't actually seem surprised; no doubt this had happened before. Perhaps often.

Cam grinned. "Hi." He set his own datapad next to Hunk's; he had the comm and sensor feeds routed to it. "I was bored on the bridge, thought I'd come check on you."

"Sound check?" The engineer walked over and gave his datapad a tap, but didn't turn it back on.

Snort. "How are you not deaf?" He was looking around with interest as he spoke; he'd never really been in the Bolt's engine bay before. It wasn't completely unlike the bridge, except the control stations were designed for standing, and there were four reinforced hatches along the back wall bearing a dizzying array of lights and warning stickers.

"Adaptation, little dude!" Hunk grinned. "So, you here to be the adult supervision?"

Cam eyed him worriedly. "Do you need supervision?"

"Ain't blown anything up yet, have I?" He paused, frowning. "Hell, ain't even had anything _legit_ to blow up. Kinda bummed, I like my job." Breaking out the rocket launcher on a bunch of rabid bugs, no matter how enjoyable, did not _quite_ count as a proper exercise of his job skills. He'd been hoping they might need to blast their way into the Altean ship, but since they'd been told it had already been scavenged, it had seemed unlikely.

He'd still wanted to go, but then he'd lost rock paper scissors with the kids. _Twice_. Neither of them had respected the addition of the rocket launcher to the game's arsenal. And someone had to stay back and watch the ship; leaving it alone on a planet known to be frequented by looters would just be an awful idea.

Still trying to wrap his head around that comment, Cam finally went for the direct approach. "I thought you were an engineer?"

"I'm the bomb guy, technically." Also a chemical engineer, even more technically, though he much preferred 'bomb guy'. "But I'm tested out as a line mechanic too, part of the gig. Kinda like little gunner dude not actually bein' a gunner."

"Oh! Yeah, I guess that does make sense."

Smirk. "Basically I'm real good with…" He reached around the comms officer and flipped his datapad back on. "Metal!"

Shaking his head, Cam found a spot to sit on a nearby workbench. "So all you listen to is… loud stuff?"

"Harsh, dude. I'm a man of culture!" Hunk pouted, not entirely convincingly. "I listen to quiet stuff too. Sometimes." He took the datapad and scrolled through, switching from Floral Larceny's latest headbanger to a bit from the disco revival of the 2180s. "See?"

"Well… that's… different." Cam wouldn't have called it quiet and he probably wouldn't have called it culture, but _different_ was certainly accurate. He changed the subject. "I was looking for you in the galley earlier. Thought you'd take advantage with the doc out wandering."

At that their bomb guy suddenly looked sheepish. "Uh, yeah… pit boss put me under a galley restriction. I hafta make ingredient lists now." Shrug. "Sounds a lot like work."

"Oh… the thing with Pidge?" He'd heard only vague rumors. "What happened? I thought the chili was good."

"The chili was perfect," Hunk chuckled. "Just had some, uh… nontraditional ingredients Grumpy Ninja wasn't expecting to see outside dessert. He's fine though, just grumpier."

"Well that's good. He's so hard to figure out… I never expected this assignment to be so _challenging_." Cam veered away from that subject too. "Sorry, didn't mean to just come down here and mope."

Hunk reached over and ruffled his hair. "It's gotta be challenging, little dude. Otherwise any boring old line unit could do it."

"Yeah, you're right." Chuckling as well, he checked the time on his datapad. The others had been gone for a couple of hours. "You think they'll be gone much longer?"

"No idea. May as well have some fun until then, yeah? I mean, since you're here." With a wicked grin, the big engineer produced a guitar seemingly out of nowhere and offered it to him. "I know the boss has been teachin' you swords, how are ya with axes?"

With a puzzled look, Cam accepted the guitar. "An… axe? This looks like a guitar?" Hunk stared at him flatly, and he blushed, though he didn't know what he'd said that was wrong. "Sorry, man… I wish I could play. Gran didn't approve. Wasn't part of the family legacy."

Hunk looked equally puzzled. "You weren't allowed to have _any_ other hobbies?" _Are we sure this kid's a teenager? _"Harsh, dude."

But Cam smirked slightly. "Sure I was… if I could hide them from her. Something like this, though? I wouldn't have been able to hide it."

_Okay, maybe we don't have to revoke that teenager card after all_. He was about to ask for more information on those hidden hobbies, because _that_ could be fun, but was interrupted by the comms crackling. As Cam looked down and adjusted the signal, Jace's voice came through.

"Someone open a door, Sparky did some sparking."

"…Uh oh."

"That can't be good."

Jumping up, both ran for the nearest airlock, leaving 2180s disco blasting into the empty engine bay.

* * *

It had taken Jace about three minutes to decide Vince had to be returned to the _Bolt_. He'd taken that upon himself; there _was_ still the crazy-ass glowing rock to look into. So he'd dispatched Pidge to go find Sven and do whatever engineers did with unknown alien tech.

Hopefully poking it.

He had not told Pidge precisely what he was going to look at, and the ninja was a bit surprised to climb up through the hatch and find their navigator standing next to a giant rock. "Reporting, sir."

Sven looked at him and nodded an acknowledgment. "Is Vince alright?"

"He's unconscious, but his vitals were all normal. The doctor took him back to the ship for more testing."

That was worrisome, but at least he was in good hands, and normal vitals seemed like a good sign. "As long as Jace is with him, I'm sure he'll be fine." His encouraging smile didn't seem to make much impact on the young engineer, and he decided to move right along. "Would you like to try and help me with this rock that may not be an actual rock? Or at least not a normal rock…"

Something else to focus on sounded good right about now. "What's abnormal about it?"

"It lit up extremely bright out of nowhere, and then died out." He shook his head and looked at the dull stone, as dim and boring as ever now. "No idea what caused it. Maybe whatever knocked Vince unconscious caused it to power up?"

"…Komora?" Pidge shot him a sharp look, then returned his attention to the rock… or more accurately, the few vestiges of cables still hooked to the rock. Things were trying to make sense here. "Mechka made himself go unconscious… but you still may not be wrong." He approached and pulled out some of the scanning equipment they'd brought, starting to set it up around the stone. It was basic gear—they hadn't expected to need much—but would at least get some energy and composition readings.

Sven wondered at his last comment, but wasn't sure he ought to ask directly. "You'd know better than me. Alien tech is not my area of expertise." He frowned slightly. "Not to say our tech is always my area of expertise either." He still needed to figure out how to refine some of those alarm settings…

Pidge snorted as he got his equipment set up. "I don't know anything about this ship's tech base, sir, and I'd need more than a little time to figure it out." He was only half paying attention, really. His focus was on the rock, and Vince. He didn't expect the scans to tell them much of anything… because he was starting to see the pattern here. _Magic_. "Computers are unforgiving even when you do know how they work."

"Yes, yes they are." Sven seized that and jumped on it. He'd had some thoughts on the matter bubbling up since the near-disaster at Kel… well, he'd had thoughts since the first route he'd mapped on this team, but now he had a lot of thoughts. And he'd been _meaning_ to grab their systems analyst to discuss them, but hadn't had the chance. "Like the system the Alliance uses for navigation calculations and routing, it's _abysmal_. It doesn't account for any planetary politics other than the Drules. Occasionally it'll take into account local wars and such, but I mean, on our first run it tried to take us through Drozan. _Drozan!_ They surround their planet with interdiction fields and space mines. It's a great way to die, and any navigator who even _slightly_ knows what they are doing knows to avoid Drozan. But does the computer? No!"

The scans had started up, and Pidge was still just about half listening to Sven's rant as he watched. Was he supposed to respond? He was probably supposed to mutter something empty and vaguely reassuring here. "That's unfortunate."

Sven may or may not have even heard him. "And the alarm system? Horrid. It only warns me about half of the extremely dangerous space anomalies we could encounter, whether in or out of hyperspace, with actual _alarms_. The other half get beeps, and if I happen to be away from my monitors I could miss them completely. And that's another thing! The transference of nav data from my monitors to my datapad is only half effective. Again, if I'm not paying attention 24/7 I could very easily miss something. You'd think a spacefaring race would develop a better nav system. Though I suppose if they did that I'd be out of a job… so it's not like I have anything to worry about, they won't be fixing or enhancing that system anytime soon."

Pidge's mind had drifted back to Vince again. About the implications if he'd really been the one that caused the rock to power up, about the implications if this ship had been powered by a source that was partially, or even _completely_, magic-based… it took him a few moments to realize the navigator had stopped ranting.

"…Would you like me to have a look at it?" He wasn't entirely certain what he'd just volunteered for, but he _had_ caught something about fixing or enhancing systems.

"That would be wonderful," Sven said brightly, as if he hadn't even thought of it before. "Even if you could just fix the alarm system, it would be a great help. And make my job significantly less stressful."

"I should be able to." Pidge was still staring at the rock as his first scans completed. "If you can help me with the readings on this thing. I think we're going to need a few more tests." According to the basic material composition check, they were looking at… a rock.

Sven raised an eyebrow. This still wasn't his area of expertise. But he supposed the ninja could tell him what to do, and he would hardly have refused even _without_ getting a favor in return. "Of course."

* * *

It was raining on Korrinoth. Romelle was staring out the window, with some vague understanding that there was motion coming from the sky, but she really wasn't seeing it. Nor was she feeling much of anything, though she had some intellectual realization that she was wrapped up in Lotor's arms.

That, at least, was not unusual. The less aware of it she was, the better.

He was stroking her hair and watching, waiting for her to return to her senses. He, too, was used to this—it took her a long time to recover from sex, and he was gratified she'd learned to abandon herself to it rather than the nervousness she'd once shown. "A'kuri?"

Romelle had learned to react to the word. To cling to it like a life raft and pull herself back from the nothingness. Now she blinked slowly, turning to him as the world came back into focus. "Sincline…?"

"Ah, you're back." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she blushed.

"Yes, sorry, I… thank you."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he countered. "I'm glad you've come to enjoy yourself…"

Enjoy herself? "Um, yes," she managed after a moment's hesitation. "Very much." She couldn't manage the kind of enthusiasm the words had probably called for, but he seemed to accept them anyway, and she exhaled in relief.

Even more relieving, he didn't dwell on the subject. "There's some excitement coming up soon. One of our grandest traditions." He gave a bright smile, baring his fangs. "I'm excited to share it with you."

A grand tradition? She did genuinely brighten at that. "That sounds wonderful." Learning the culture of her new people was always enjoyable. Though a second thought came on the heels of the eagerness. "How… how soon? I had been hoping to have your permission to go home for a few days…" Her last letter from Avok had been warm but brief, and the message clear. "My mother is in a delicate state, and she's been asking after me. I'd like to see her."

Lotor blinked. "Your mother?" He'd simply assumed her mother to be dead, considering… "She's never come to Korrinoth, has she?"

"No." Romelle shook her head sadly. "As I said, her health is… very delicate. She's kept in her chambers with very few visitors." Frowning, she looked away; she could probably keep her voice even, but couldn't fight back a tear trying to well up, and she didn't want the prince to see that. "Father won't even see her. He feels it's best to speak as though she's dead."

_Aha_. Lotor snorted. "Your father has many 'thoughts', allegedly."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "It's only because of me and Avok that she is even being cared for, really."

"Shameful." He wondered if he ought to bring up his own mother's death here. Was that how one was meant to relate to a consort? No, it didn't seem correct—this courtship was about the union of their peoples and the glory of the kingdom, she didn't need to hear nonsense about his _feelings_. Offering a solution would be much more useful. "Perhaps once we're wed, we can have her brought here? Grant her a proper quarters and see her properly cared for…"

Hope sparked in Romelle's eyes for a moment, then faded as she considered what that would actually require. She couldn't imagine her mother handling space travel. "As… as much as I would love that, I'm not sure her health would allow for it. Much less what father would think…"

Taking her shoulders, Lotor gently brought her around to meet his eyes. "Don't worry about what _he_ thinks, dear a'kuri. Your family is here now."

The tears hadn't gone away, which was just as well, because _that_ brought a few new ones forth. "I… thank you," she murmured, reaching up to touch his hand. "I'm honored."

He smiled, kissing her forehead, then sobered a bit. "As for visiting her…"

"I would only like a few days," she said hopefully. "If you will permit it?"

"I would, but not so soon, I fear. The gladiatorial season begins in a few short days, you see… it is our duty to be there." Lotor brushed a few of her tears aside. "There will be blood, and glory, and many courageous warriors battling for the favor of the crowds and the Crown. We must honor that. But once the games are concluded, we can certainly arrange such a trip."

"Oh…" Romelle nodded slowly. She'd heard murmurs of the upcoming 'festivities', though she'd had no real sense of what they entailed until now. "How long do they last?"

"It depends on who triumphs. A phase or two, most often."

That had been longer than she'd expected, or perhaps hoped—the Drules based much of their calendar on the moon phases of their ancestral homeworld, and a phase was somewhat analogous to a Polluxian month. But then, she would simply have to get used to it. She was here to become a princess of Korrinoth, and to protect Pollux… the needs of the Ninth Kingdom came before the needs of Pollux.

A cruel irony, but it was what she had. "I… I suppose that should be alright."

"It will be alright," he promised. "Perhaps we can still be of some help in the meantime. Would you like us to send a priest to assess her health?"

He seemed eager to help, and Romelle wondered if she ought to explain the reality of her mother's condition. But then, she had a feeling that wouldn't change his mind, and she didn't want to talk about it, so she just shook her head. "I'm not sure, sincline. I don't think there is much to be done for her, and I would at least have to discuss it with Avok."

That was a name Lotor put far more stock in than her father's, and he nodded. "If you change your mind, whatever you think can be done for her, we will do our best to arrange. And as soon as possible we will have you back to see her. Will you be happy with that?"

As happy as she could be in these circumstances, certainly. "Yes… thank you, sincline."

* * *

Private Knaps struggled with the package he carried as he rushed down the tunnel pathways. He was on a mission—not a sanctioned one, technically. Nobody had asked him directly. His given task was to be a runner between the shelters, to move messages and occasionally supplies between the dwindling populations of refugees. But on his last trip to the Falastol shelters he'd seen something curious, several guards attending to a sick kid… with that kind of attention, it didn't take much for him to guess that it was someone important. Arus couldn't afford to lose much more. Not people of importance. Not children. So he'd rushed off on his own initiative… but by the time he'd made it back to the shelter with his bundle, the kid and the guards were gone.

Luckily, some were willing to point him in the direction they had gone. So he continued his run, with curious noses poking out of the box to see where they were going. As he got closer to the castle shelter, he was thanking the gods that the small critters never tried to escape, despite the few tumbles he'd taken. One had fallen from the box when he'd stumbled over, but it hadn't even attempted to escape; it had just snorted a spark at him.

It was unusual behavior, but he wasn't going to object…

Doing a final count of his box's contents, he let out a satisfied huff as all five puzzled salamanders stared back at him. The largest one turned towards the shelter and belched a spark, almost as if to announce its arrival. The small creatures were mostly a curiosity on Arus, but the fire from the embers they spat was held to have particularly soothing effects on many illnesses.

"Is that you, Knaps?"

Knaps looked up as he heard his name called. Seeing a fellow soldier, he waved and headed towards him. "Hey there, Fronad. Have you seen a kid come through here? Kind of sick, fancy clothes, had a lot of guards about him? Thought some fire salamanders might help him."

Fronad winced, then rubbed his palm across his chin. "I may have seen him…" His tone was muted. "Knaps, how much news have you heard while traveling through the tunnels?"

"Umm. Not much really, it was a long run and these guys can be… wiggly." As if to prove it he reached up to retrieve the smallest one, which had decided to climb up to his head.

"I see," Fronad acknowledged, keeping one eye on Knaps' haul in the box. There was no way to really break this gently. "The child you are looking for is Prince Tanner… and I'm afraid I must tell you, your very good intentions are very much too late."

"Oh… Golden Gods…" Knaps looked down at the salamanders. "What am I supposed to do with these critters? I'd be a fool if I were to present myself now."

Fronad sighed as he looked at his fellow guardsmen. Private Knaps had a reputation among the militia for doing strange and sometimes even foolish things, but he always had the best of intentions. Picking one of the salamanders up, he considered how to make the best of it. "I've heard of salamander fire being used for various illnesses. You know how?"

Knaps perked up with a proud smile "Yup, my Granny made sure I could use one should I ever need to." Convincing the little lizards to produce sparks on command—without hurting them—was an art, but one practiced among Arusian folk healers for generations.

"Well, then… if they do work, perhaps then you can share that wisdom here. There are plenty of others sick in the shelters. You may not be able to help the Prince, but I'm sure the Princess would appreciate—"

"—What would I appreciate?" a voice chimed in near them. Allura had been coming out to check with the guards; there were plans that needed to be made, after all…

"Y-your Majesty!" Knaps stuttered as they both quickly saluted her presence. "These salamanders, your majesty. I thought to bring your brother some when I saw him during my tunnel running tasks. I'm very sorry to hear of his passing." The last bit, he said softly.

Allura smiled, a bit sadly. Picking up one of the slender creatures, she marveled at how it didn't seem to want to flee her. Instead, it moved to wrap itself around her neck. "How were you able to gather so many of these? I thought they avoided contact as much as possible, not to mention living in the hottest parts of the Burning Ridge…"

"Yes… they normally do, but here's the weird thing, Princess. Lots of the shelters near there are finding these guys coming in and just helping to warm the place. These salamanders I brought were just crawling around one of those tunnels, following the runners. It's like they're making their way into as many shelters as they can."

"That does sound strange," she agreed, tilting her head. "And they are used for?"

"Healing, between the fire they create and the protective oils on their skin. Very helpful for various things. I'm willing to share all that my granny taught me," Knaps said proudly.

Placing a hand on the salamander, she felt a small glimmer of emotion, of wanting to help. "Then let's see how well they do here. There are still others who are in need." Giving the salamander by her neck a rub on its chin, she turned to lead Private Knaps to the doctors.

The remaining salamanders settled back in the box he was carrying, giving a happy burp of sparks as they moved ahead. "Easy guys," he whispered to them. "This is the big time, best behavior. Okay?"

Their response was a collective belch of sparks.


	36. Learning Process

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 35_  
Learning Process

* * *

Absolutely nothing was happening in the engine bay. Flynn had left his shift early, shadowed by a ninja, to go check in on Vince; they'd found one unconscious wrenchling and one annoyed medic losing at solitaire. So, about the usual. He hadn't intended to stay long—what was the point in watching someone sleep? Just a minute to ask if anything had changed, which it hadn't, and…

A monitor beeped, and Vince's eyes fluttered open.

"Vince!"

Jace jumped up immediately. "Chief, you can sit your ass down until I've had a look."

Flynn eyed him skeptically. _At what, my ass?_ The fact that he'd even _thought_ that clearly meant he was spending too much time with Lance; he shrugged and sat as the young engineer looked blearily around the sick bay.

"Oh no…"

"What're you oh-no-ing about?" Jace quickly got to work checking his vitals, though he wasn't expecting anything useful. The job was the job. This kid was something _way_ beyond the job, they just didn't know what yet.

"Uh. That I sparked…?" Vince sat up for a moment, trying to remember the circumstances _this_ time. Memories came trickling back slowly. Memories of the ship, of the visions, of the… stars? He felt a little dizzy, doubted it was physical, and laid back down.

"How are you feeling?"

"What he said."

_Good questions_. Something didn't seem right. "Um… fine?" This seemed like a lot more of a _production_ than his usual sparks. For that matter, if the last thing he remembered was the Altean ship, how and why was he here? What he really felt was foggy. "Confused? Annoyed?"

"Well if you're the first one of those, I'm the other two." Jace put up his equipment and shook his head. "Your vitals are perfectly normal, still."

"Really? But…" What was bothering him finally put itself into coherent words despite the fuzziness in his mind. "…Wait. How long was I out?"

Flynn and Jace looked at each other for a moment. "…Afuckingwhile."

"Twelve hours exactly," Pidge clarified, and Vince sat bolt upright with a cry of shock. He had not noticed the ninja hovering about. "…Sorry?"

"Don't _lurk_ like that!" He knew it was a lost cause and don't bother to dwell on it. _Twelve hours?_ "No wonder I feel groggy."

"Yeah." Snort. "That and you sparking turned the fucking ship on for a few seconds, or something…" Their medic started taking another round of vitals, just to have something to do that felt moderately useful. Despite knowing by now it wasn't going to be useful. "You feel fine, seriously?"

"Yeah." Vince was still trying to wrap his head around the first part of that. _I turned it _on? _Is that related to those… weird-ass things I saw? Do I mention that?_ "Physically anyway."

Jace eyed him. "I'm sure you'll be _shocked_ to know I'm not qualified to treat psych symptoms."

Vince met his gaze sullenly, grumbling under his breath. "Yay shocked jokes."

"…I didn't even do that on purpose!" He was certainly not going to apologize, but he did look appropriately horrified. "None of you fuckers better tell Sven."

"We will," Flynn promised with a smirk; Vince snickered.

"Of course you will." Finishing up the second round of vitals, which were not appreciably different and definitely weren't abnormal, Jace retreated and sighed. "Okay, look. I can't find anything physically wrong, but we're not gonna risk it. I want you on monitors for a bit longer. So you are _not_ cleared. You're gonna sit your ass in that bed and _think about what you've done_."

"It's not like I do it on purpose!" Admittedly, he'd put his hand on the panel on purpose, but he'd sure as heck not been meaning to knock himself out or turn on an ancient spacecraft.

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly, then his smirk broadened. "Doctor, your presence is upsetting my wrenchling."

"It's mutual! I think he's just fucking allergic to Altea." Scowling, he turned and headed for the door. "Anyway, Chief, yell or send me a ninjagram or something if anything happens, otherwise I'll be back in a bit or if some monitor starts bitching." He left grumbling in Portuguese about spontaneous electrogenesis.

Looking after him, thinking about both the ship and the relic, Vince couldn't help wondering if being allergic to Altea might actually be a point… no, it didn't explain all the computers he'd set on fire before ever leaving Earth. He took a minute to try to get comfortable despite the monitors—a lost cause—then looked over at Flynn. "Did I really turn the ship on?"

The chief frowned. "That's a bit of an overstatement, but…"

"But?"

"The ship had some kind of power crystal," Pidge explained. "Unclear whether it was storage or generation, there wasn't enough left around it to tell. Apparently it lit up when you had your incident."

"We poked at it for a good while after, but couldn't get it to be anything more than a large rock."

Looking between them, Vince suddenly felt torn between intense relief and disappointment to be far away from the ship. "A big rock? Glew? And I _missed_ it?" Something about that didn't sound right either, but his mind was still scrambling…

Pidge blinked. "There wasn't any glue."

…Oh. He stared at the ninja and tried to figure out how to even respond to that; as was often the case, the answer was not to respond at all.

Flynn shook his head. "What happened, Vince?" All Pidge had been able to tell them was that he'd been trying to open a panel.

As if Vince knew much more than that. "Well, um…" Of course something had happened. Something he didn't understand, didn't think he could explain, and definitely didn't _want_ to try to explain… yet he felt like he needed to. If only to try to get a grip on it himself. Still, he looked at the two of them and grimaced. Flynn he might be able to tell about it, but…

Without him actually saying anything, Pidge stood and wordlessly left the sick bay; Flynn startled and looked after him. "Pidge?"

"He does that." Vince suppressed a sigh of relief. It definitely wasn't the first time his roommate had seen that expression. "I think it's my face."

Flynn considered that; Pidge did tend to take unusual cues. "Did he do what you wanted?"

"Yeah, kinda… I wasn't gonna say it."

Laughing a little—mostly because he could imagine Pidge's reaction to Vince wanting to spare his feelings—Flynn leaned forward. "Alright. So…"

"It sounds crazy." _I'm really gonna say this out loud?_

"That's nothing new around here."

That was an excellent point. And if he had to tell someone, well… "Um. I think I had a vision or something. Maybe just some weird side effect of the sparking?"

Flynn tilted his head. "A vision?"

"Two, maybe… it was all so weird."

_Weird_ was nothing new around here either, but Flynn really had no idea where to go with that. Visions were things to be cryptically invoked by Hydran shamans and Daesulos oracles, not to just turn up in his subordinate engineers. "…You want to talk about them?" was all he came up with.

"No. Yes. No…" Vince exhaled deeply. "There were stars, constellations, I mean literal constellations, and I didn't recognize them but they looked familiar at the same time? And as if that wasn't bad enough then I was back on that ship, the Altean one, only it wasn't mushroom infested, it was new and glowing people were manning the stations. But then just like that I woke up and there were mushrooms and Pidge and then it all went black."

…Okay, maybe he had wanted to talk about it.

Flynn was quiet for a long time. _What in the _actual _hell does one say to that? _He flailed for something in his own experiences that might help, but there wasn't much; as alien as the world beyond Dathreil had been, at least _someone_ there had had answers. Familiar constellations and visions of the Altean crew? It all seemed so…

_Wait…_

His mind had latched back onto something. Something he'd shrugged off as one more oddity, suddenly maybe—just maybe—far more relevant. "…Let me ask you something that's going to seem equally strange?"

Vince wasn't sure what he'd expected. Reassurance? Was that even what he needed, exactly? No sense refusing whatever thread his boss was trying to follow. "May as well."

"Remember when you fired the disruptor cannon at Bokar?"

…_Not if I can possibly avoid it?_ "Yeah… why?"

"Because you fired it too quickly. Remember? We never put the backup generator on standby."

Vince's eyes went wide. He'd never thought about that. Too busy freaking out about the giant snake monster. "We didn't?"

"No. So… did you spark then?"

"We didn't…" He shook his head and struggled to think back. The fight, the scales in front of him, hitting the trigger, the immediate burst of lightning. "I don't think so… or… I didn't think so?" The image flashed back to him, the spark he'd thought he'd imagined since the console hadn't gone up in smoke. Had he really…?

"You're sure?"

"Not at all!" He nearly yelled it, then blushed fiercely and sank back. "…Sorry."

Flynn cracked a small smile. "It's alright."

"I used to just think this was an annoying 'why me' thing… now it's bigger than that, isn't it?" He couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

"It looks like." Flynn was still kind of half-smiling, and couldn't resist. "At least now it's really not an attitude problem?"

Vince snorted. "You were the first one to get that it never was." Sigh. "I'm just… even more confused now."

He certainly wasn't the only one. "I wish I had answers for you."

"How could you, though?"

"Yeah, exactly. Faex…" The train of thought he'd been trying to stay aboard earlier reasserted itself, and he looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. Aside from the regular explosions, they had a weapon exceeding its design parameters and a power source briefly brought back to life. And the visions. How did visions play into it?

Maybe…

"You're speaking to machines," he murmured finally, feeling his way. "That's pretty much what this is, isn't it? You're speaking to them… in their language, somehow? And the ship talked back to you." Programming wasn't his strongest area, but following the language thread was getting him to something. Maybe. "The sparks are maybe… language errors? Mistranslations?"

"I'm definitely mistranslating," Vince agreed. He wasn't sure how he felt about the rest of the theory. It was reasonable enough for what they had, he supposed, but every time they had a guess something happened to complicate things. Maybe he just didn't _want_ a new theory. "I don't know, it's weird."

_"That_ seems safe to bet."

He supposed that had been pretty obvious. "Do you think it talked back because it's Altean? I got…" His eyes somehow became still wider. "…Those stars. I saw those stars _then_, too. When I touched the relic."

Oh. _Well_. Flynn closed his eyes, still trying to explain the unexplainable, trying to remember what Lance and Keith had said about the magical energy reacting differently to different people. "That relic… the crystal on it. Not that transparent crystal is rare, but… what if it's… the same composition as the rock aboard the ship? It did look like it was crystalline before the mushrooms and the elements got hold of it. Maybe you're… attuned to that crystal, the way Kogane is the black metal and Lance the red. Something with stars…?"

"Huh. Maybe." It sounded logical. And maybe trying to talk through it was helping Flynn come to grips—but it definitely wasn't calming Vince down any, and they were _his_ sparks, so he felt like he should have the last say on the matter. And his muted response seemed to get the point across; Flynn wound down and nodded his understanding.

Then it got awkward. Just for a little bit. Though the mention of Keith was worrying him for other reasons, too, and finally he voiced the new question.

"Do you have to tell the Commander?"

"Tell him what?"

"About the vision." Blink. "Or was that you saying you won't tell him?" He still really wasn't up to his usual mental dexterity.

Flynn had not been saying that, and took a minute to consider the question. He saw no reason to tell… or wouldn't have seen any reason to tell, had it not been for the fact that Vince's reactions more and more seemed to be tied to their target somehow. Of course it could be a coincidence. It could be nothing but the reactions to the metal, just more intense. Or it could be far more…

"…I don't have to tell him now. But you have to do something for me."

Vince swallowed, looking into the chief's deadly serious violet eyes. "Yeah?"

"Don't go poking the relic again, or anything, but… if you remember anything more, if you see anything else, tell me. As close to immediately as you can. So long as this is just about you, you can take it at your own pace—or at least, I won't stop you. But if it comes to have some bearing on our actual mission… we may need to know more. You understand?"

He understood. It was better than he'd been expecting, truthfully. "I promise. And yeah, trust me, I won't be poking _anything_." _I'm definitely not Hunk_. In so, so many ways.

Laughing softly, Flynn leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder. "We've got enough questions on this trip already, what's one more?" He gave a wry smile. "Maybe that answer is waiting on Altea, too. If it is, we'll find it."

Something in his confidence was, if not contagious, at least comforting. "Alright. I could do with it just being something dull, though, honestly…"

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Yeah, I know. Just not how this mission works." _At all._

"Not a bit. But you're doing a good job, Vince. You'll be alright."

His ears definitely went very hot at that, and he grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Flynn."

Flynn's answering grin quickly turned into a smirk. "I think Jace basically said I have to stay here and keep an eye on you until he gets back, though. You want to talk about something more fun? Wiring, maybe?"

Vince couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah… yeah. I would _love_ to talk about wiring. Let's do it."

* * *

Hunk wasn't going to call it stress cooking. He was not _stressed_. He was _concerned_, certainly. His fellow wrenchling, and the cute nervous one no less, had been unconscious in the sick bay for hours for no apparent reason other than _being Vince_; concern was a natural reaction. He wasn't stressed. He didn't _get_ stressed.

Okay, maybe he was stress cooking just a little. Nobody had to know that.

Sven was sitting at the galley table, watching him with interest. The threatened chili cook-off had not manifested, unsurprisingly; more surprisingly, a not-chili cook-off actually had. He'd been enlisted to judge well before 9-XRL, and if Hunk insisted the show must go on, Sven wasn't going to argue.

As for Jace…

"You let giant donut dude have a head start?" He entered the galley and shot his roommate a look of betrayal. "Seriously?"

Hunk turned and shot him a wink. "Bold of you to think he could stop me."

That, Sven acknowledged, was accurate… but it also wasn't as if he'd tried. "Contestants who arrive on time get the advantage of starting on time," he said piously, earning a glare that could've boiled water on its own.

"I was _treating a patient!"_

"How is he?" Hunk asked; they could both guess the answer from the fact that their medic was _here_, but he still wanted to hear what he'd actually say.

"Awake and completely fucking fine, obvs."

Had Sven not already been set on his course of action, the word 'obvs' would have done it. "I'm glad he's fine. That said, your outside issues are not something that is taken into account during a competition." He smiled. "I'd start cooking if I were you, you have to make up for lost time."

Was he being a little bit of an ass? Yes. Was he about to get called out for it? Also yes. Did Jace deserve it, and in fact, have only himself to blame for encouraging this sort of corruption? Oh, so very _much_ yes.

Jace's expression seemed to go through that same entire thought process before he found words. "…_So_ proud of you, caralho."

"Your influence has paid off, I know."

"Fuck yeah it has!" Still shaking his head, he grabbed a pot and started hunting down ingredients. "Okay, time to make some not fucking chili! And _without_ knocking out our ninja."

"I'm keepin' a list this time," Hunk protested, holding up his datapad before typing in an entry and tossing a handful of something into a pan. "See? Here's a bunch of scallops!"

Jace blinked. They'd both handled their own requisitions for the galley, but he was certain the Alliance did _not_ consider that a staple protein. "Why were there even scallops on the ship?"

"Cuz I'm thorough with the stockpiling, bro!"

"Yeah I guess you are…" He shook his head and turned to his own pot. "…since you're somehow _still_ not out of murder pepper sauce…"

"Brought a case," the big man chuckled, then looked over at Jace's ingredients. The urge to ask him about breaking out the _saffron_ while questioning his scallops was strong; he resisted and opted for a more general observation. The more indignant their medic was feeling about sharing the galley, the more traditional he tended to go. "Galinhada?"

"…I'm not fucking telling you!" That lasted about three seconds. "How did you know?"

"Cuz it's delicious?" Grin. "I bet even you can't ruin it!"

Glare. "Know what, the knife block is over here, and you might know food but I know _anatomy_. You fucking watch it."

"Jace, I think he just 'burned' you," Sven said casually, snickering a little at his pun.

It was probably mostly the pun that got him glared at, too. "Whose side are you on, Viking?"

"The food's."

Both the team cooks looked at each other for a moment, then exchanged shrugs. "Seems fair, yeah?"

"Yeah."

For awhile they actually stopped bickering, focused on their work as the cooking began in earnest. Sven stood up and started pacing behind them, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Everything smelled wonderful; he'd have chosen anything either of these two cooked over the most elegant restaurants his parents had ever dragged him to, and it wasn't _just_ for the improved ambiance.

Silence with Hunk in the room was weird, though, and the smells were making him hungry. "How's it coming along?"

"Pretty good!" Hunk turned back and flashed him a winning smile. "Sure you don't wanna join in? Every cook-off needs a little lutefisk to make everyone else look good."

Sven snorted; the thought of giving them a lecture on the extensive preparation time required for lutefisk came and went. It definitely wasn't the point. "I'm going to have to pass. The judge should remain unbiased, and joining the competition would do the opposite of that."

"You wouldn't judge your own cooking!" Jace pointed out with a sly smirk. "We'd do that, and we'd totally give you feedback…" The grin abruptly faded as he realized he'd just done it _again_. "…Fuck, I think I just made a _you_ joke."

He had, at that. "Seems as if my influence is paying off as well."

"Yeah, seems like…" The medic seemed a bit distressed by that, looking back at his galinhada; of course, it was cooking with the lid on and definitely wasn't going to save him. He looked over at what Hunk was doing—something with seafood and acorn flour—and got a reassuring grin in return.

"It's okay, Doc. We probably won't tell."

"I won't," Sven promised, shaking his head and rolling his eyes affectionately.

"That's a plus." Leaning back against the counter, Jace shot their navigator a look of mild suspicion. "You know, we didn't actually check your qualifications as a food judge."

This didn't seem like a task that required a whole lot of qualification. Mostly just enjoying good food, which… he supposed that would rule out their chief engineer, but not much else. Still, he wasn't just going to leave the challenge unanswered. "I like your sandwiches and his donuts equally, and I'm pretty sure that means I am in fact the _only_ person on this ship qualified to judge this particular cook-off."

Both of them spun on him, looking horrified, speaking in unison. "You _what?"_

…Oh dear. "I've felt that way about all the meals you two have made."

"You are still way too damn diplomatic, we'll keep working on it."

"But… sandwiches… versus donuts?"

He shrugged. "They're both very good." There was a time for sandwiches and a time for donuts, and really he didn't see how they were even competing.

Jace stared over at Hunk's food again, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Okay, know what? We settle this right fucking now. And Viking likes _me_ best."

Hunk just grinned again. "Ain't his taste in roomies we're judgin' here, bro!"

"Lucky you!" Smirk. "That means we can at least pretend you have a chance."

Sven just snorted and took his seat again. Having his impartiality questioned was to be expected here, he supposed. And it wasn't _untrue_ that he liked Jace best… but he was serious about being on the food's side.

Soon enough, the food was ready, and Jace was dishing out a bowl of galinhada for judging. "Nailed it. On time."

"Smells wonderful," Sven declared with a smile, them looked at Hunk, who chuckled.

"Let 'im go first, that way it won't be a disappointment."

Jace elbowed him with a dramatic sigh, but didn't object, so Sven accepted the bowl and took a few bites. He'd never had galinhada before; it turned out to be a mix of chicken and rice and a few vegetables, all a startlingly bright yellow. And it was delicious. "This is great," he declared between bites, drawing another smirk from the medic.

"See? Don't be too let down when it's his turn."

Hunk had produced bacon-wrapped scallops and thin slices of breaded fish, and carefully arranged them into a smiley face on the plate. Which was more on-brand than his competitor had imagined was possible. Even Sven couldn't help a laugh. "Looks amazing." He tried a few bites and immediately knew where this was going to go. "Tastes amazing…" He _tried_ to avoid it. He really did. He went back to Jace's for a few bites, then Hunk's again, and shook his head slightly. How was he supposed to pick one, really? They were both delicious, and completely different—which was pretty much how their cooking _always_ went. "I can't decide."

Both of them looked at him as if he'd praised intel's efficiency or something. "Um."

"What."

Shrugging, he took a long sip of water and looked up at them. "Maybe you guys should try making the same dish if you want a judgment to come easier?" What few cooking shows he'd seen did it like that, he was pretty sure.

They exchanged shrugs again, with Hunk voicing the question. "Like what?"

"Hmm. How about an egg dish?" Even with Hunk and Jace around, breakfast aboard the _Bolt_ usually consisted of grabbing a muffin or donut on the way to a duty shift.

Of course he'd said _egg_, not _breakfast_; Jace remembered the Viking's dislike of brunch and went somewhere else entirely. "Quiche?" he suggested as Hunk looked over at him.

The big engineer snorted. "On _this_ ship? Omelettes."

"Frittatas."

"You're on."

Tossing a quick salute, the medic trotted over to the galley's cold storage and returned with a carton of eggs. "Ready for round two, motherfuckers!"

Sven settled back to watch, grinning. _This ought to be good_.

* * *

Keith walked into the gym and looked around. He could still smell traces of the decontamination items that the engineers had used to clean up the mess Daniel had made… granted, it had been awhile, but the chemical smell was winning its battle with the air filtration. And he still heard about it from Flynn on occasion, so he knew he wasn't imagining things. _Bridge brats…_

He moved to the benches along one wall, setting down his towel, water bottle, and Raiden. Then he opened up another locker, pulling out two wooden practice swords and one proper sword. Cam was showing great progress; it would be interesting to see how he held up under an actual blade. He toed off his boots and peeled off his socks, then picked up his own sword and moved onto the mat, moving slowly through a couple of katas while he waited on Cam to arrive for practice.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Cam walked in—a little late, but not too much so, he hoped. He'd been on shift, then had gone to his room to change into something he could move in a bit more comfortably. Standing in the doorway, he watching Keith's smooth and steady movements and smiled, mesmerized. "Man, I hope I can get to be as smooth as you, boss…"

Keith paused, feeling heat creep up into his cheeks. "Thanks, Cam." He lowered his sword and turned to face him. "Get stretched out and we'll go through a couple of katas. Then, I think you're ready to step it up a bit. What do you think?"

Cam's eyes went wide and a grin spread across his lips. "Yes, sir!" He hustled to the bench and dropped his gear before stretching out and doing as he'd been told.

Chuckling, Keith shook his head, watching Cam fumble a couple of stretches in his excitement. By the time he finished and picked up his practice sword, he seemed to have worked all the nervous energy out. Or at least enough to get by. Nodding, Keith moved through the same katas he'd done earlier with him, noting how confidently he managed the motions now. "Very good. You've learned well, Cam."

"Th…thank you, sir." He wasn't preening. Not at all.

He totally was.

Moving towards him, Keith took the wooden practice sword and moved to the bench. He picked up the other sword and held it out to him, hilt first. "Shall we spar?"

Cam hadn't seen the other sword on the bench; his eyes went as big as saucers as the commander offered it. "Spar…with _real…_ _yes_, sir!"

Keith couldn't help but laugh as Cam took the sword and tested its weight in his hands. "It's not quite as well balanced as mine, but I think you can handle it."

_A real sword!_ Cam could definitely handle it. He hoped. "I'll try not to hurt you, sir."

He chuckled again. "If you can land a blow on me, I'll have deserved it, I'm sure." They might get some grief from their medic, but that wasn't even a deterrent at this point. "Let's do this."

It took Cam a little bit to actually get into the swing of things. Keith had anticipated that—he'd be a very poor teacher not to—and went much easier on him than with the practice swords as they eased into a rhythm. Soon the sound of metal on metal echoed through the gym, along with soft Russian and Japanese curses.

It wasn't the same as the practice swords, for sure. It was almost easier… the way the blade sang through the air, skipping off the other, each clash of metal giving him a bit of new feedback. Several times, Keith nearly disarmed him, and he drew back to recover before trying to mimic those moves.

That last part wasn't working well—until suddenly it _did_. With a metallic screech Keith's sword went sliding across the gym floor, and Cam found himself pointing his own sword at him and panting, wide-eyed.

Blinking, Keith took a step back and gave a short bow. "Nice job."

"How the hell did that happen?" Cam lowered the sword, shocked.

"I'd say you've learned something," Keith answered with a grin. He moved to retrieve his sword and turned back to Cam. "Let's see just how much you've learned. Round two, shall we?"

Cam grinned back. "You're on, sir."

* * *

Lance rolled his shoulders and sighed. It was just him and Daniel on the bridge, and it was eerily silent. Which wasn't like either of them, when it came down to it. But the kid seemed to be avoiding him, and he wasn't sure what it was he'd done this time. His mind went blank when he tried to remember any incidents… it was time to do something about it.

"Uh, so, kid… what's up?"

"I'd say the sky but we're in space—" Daniel groaned and cut that off. "Oh for fuck's… it's so awkward I'm making Sven jokes!" Sven jokes _were_ better than the silence, but not by much.

Lance snorted and shook his head. "Why is it awkward?"

Daniel stayed silent for a bit, but then launched forward into the answer; he couldn't suffer in silence any longer. "I don't know if you can handle this. I can barely handle this." He inhaled deeply, realizing this was going to be a rant. _He's not going to be able to handle this._

_Oh shit._ Lance noted the inhale and braced himself. Maybe he wouldn't be able to handle this.

"So you know when we were exploring the ghost ship and Keith fucking Sword-Up-His-Ass Kogane decided I needed to be babysat? Well, that wasn't all he decided I needed. He started going on and on about weird stuff, dude. Like _weird!_ And depressing, if I'm being honest. He started saying how proud he was of me. Me! He's proud of _me!_ I mean… I obviously have been WAY too well behaved. _Keith_ is proud of me, I don't even know what to do about that. Then we started discussing Utah. You know how much I hate Utah, it's desert-y and gross and boring… it was my worst nightmare. And this all started because he said that you were my mentor person. Like, I don't need a mentor person."

Lance's brain had nearly exploded at the word _mentor_. He stared uncomprehendingly and tried to stammer something, but the words weren't coming and Daniel wasn't finished anyway.

"He ruined exploring a ghost ship. I mean… Do you understand how hard it is to ruin exploring a ghost ship? A _ghost ship!_ Who knows when I'm going to run into another one of those?" Of all the many issues with that discussion, Daniel really didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive Keith for that.

"He called me a what…?" Lance finally managed.

"He said he was glad that I," Daniel made quote gestures, "_found a mentor in Lance,_ and then proceeded to go on and on about how proud he was of me. It was wiggy, man. We were on a ghost ship and he was the creepiest thing in there."

"I'm not a fucking mentor." Lance shook himself and stared at Daniel. _Am I_?

"Exactly! Okay, I'm not Cam, I don't need a mentor…" He stopped short, the protest ringing hollow, and pulled his comic from his back pocket. Ever since he'd finished, he'd been debating between showing it to people or burning it. But it was still there, and voicing this out loud, _to Lance_, was a step too far. "…Goddammit."

"What? Why would you be Cam…" Lance trailed off, slowly processing the rest of Daniel's rant and the papers in his hand. _Keith, you can't tell this kid you're proud of him! You have to know that's just going to backfire, fuck._ "What's that? Your comic?" Daniel didn't answer, slumping down in his seat, the horror reaching deeper and deeper depths. "Kid?"

"…No, I really _am_. I'm a fanboy in denial, okay? I'm Cam, but with less mental clarity and self-awareness." He had become a full-fledged fanboy, worshiping his maybe-mentor with comic book offerings and sacrificing his dignity on the altar of being an ideal soldier. There was no more fighting facts.

"Kid, you're nothing like Cam," Lance snorted.

"You're right, I'm _worse!"_ Daniel jumped out of his chair and shoved the comic in Lance's face. "I wrote an entire comic about a hero named Lancey-Pants! Fighting a crazy snake dude!"

"Kid…?"

"I mean, look up a definition of fanboy and my picture will be right there!"

"Kid…"

"I'm a fanboy whose commander is proud of him. I've been _broken_."

"Kid…"

"And I have a sort-of mentor who I idolize enough to make a comic about him!"

"Kid…!" Lance was getting another migraine. A _dangraine_, he decided, grimacing.

"I rest my case! I'm worse than Cam." Daniel plopped back down into his chair, slumping as far into it as he could. "Am I even worthy of being on an Explorer Team?" He slowly turned to Lance, an indignant and dramatic glare on his face. "YOU! You did this to me! You made me into—"

"—Daniel! Take a fucking breath!" _Not that I have a clue what to say here, a mentor probably would—_he realized what he'd just thought and shook his head. _Fuck you, Keith!_

Daniel actually stopped and took a deep breath in response to the order. Then his eyes widened in horror. "Oh god, I'm listening to authority!"

"I'm not a fucking authority!" Lance growled, frustrated, and tried distracting himself by grabbing the comic in Daniel's hand. Seeing the word _Lancey-Pants _all over it, he frowned. "And writing something where you call me Lancey-Pants repeatedly—despite all the times I've _threatened_ you—is certainly not kissing my ass, now is it?"

"Technically you _are_ kind of an authority, you do outrank me, and if you weren't an authority I would get to pilot way more often…" He paused and his mouth twisted as he took in the rest of Lance's words. _Maybe it really isn't all that ass-kissy?_ "…I guess not?"

Lance was still staring at the comic, hoping for some insight into what the hell to do. But found himself distracted by the story and the artwork. He flipped a few pages, and really, it was… "This is pretty fucking good, kid. I'm proud of you…" He trailed off in horror. _Oh shit, shit… _am _I a mentor? Did I really just tell him I'm proud of him, he's gonna blow!_

Sure enough, Daniel became even more horrified than before. Not the way he had when Keith had said the same thing, no. That had been a deep sense of failure and disgust, the approval of authority filling him with shame. The horror that was bubbling up now was because deep down, he was absolutely fucking thrilled Lance was proud of him.

_No, no, no, no, no…_

"Can I take that back?" Lance recovered, looking at the expression on his face. It had been _true,_ but it didn't need saying, especially now.

_Oh hell no!_ "You better not take it back, or I will throw a full-on tantrum." The idea of Lance taking that sentence back brought on a different kind of horror, and he refused to analyze it any further. He didn't want it to happen, that was all he needed to know. "But don't say it again for at least six months, okay? I don't think my mental state can take it." His brain needed a break from all these new revelations about himself.

Lance blinked; had Daniel just said he _didn't_ want him to take it back? Had he just been given permission to say it again? _Heh…_ he smiled. It probably would happen again; the kid kept him on his toes. But it _was_ probably best to not repeat it anytime soon. At all. They'd both sleep better at night.

"You've got a deal, alright… and we never ever discuss that fucking M-word again?"

"Deal! But you gotta tell Keith he's not allowed to say that either, that he's… you know. That sentence. I'd do it, but I…" He trailed off with a shudder. Under no circumstances was he discussing _anything_ that had happened on that ship with Keith ever again.

"Oh, I'll have a word with him." Lance shook his head. _A lot of fucking words. Mentor? The hell? _He shoved the comic book into his jacket's inside pocket. "I'm keeping this, by the way."

"Awesome!" Daniel grinned. Maybe Lance wasn't such a bad mentor to have… if he had to have one. "So anyway, our shift is far from over and it's kinda boring…" His sweetest smile formed. "I think that's like, _perfect_ timing for that pilot training you keep saying I need."

Laughing, Lance stood up and gave him a wicked grin. "Alright, seems fair, take a seat."

"Yes!" Daniel hurried into the pilot's chair.

If he thought this was going to be all sunshine and happiness, he had another thing coming. If Lance was going to train this kid, he was going to do it _right_. Mentor or not. "Just remember, kid… you asked for it."

* * *

Lotor strode down the center of the hall, nodding in acceptance as slaves bowed low to him as he strode past, heading for his a'kuri's rooms. The door swished open and he stepped inside, pausing a moment, watching Romelle as she sat at a desk by the windows. She was completely focused on something that she was writing, and didn't even seem to have heard the door.

"A'kuri? I've brought you something."

Romelle had been practicing her written Drakure; she carefully lifted the pen and looked up at him, masking a quick glimpse of fear from her eyes. "Yes, sincline?"

Lotor crossed over and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. He smiled, seeing the carefully penned words on the parchment. "You're showing great improvement." He pointed to one of the symbols. "A bit more of a slope to that line on the _klu_, but the _kur_," he pointed to another, "is flawless, and I know it troubled you last time I saw you practicing."

Romelle blushed, part pride in her doing better, part embarrassment at still not getting them perfect. "Thank you." She pressed her pen back to the parchment and slowly wrote out the one symbol that needed a bit more of a slope on it. "Is this better?"

"Much." He nodded. "Remember, it evokes the mountains. Now, shall we give you a break from these studies?"

"Thank you… and yes, please. What is it you've brought?"

"Come." He moved to the center of the sitting room where there was a bit more space, beckoning for her to follow and offering her the object in his hand.

It was fang-shaped—given what she knew of the castle stables, Romelle suspected it might be an actual fang—and just slightly too large to be fully comfortable in her hand, though it wasn't too difficult to adjust her grip. The surface was glossy black with feather patterns etched in gold. At the top of the fang, a bestial skull had been carved, something that struck her as vaguely reptilian. She wondered if it was the creature the fang had come from. Regardless, it was both deeply unsettling and exquisitely crafted, and she couldn't tear her eyes away for several moments. Set between the two ruby eyes of the skull, a wing-like sigil had been etched in gold; she remembered it from her studies of mythology as a symbol of Kistrial. "Oh, my. That's quite impressive!"

Lotor chuckled at her expression. "Fearsome, isn't it? It is a gaive'llar, a traditional ceremonial weapon. Take it, and I'll show you how it works."

She carefully took it from him, surprised at its weight. She adjusted it in her hands, trying to find a comfortable way of holding it. "It's heavier than it looks."

He nodded. "It is made of moonsteel and treated by the occult scientists, a sacred technique used to consecrate certain tools. It imparts a certain gravity." He narrowed his eyes. "The royal blacksmith barely had this ready for you in time. He might have met the business end, had he not… but fortunately, he understood the urgency, and produced a fine work."

Romelle cast him a shocked look, though it faded quickly. "Well… deadlines are quite harsh when trying to craft something like this. It looks like he did marvelous work under such a constraint."

"Indeed." He produced his own, which had a somewhat more canine skull and sharp claw marks down the handle. "Watch carefully." He held the weapon in one hand, slid a finger up the edge of the handle, and the blade snapped out with a soft, ominous click.

Her mouth dropped open, a soft gasp escaping her. "It is lovely. Is yours moonsteel, as well?"

"Yes. It is traditionally used for gaive'llar. Let's see you open yours. Be careful with it, it is extremely sharp."

Nodding, she took an extra step back. It wouldn't do for her to accidentally cut her sincline. Carefully she mimicked what he'd done, almost losing her grip at it flicked open, studying the gleaming blade. "Beautiful."

Lotor chuckled, glad that she appreciated the weapon. _Perhaps she will appreciate its history, as well._ "These were once the traditional weapons of gladiators. Over time, they became too precious to be issued to all those who walked towards death—especially as using the weapon of one killed in battle would be an ill omen. In the modern arena, the gladiators choose which weapons they prefer. We who bear witness and sit in judgment of their glory bear the gaive'llar."

Listening with rapt attention, Romelle couldn't help but notice—and not for the first time—how much more animated Lotor became when discussing weapons and battle. "Thank you. I will do my best to be worthy of this… how does one close it? Just push down on the same switch?"

He shook his head. "I will demonstrate that, but not just yet. First you must learn to use it, at least for its ceremonial functions. You will be expected to pass judgment upon some battles… to command mercy or execution of the defeated."

Mercy or execution? "What? Me?"

"Indeed."

She quickly regained her composure as he eyed her appraisingly. "Oh, of—of course. Apologies. I wasn't quite expecting that, but I am ready and willing to learn, sincline."

He chuckled. Her innocence was quite amusing, but her willingness to learn and adapt to the superior culture impressed him more. "I know that you are, and I have full confidence." His smile slowly faded. "Remember, you are royalty and will be the Prime Consort to a mighty empire. Lives and deaths are always in your hands, even if not this clearly." He lowered his voice and grumbled. "My father reminds me of these realities of the throne _constantly_." He rather hoped that she might take on the most banal realities of the throne for him, but saying so now wasn't prudent.

"A large and heavy burden," she agreed softly. "I will do my best to remember that." Looking back to the weapon in her hand, she felt its weight all the more acutely. "If I may ask, will I be expected to judge some of the opening battles? I think I would like some time to watch and to learn before having to cast judgment."

Lotor considered that for a few moments, then slowly nodded. She wasn't a Drule, after all. It would be crucial for her to learn, and form her own decisions with regards to the combatants. "Perhaps you could judge the final match of the opening day."

She smiled. "I could accept that. Watch you and, I'm presuming, your father, as you judge earlier battles?"

"Yes, precisely."

Her smile widened as she looked up at him. "Will you teach me, now?"

Lotor leaned forward and kissed her forehead, chuckling. "Yes. Now, when called upon to judge, you will be at the front of the balcony. Pay close attention, a'kuri. Firstly, to order execution, you will make this move." He stepped back, well clear of her, held his knife level in front of him, then he held it high over his head and made a sweeping slash down. "Now, you try."

Romelle nodded. "One stands when ordering these?"

"Yes."

Taking a long breath she held out the knife as he'd done, lifted it, and then slashed down. "Like so?"

"A bit more enthusiasm, dear akuri!" He smirked. "But, yes, it gets the point across."

She cocked her head to one side. "Enthusiasm, yes. I am still learning, sincline." Enthusiasm for execution didn't seem like it would come easily. "What sorts of things should I look for when ordering an execution?"

"Truthfully? That judgment is your own, and _entirely_ your own. If you feel the defeated were dishonorable, weak, cowardly… or if you simply believe the victors deserve to be rewarded with the blood of their foes, then it is execution. You may speak your thoughts when you pass judgment, or not. You'll see that in action, no doubt."

She nodded slowly. "A difficult decision, I'm sure."

"Indeed, it can be. Now, to grant mercy to the defeated—and to close the blade." He held his gaive'llar level again, tilted it to one side, and flicked it forward; the blade swung back into place.

It had happened a little too quickly, and Romelle's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Can you do that one again?"

He nodded, unfolded the blade and repeated the motion. "The folding of the blade is the important part, more so than the precise angle. You might, if you wish, outright set the gaive'llar down once you've done so."

That made sense. She carefully attempted the move he'd made, but her knife refused to close. "Am I doing something wrong?" She tried it again, with the same result.

Lotor blinked as he watched her struggle, then chuckled softly. "Ah, that's right." _She is from a less advanced people._ The mechanism used to close it was standard on many Drule devices. "Here. The small indentation on the hinge, keep your finger firmly on it. You don't need to press hard, just keep contact."

After a moment Romelle found the indentation. "Oh." She tried it again and gasped as it swung shut. "Oh!" She opened it again and performed the full move once more. "That's more difficult than I expected… I'm sure with practice I will get it." She carefully held the closed gaive'llar in her hands, considering it. Her father had never insisted she train with a blade, and working with this one she felt startlingly inadequate to the task. She wanted—needed—to know everything. "You said that these were once gladiator weapons. Are they still occasionally used that way, even though they are more ceremonial these days?"

"Very rarely. They are a difficult commodity to acquire anymore, and most gladiators are in no position to gain one. Though every couple of seasons one may appear. Why do you ask?"

She pressed her lips together firmly, driving the color from them before she spoke. "I was just wondering if it was bad form, in case something unforeseen were to happen, if they could be used to… defend myself?"

Lotor's eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah! Now _that_ is a different matter." He studied her with increased interest. "And I'm very pleased to hear you beginning to ask about such important matters, my dear a'kuri. Of course, they can be wielded in combat, should it be necessary." He smiled proudly at her. "Shall I teach you?"

"I—I would like for you to teach me, yes. As long as it doesn't interfere with your other duties?"

_If I can turn any part of this courtship into sparring practice, I will do so. Happily._ "What greater duty can I have than preparing my consort to rule beside me?"

She smiled shyly up at him. "I would be a poor consort to you if I didn't learn."

"A'kuri, I would be more pleased than I can _say_ to teach you. Shall we begin now?"

"I am able to now, yes." Penmanship had been getting a little tedious, anyway. She looked down at her dress and frowned. "Should I change?"

_If you change, I will be watching… and we might not get around to sparring._ He cleared his throat. "Would you be more comfortable changing? If you're forced to defend yourself in an emergency, you might want to know how to move in a formal dress. If you want to take up sparring as a hobby, freedom of motion is important."

She carefully considered his words… and the flash in his eyes when she'd first made the suggestion "Perhaps I should start in the dress for emergency situations, but I will find different clothing for our next sessions."

"I think that would be wise. Come, then." He held his hand out to her.

Another thought occurred to her. "One more thing before we begin, sincline?"

He arched an eyebrow at her boldness. "What's that, a'kuri?"

"Is there… archival footage of previous fights? So that I might see how one judges, and perhaps you might answer some questions?"

He smiled broadly. _Oh, yes, this courtship just became _very _pleasant_. "There certainly is that. We could even watch some together after a bit of weapons training? You will need rest."

She smiled back at him. "That sounds wonderful." Much better than other activities, for certain. And perhaps it would be… fun? Taking his hand, she followed him from her rooms.

* * *

Allura breathed deeply as she moved through the tunnels. It was hard to keep her hands from fussing. At times she was wondering if she was seeing things beyond the normal, beyond even the abnormal she was used to. Ghosts were one thing…

Reminding herself that the walls were not actually moving, she made her way to her private chamber. The past days had been difficult, with reviews of their options turning up little. By no means did she want to stay forever in the caves, but with their numbers, the pressure to respond to the Drule announcement was becoming wearying. The invaders had to be punished, which meant they couldn't just succumb to blind rage at the insult. They had to find a plan that would _work_.

She wanted to go above ground to see the situation for herself, but as she was now the sole royal in charge, she had not even seen the sun since her brother's passing. Hoping to curb her curiosity a bit, she had sent her small friends the space mice to the castle to spy and report back to her. She'd hoped to hear something by now, but so far? Nothing.

"Surely they're just being safe, and moving slowly as to not alert of their presence," she whispered to herself. Hearing her own voice made the surreality around her fade a little.

Fulfilling a promise to Nanny, she did finish a small meal that had been left for her before settling herself into bed. She hoped for sweeter dreams that could ease the pain in her heart, and as she drifted asleep, her mind granted her that relief for a time. But soon, too soon, her happy dream turned.

The field of flowers spread before her darkened, and the soil under her feet softened until she was sinking into the ground. As the dirt rose to her waist, the ground completely opened and she fell into a cavern. Part of her knew this was a dream, but she still felt the wind knocked from her as she hit the floor of the cave. Looking up to where she had fallen from, she could hear screams, and flames licked around the edges of the hole. She could hear voices calling for her from the surrounding darkness, but her attempts to respond were swallowed up in silence.

Looking about herself she could see tunnels, though she didn't recognize any of them. Following the one where it seemed the voices were coming from, it soon became clear that these walls _were_ moving; they glowed and pulsed the farther down the tunnel she went. She slowed as she noticed the tunnel also becoming narrower, to the point that she didn't need to lift her arms much to touch the sides.

Coming to a stop to inspect her surroundings, she could hear the voices better. Chanting. Soft pleas for her to join them, whispers in the dark. Shivering, she tried to move faster, but the walls were closing in… one of her hands brushed the wall, and another hand formed from the earth to grab her arm. Crying out as she tried to pull herself free, other hands formed to reach out to her.

As she ripped the first hand from the wall, it withered and crumbled away. But as she looked up the walls were almost covered in hands, and she nearly forgot herself at the sight. It was only when hands started to come from the floor that she remembered her directions, turning to run as fast as she could back to where she'd come from.

But they weren't going to let her escape so easily. As the tunnel widened the hands became arms, grasping for her, reaching out faster than she could run and managing to grip her tight.

"Join us…. deep in the soil… join us… far from pain," the chorus of voices chanted.

"No!" she screamed, struggling against their grip as a visceral horror clutched her chest. "Let me go!"

"Join us… join…"

"Never!"

The hands were gripping her shoulders and legs, tightening their hold as she struggled to free herself. But beneath the chaos, she barely could make out another sound roiling just underneath the chanting earth. The language was old… so old, she had never heard the words spoken before, but she _knew _them and felt their familiarity somewhere in her blood.

"Rise… rise, our queen…"

Allura grunted as she pulled her limbs free, only to have to fight still more desiccated hands trying to reclaim their grip. "Help me!" she yelled at the new voices, or were they the oldest ones? With all her strength she stumbled forward through the darkness.

"Rise… be new metal… forged in… rise our queen…" the old tongue whispered.

Smashing herself free from the earthen prison, she dashed into the open cavern area. Skeletal forms shaped only in outlines of light stood by a rocky formation that led to the surface. There was still fire and screams coming from the exit, but also grasping hands, the same hands that had sought to stop her. One form pointed to the exit. "Be forged… of new metal."

Allura looked around at the shining forms, searching for answers to questions she couldn't voice. Their only words were, "Our queen."

Looking back, the hands were increasing and reshaping themselves into larger arms to reach her. Those near the exit were still, as though waiting. _Rise… _eyes narrowing, Allura nodded, drawing a deep breath. With a snarl she rushed the exit, breaking through the hands as though they were brittle clay as she focused on the whispers in the old tongue. It took all she had, but she reached the edge of the exit, staggering out with heat and flames swirling about her…

Crying out, she woke up in a burning sweat. She could still feel flames from her dream scorching her skin, the sensation of earthen hands clawing her flesh. Still echoing softly in her mind, the ancient words.

"_Be forged… of new metal."_

Rubbing her arms as she tried to make sense of the dream, she heard a small squeak from the side of her bed. Looking down, she saw a small space mouse by her side. It squeaked its name before relaying that it brought the information from the castle, and suddenly she was fully awake. Grabbing a light, paper, and a pen, she quickly wrote its report. Smiling at the information she now had, she gave the space mouse a piece of bread she'd saved from her meal as its reward, and it scurried away into the darkness.

Turning off the light, the dream still in the back of her mind, Allura felt now she could really rest. There would be much planning to be done when she woke again… the time had finally come, and not a moment too soon.

Clearly she needed _out _of these caves.


	37. Unto the Breach

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 36_  
Unto the Breach

* * *

The Calidar system was thoroughly unspectacular. It was composed of a weak, inconsequential star with a single small, uninhabitable planet in its orbit. It had long been a popular waypoint for Alliance vessels traveling to and from the Seventh Kingdom, due to its convenient location and lack of clutter.

Alliance vessels were not _supposed_ to be traveling to and from the Seventh Kingdom, of course, but it hadn't stopped anyone yet.

Not terribly pleased to have a frequent waypoint so close to their border, the Ninth Kingdom had laid claim to the Calidar system and built a monitoring station about a decade ago. Citing the Deros Convention, the Alliance had simply refused to change its routing. All that had really happened was now some beleaguered Drule comms officers had to deal with the occasional merchant or scout runner coming through.

Or perhaps an incognito Explorer Team… in any case, it shouldn't have been any trouble.

The moment the _Bolt_ breached out of hyperspace, it became clear there was going to be trouble.

"I'm just getting static from the station," Cam reported, abandoning his intended check-in as the comms hissed a protest. "There's a contact on sensors." At the helm, Lance sat up a little straighter; Sven watched his instruments worriedly. Even Daniel put down his datapad—which he _certainly_ hadn't been playing games on, that had been banned—and turned his attention to the gunnery panel. "Starboard side, approaching at speed. It's Drule."

"The fuck?"

"Uh oh."

Back in the engine bay, Flynn waved his wrenchlings to their stations. And not just the wrenchlings. "Doctor, grab a spot." Jace had been in the bay delivering Vince's latest scan results, not that there had been anything to deliver. "I don't like this." Maybe it was the slight crackle of static over there internal comms giving an ominous cast to the situation, but the medic didn't even protest before finding an unoccupied bracing bar.

"Inbound vessel, this is the ACS _Jupiter's Bolt_ requesting waypoint clearance," Cam tried in Drakure as the Drule ship approached. It was a capital ship, but just barely; a bit over twice the size of their own _Vagrant_, but narrow, with several weapon ports visible along its cylindrical hull.

Finally a voice cut through the static in lightly accented Common. "Hail, Earthlings." Cam started to give a sigh of relief, but didn't even finish it before being corrected. "Looks like you, what's the expression, 'won the wrong lottery'. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded, and we won't splatter you all over the void."

Lance got out the obvious statement before anyone else could. "I repeat. The _fuck_."

"Um." Their comms officer grimaced, then eyed his panel. "Maybe this would be a good time for the commander…?"

"Uh. Maybe," Daniel agreed. And he wouldn't have thought he'd ever _agree with_ bringing Keith onto the bridge when he wasn't there.

They didn't need to call him; he'd been monitoring, and swept in almost the moment Cam suggested it. "I'm here."

"It's an Andura-class troop frigate," Pidge reported. "In the Ninth Kingdom only raiders and pirates really favor it."

"Vince, route power to shields." Flynn recognized the ship designation and opted for cautious optimism. It was a _troop_ frigate—most of its weapons were either point defense or artillery to support its forces on the ground, not ship-to-ship armaments. "Kogane, as best I know an Andura is not capable of splattering us all over the void."

"Good to hear, Kleid." Keith eyed the screen and crossed his arms. "Cam, let them know we're not here to cause hostilities, but if they insist, we'll defend ourselves."

"Yes sir." He relayed it in Drakure mostly on principle; the other ship's Common had been just fine.

It was again, though the sharp turn really gave the answer before they even spoke. "That wasn't a request." The Andura's drive flare brightened as it began streaking forward on a full attack run.

"Holy _shit!"_ Lance wrenched the _Bolt_ around and attempted to gain some distance, evading a first charge, but the _Vagrant_ remained less than receptive to the maneuvers. "Fuck this fucking boat of a ship…"

"Kleid, tell me the shields are at full right now. Brennan, if they open fire don't wait for an order."

"Do I ever?" Daniel snorted. He'd already been trying to line up a shot, but the Drule ship was resisting all his attempts at a missile lock.

"Shields are at full," Flynn confirmed, keeping his eyes on the monitors as the Andura circled back. This time rather than a straight charge it dipped beneath the plane the _Bolt_ was on, lining up with the belly of the ship rather than targeting its narrower profile. "…Faex. Shields aren't going to help if they ram us!"

"Sir." Pidge had been running analysis in the absence of other instructions. "I know Andura don't usually have boarding cutters, but this one does."

The chief swore a bit more in Latin under his breath, checking the scans and nodding. No question. And it was getting too close… "Flyboy, either get us out of here or full stop." If it hit them somewhere other than the cargo bay, they'd be in _real_ trouble. "…If you stop we might want to grab our guns."

"Even as good as I am, I can't outfly that ship…" Lance understood Flynn's instruction and didn't wait for Keith to second it, engaging the reverse thrusters and bringing the _Bolt_ to a dead stop in the darkness. "I need my rifle."

"Are 'boarding cutters' what they fucking sound like?" Jace asked quietly; Flynn, Hunk, and Pidge answered in unison.

"Yes."

Almost immediately after they'd said it, an impact from the Drule vessel rocked the ship, its flat bow punching into the cargo bay doors and warping them slightly. Several secondary crunches heralded the docking clamps latching in place, and then the visceral hum of laser cutters began to rattle the ship.

Keith's eyes narrowed, and he growled a few curses of his own—just in Japanese rather than Latin—before spinning around and heading back to the hatch. "All of you, weapons, now!"

Everyone on the bridge scattered except for Daniel, who already had his sidearm and unlike a lot of these people didn't have a whole collection of extra guns sitting around. He wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do, so he opted to just keep sitting in his chair—

"—Kid, _stay put!"_

"…I wasn't even going anywhere," he assured their pilot, then turned the comms off and shook his head. "I swear that guy is way too overprotective." Yet he couldn't find it in himself to be all _too_ upset.

"Good idea, Lance." Keith had his sidearm and his sword and was running for the nearest elevator. No sense staying up here when the Drules would be coming from below. "Cam, Daniel, keep the bridge secure. Sven, Lance, with me." He hadn't really needed to call that last bit over the comms, given they were all in the same hallway; Sven had his battle axe, while Lance was sporting seemingly every gun he'd brought at once.

Back in the engine bay, Flynn grabbed his own rifle from the rack at the entry hatch—he'd been keeping it there since the Bokar incident. Just in case. Hunk had produced a machine pistol from _somewhere_, and Jace had his sidearm at the ready. "Vince, Pidge, you two stay here."

Vince was not about to argue with that order; Pidge looked indignant. "Sir, I'm one of the best fighters here—"

"—Which is why you're going to stay here and _hold the engine bay."_

The ninja blinked, eyes widening slightly as he grasped what was actually being ordered. "…Yessir!"

All Vince managed was a nod. _Oh holy heck…_

Racing through the corridors, Keith switched his personal comm unit to a secured frequency. "Where were they cutting through?"

"They hit the cargo bay," Flynn answered after taking a moment to check for sure. Then he, Hunk, and Jace were out of the engine bay and running to meet the others. Hopefully. "It's the biggest target—" A shrill alarm started blasting through the corridor, accompanied by red and gold warning lights. "—and that's a full breach of hull integrity."

"Well fuck," Lance muttered.

"Shit," Keith agreed.

"Language," Sven said grimly, drawing a snort from both of them—they probably needed that right now. "You have a plan in mind?"

The commander nodded. "The main corridor on each deck is a complete circle. Bridge is locked down, I'm guessing engineering is too."

"We've got the kids holding the bay," Hunk confirmed.

"Good. I think we should take out as many as we can in the cargo bay." They wouldn't be able to pin them all down, most likely; Keith didn't know how many soldiers an Andura carried, but _troop frigate_ was at least a hint. And there were a lot of exits from the main cargo bay: four on each deck, with small maintenance staircases to link the decks together. "Whoever gets by us, we split up and hunt down."

"I like it."

"Go to the cargo balconies, see if we can pin 'em down?"

With one hand on the elevator controls to the lower decks, Keith paused. It probably was a better idea than just charging in on the same level as the enemy. "Good call, Hunk. Everyone onto the balconies… quietly. Snipe as many as you can." He turned to the internal airlock behind him—at least the _Vagrant_ put all its connective infrastructure in one place—then nodded to Lance and Sven. "Let's go hunting."

Flynn, Hunk, and Jace had reached the internal airlock opposite where the bridge crew had gone. "Boarding cutters create an airtight seal," the chief engineer said quietly as they entered. "Be a bit useless if they didn't. We'll have atmosphere as long as they're locked to us."

"Oh good," Jace grumbled. "At least we'll have air while we're shooting at the hostile takeover."

Hunk grinned. "It'll be breathtaking!"

"…Only the Viking gets to say shit like that." He fell silent as the door slid open with a soft hiss; they saw the other three across from them, exchanging nods. _Time to shut up and shoot shit._

There were a _lot_ of Drules in the cargo bay. Dozens, easily. The ship's classification had definitely not been a lie. They were coming through the hole they'd made in pairs, watching each other's backs as they made their way to the internal airlocks… but they weren't looking up. Yet.

Lance set up on one end of the narrow maintenance balcony with his sniper rifle. Across from him, Flynn was doing the same with his scout rifle; they exchanged smirks and opened fire. Keith, Jace, and even Sven—_may as well at least cause some chaos_—quickly joined in with their sidearms before the Drules below could focus on their marksmen. Hunk, with his usual subtlety, leaned over the rail and started blasting away with his machine pistol, not hitting a whole lot but sending ricochets and sparks bouncing through the Drule ranks.

"Porra…" Jace reached over and grabbed the back of the big engineer's vest, yanking him back away from the rail just before a flurry of lasers flashed through where he'd been.

"…Thanks, Doc."

"Don't fucking mention it."

Hunk had not been the only one not hitting much. Sven was actually trying, though; he was at least lining up his shots well enough to make some enemies flinch. That was probably the best he could ask for. Taking aim again, he squeezed the trigger and a plasma bolt flashed out, scorching a Drule in the leg. _Improvement!_ He took a moment to be proud of his achievement… it had only been a few feet off from where he was aiming.

In that moment, Lance noted the limping Drule and put a shot squarely through its skull. The one next to it dropped a moment later from two rifle rounds in the back, Flynn's lighter gun still doing the job with efficiency. Keith had his sights set on the gaping hole where the Andura had breached the doors, picking off those he could with his pistol or at least giving them something to think about.

It wasn't going to be enough.

"Did they bring a whole fucking platoon?" Jace snarled in frustration, ducking back to avoid some return fire from an attacker he'd just barely grazed. "Do Drules even use platoons?"

"Looks like a platoon." Lance took a shot at one that was trying to force a lower airlock open, bringing them down, but they were starting to bring deflectors up out of the ship as they continued taking fire from all directions. "They're going to get in."

"There's too many," Flynn agreed, picking off one taking aim at the other balcony.

Keith nodded, holstering his sidearm and backing off. "Move it, then. We can bottleneck them in the corridors." The Drules had numbers, and perhaps thought a show of overwhelming force would win them the battle. But the 686 was on their own turf, and the advantage of numbers would be severely cut down by the _Bolt's_ cramped corridors. They had a fighting chance. "We'll take deck one. Flynn, you and your team take deck two, do what you can to stop anyone from getting past." If they made it to deck three, they still had the kids protecting the bridge and the engine bay, and there was hardly anything on deck four to begin with. It would be good enough… it would have to be. "Lock down the elevators, take the emergency stairs."

"Let's rock this!" As the others ran back through the airlocks, Hunk took a moment to leave his datapad on the balcony and kick the volume to full. Booming death metal filled the bay, bouncing around the cavernous walls, just to add a little extra chaos as the team retreated.

A full-on hostile boarding was really no reason to _not_ be completely on brand, was it? Of course it wasn't.

* * *

Whether the pirates knew the layout of a _Vagrant_ or not, any halfway competent boarding party would be sure to swarm wherever they could. Whatever else these attackers were, they did seem to be halfway competent. By the time Flynn, Hunk, and Jace reached deck two, they could see a pair of Drules at the other end of the corridor, trying to breach the equipment floor of the engineering bay. That area, at least, was heavily reinforced. It held both the breach drive and the backup generator, both of which were quite capable of killing someone who wandered near them at the wrong time; apparently the invaders saw fit to ignore the very large red warning labels plastered on the armored hatch.

Unlocking it for them was probably a bad idea despite those facts, so Flynn raised his rifle and squeezed off a shot. "What part of 'DANGER, DO NOT ENTER' don't you lot understand?"

"Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake," Jace scolded, taking a shot himself.

One rifle round and one fiery streak of plasma traversed the corridor in a split second. Jace's shot scorched into one Drule's stomach and dropped him with a scream; Flynn's punched squarely into the other Drule's chest but failed to penetrate, and even as she staggered back she was raising her weapon to return fire.

They ducked back around the corner as laser fire peppered the bulkhead, leaving several molten dents. Jace quickly dropped to the floor, poking his head back around and firing again, this time taking her down.

The trio checked the internal airlock next to them before running down the corridor to intercept anyone else who might arrive. Nobody seemed to be coming from that stairway, at least; Flynn and Hunk took up covering positions as their medic checked out the fallen Drules. "One dead, one close."

"Good enough." Flynn frowned at the female; his first shot really should have at least made a hole. "They have armor?" They certainly didn't _look_ like it, but he wasn't the expert on infantry.

Poking the not-quite-dead invader's shirt, Jace nodded. "Just ballistic cloth, looks like. It'll stop penetration, but not blunt force trauma. Double tap everything."

"Good to know."

"Real good." Hunk grinned slightly and waved his machine pistol, which didn't really come with a setting lower than _triple_ tapping. "Where to?"

"Next stairway." Nodding, they ran forward, taking the corners with caution… and yet still running headlong into another group of Drules who weren't showing nearly the same good judgment.

"Shit!" Forgoing his sidearm entirely, Jace grabbed the leader and torqued his arm around until he felt the joint pop and heard the laser rifle clatter to the floor. Then he dropped and threw him backwards.

He had not exactly _intended_ to fling the Drule straight at Hunk, but that was what he ended up with, and the big man almost reflexively threw a punch into the attacker's face. Bluish blood spurted as the blow shattered his nose and he dropped with a groan.

It didn't seem like the others had been ready to see their leader taken down with quite that kind of barehanded savagery. Then Flynn stepped forward and drew his sidearm—if they needed _blunt force trauma_, a Desert Eagle would damn well do the trick. Shooting point blank into the new lead Drule's chest, he _heard_ a bone snap somewhere, and his second shot took the target straight through the skull.

And jammed the gun, because why wouldn't it? But at least it had thrown the enemy off. By a _lot_. The return fire was wildly inaccurate, though Jace was grazed by one laser and left with a mild burn across his thigh.

Turning to each other and nodding, medic and bomb tech both lunged forward into the ranks. The three remaining Drules had little choice to engage hand to hand or risk shooting each other. Flynn was under a similar restriction as he raised his rifle, but with his teammates each bringing one enemy to the ground he got a clear shot at the remaining invader fairly quickly.

In a hail of fists and bullets, the 686 held the corridor.

"That ship was right on the seam of the bay doors," Hunk said as he straightened up, frowning down the corridor. "If we open 'em up we can kick it off, yeah?"

Flynn paused a moment, considering that option as he reloaded. "It might work. But we have to make sure all the airlocks are sealed first, they may have breached others."

"Sounds good to me." Jace slammed another plasma cell into his own gun and nodded. "Let's clear some blue fuckers and close some doors."

They moved on.

* * *

Vince had barely moved since the others had left the bay. His mind was racing. _What the heck am _I _supposed to do?_ He had his sidearm—standard issue plasma, nothing fancy—and he'd passed marksmanship. Neither of those small plusses felt remotely up to the situation at hand.

Pidge was having no such difficulties, and was fully focused on the consoles. Whatever he was doing with the consoles. "Open up the engine shafts."

An instruction! Vince liked instructions; he was moving to fulfill it before really even thinking about it. "How are you sounding so normal?" he asked in a voice that definitely squeaked just a little.

"This isn't the first time someone's tried to kill me," the ninja answered patiently, then looked back at the hatches as his roommate popped them open. "Okay, let's keep shafts 2 and 3 clear. 1 and 4, be ready to duck in if you need cover, though that isn't optimal."

"Duck into…?" Vince followed his gaze. "Wait, why did I just do that exactly?"

"To hide in, or to lock Drules in." Pidge shrugged. "Whichever circumstances dictate."

He blinked. Several times. "…Of course." Then, "Wait. You do just mean the Galra ninja when you say someone tried to kill you, right?" _Oh yeah, because _that's _pertinent, Vince_.

"No. Is that relevant?"

…_Welp_. "Uh. Maybe? But not right now I guess… what exactly are you planning here?"

"Disabling the electronic lock so they have to physically force their way in, for one thing." It was a move that might well inconvenience them later, but for the moment it seemed like the best tactic. "If they do, we'll kill them before they kill us. Do you have your gun?"

"Yeah, but I haven't shot anything since the Academy."

Pidge eyed him, then shrugged. "Fair, I don't like guns either. Aim center of mass on the hatch, at least you'll get one good shot off."

Oh. Well, at least it was another instruction. "So you prefer _stabbing_." That came out more than a little sarcastic. "…Okay I get snarky when I'm freaked out, sorry."

It got him another odd look. Pidge absolutely _did_ prefer stabbing, or at least throwing weapons. "It was an accurate observation."

"Right, uh, I guess so? Still sounded snarky to me…" He trailed off as Pidge shrugged, then trained his gun on the hatch and waited.

And waited…

The engine bay was well soundproofed when it was fully locked down, and they didn't have the comms open. The tension became crushing all too quickly, and Vince's arm was cramping. He sighed, shifting a little, trying to dispel the discomfort and almost wishing the Drules would just show up… _really? I'm really impatient for bad guys?_

Even Pidge noticed. "You can probably lower that until we hear them, if you think you can react clearly enough. It will take them a little time to get through the hatch."

Immediately he lowered the gun. "Thanks." What faith he did or didn't have in his reaction time was a side issue; it seemed better than his arm turning to jelly either way.

They waited for another couple of minutes before something else occurred to Pidge. "I'll disappear when they come in." He wasn't wholly accustomed to fighting alongside others; that seemed like an important tactical warning.

"…Makes sense," Vince acknowledged after a surprised blink. "You don't have an extra one of those suits, do you?"

Matter of fact he did. "It's on Earth, and it wouldn't fit you, but otherwise good idea."

_Oh_. Not that he'd expected otherwise, at all. "Thought it couldn't hurt to ask."

"Usually true…" Pidge was silenced by a loud _clang_ against the bay hatch.

_Here we go._ Gulping, Vince raised his sidearm again. "So much for the hope they'd get them all."

Another _clang_ echoed over them as the ninja gave a small grin. "They wouldn't take all the fun."

_Oh, right, I'm with a crazy Baltan ninja._ With a few more loud crashes, the edges of the hatch started to glow, and he felt all his muscles tense at once. _Thank goodness I'm with a crazy Baltan ninja_…

With a shriek of protest, the hatch twisted and fell free, and before the metal had even clattered to the ground Vince squeezed the trigger as fast as he could. Repeatedly. He _might_ have been a little panicked. But it worked; the Drule in the lead went down in a hail of glowing plasma, thoroughly perforated. Behind her, a second one sighted on Vince and he swallowed hard, trying to shift his aim, certain it wouldn't be fast enough—

—The invader went down out of nowhere, blood spurting from its neck. A knife seemed to appear there a moment later, caught on a bit of armor and abandoned by the invisible ninja who'd put it there to begin with.

One Drule remained, pushing the bodies of the other two out of the way before they could even finish falling. This one, too, focused on Vince, who took a shot but his shaking hands missed badly. _Crap, be careful, don't hit Pidge! _As the enemy's rifle came up he stepped back, gulping, not sure what else to do except… _Believe in the ninja_.

A dark blur coalesced in front of the third Drule and dropped an elbow straight into his guts. "Mechka, get clear!" With no choice but to have left his knife behind he threw a punch instead, catching the Drule off guard but taking one to his chest in return. With what little breath it left him he cursed, then glanced back at the engine shafts.

Only one option, really.

Vince had run for it as ordered, ducking down shaft four and using the heavy door for cover. The thought of backing Pidge up came and went—or more accurately, it came but he couldn't get a safe shot away as the invader and the ninja grappled. Pidge was darting around the Drule, drawing him back to another of the engine shafts without giving him time to use his rifle, but the lack of complete freedom of movement was forcing him to take some nasty hits to do it…

Snarling something in Drakure, the Drule abandoned his rifle entirely and drew a short combat knife, slashing quick enough to catch even the Baltan by surprise. The strike caught him on the shoulder and ripped through his sleeve, cutting ballistic cloth and nanowiring and spitting out a couple of sparks as active currents were cut off.

"Salys sa kye…" He didn't bother testing the extent of the damage; the cut was shallow, but the damage was serious. Stealth mode was no longer an option.

Having apparently never cut a chameleon suit before, the Drule himself seemed briefly stunned. He might've taken a small jolt through the knife; not a Vince spark, but it would do. It gave Pidge enough time to grab his wrist and get some leverage, forcing the weapon free and driving him down the third engine shaft, following up to press the advantage while he had it. They traded blows all the way down the main shaft, approaching the hatch to the drive core, currently open since the propulsion systems were off.

There was only one way for this to end. Pidge knew it; he wondered if the Drule did as well. Either way he ducked beneath a punch and jumped up under the invader's guard, landing a solid crescent kick into his chest that sent him staggering back into the drive core.

Slamming the manual override, he closed the hatch, but the Drule managed to slam into it and prevent it from sealing. _Mijtairra!_ Pidge backed up against the door, pushing with all his strength; not enough. The hatch was designed to be sensitive to physical impact precisely to prevent things like this from happening…

Nothing to be done for it. "Vince! Test fire engine 3!" Without a seal the safety overrides wouldn't allow it to go for long, but they didn't need long.

Scrambling out of shaft 4, doing his best not to think about exactly what was going to happen, Vince hit the test fire button on the engine 3 panel and held his breath.

Behind Pidge, there was a deafening _whoosh_ of flame, a surge of scorching air from the edges of the hatch, and the seal engaged as the resistance behind it abruptly ceased.

"…Mijtairra sa kye." Stumbling back up the engine shaft, Pidge dropped to the floor and took a moment to regain his breath. Another few seconds and he was certain he wouldn't have been able to hold that door.

Vince just stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine… nice work."

"Any more of them, you think?"

The ninja's gaze went to the ruined entry hatch. "If there are, we'll see them coming. Get ready for round two." Vince stared at him in disbelief. "…You can hide in the engine shafts if you need to."

"No…" What would happen when the adrenaline faded was anyone's guess, but for the moment Vince was doing okay. 'Okay' being a very relative term, defined pretty much as not sparking violently or completely dissolving into panic, but that was about where their standards had to be right now. "Just, I was never ready for round _one_. For the record."

"…Oh."

* * *

Things on the bridge were no less tense. Cam was staring at the door to the bridge worriedly; he'd been pretty much motionless since he locked it. "You think it's going to get bad, Daniel?"

The gunner shrugged. "We'll be fine."

"I hope everyone will be…"

They always had been so far. "I'm sure we're winning."

"I sure as hell hope so." Cam checked his gun again, for at least the dozenth time. He'd rather have been out there fighting with the commander and the others, but he understood that holding the bridge was one of the most important things…

"Here's the bridge!" someone outside snarled in Drakure. "Get it open!"

…And it was on. Dropping back behind his console Cam peeked around, aiming for the hatch. On the opposite side of the bridge Daniel did the same, making a face as more Drakure came from the corridor. "Well that's disconcerting."

"Shhh. Element of surprise and all that, they might not know we're in here…"

"No, I'm sure they think we left the bridge completely unguarded."

Before Cam could respond to that, several loud blasts sounded outside the door, shaking the hatch; the locking mechanism sparked and shut down. "Now, pry it open! We will have victory!"

"Not on our watch, bastards…"

"Fuck." Daniel didn't understand any of that, given he didn't speak Drakure or Russian, but the point got across just fine. He tensed as the door cracked open, adjusting his aim.

The hatch swung open and a Drule charged in, firing a laser pistol blindly; the blasts were soaked harmlessly by the fractal glass of the main viewscreen. "Surrender, Earthlings! We have you outnumbe—" In the middle of speaking he swept his gaze around the room, focusing on Daniel, who ended up looking him right in the eye as he took aim and fired. The invader went down with holes scorched through his chest and shoulder, eyes still wide.

Cam's shots rang out a split second after Daniel's, the _crack_ of his bullets drowning out the sizzling plasma. The second Drule to breach the bridge took those, one grazing her arm and spinning her around, the next two hitting her spine. Neither got through her armor, but she went down anyway with a howl of pain.

Both the kids froze for a moment, Daniel staring at the one he'd killed, Cam stepping back and shaking his head to stave off a wave of adrenaline-fueled dizziness. Neither of them grasped the third enemy entering until it was very nearly too late. It was only when Daniel caught the glint of a rifle barrel that he turned and fired again, some reflex briefly overriding the heaviness in the pit of his stomach. The enemy got one shot off, the laser flashing just over Cam's shoulder, his aim spoiled by the plasma scorching his arm and his chest.

Then he fell, and everything went silent.

"Th… thanks," Cam whispered, shaking his head to try to clear it. He hadn't expected it all to be so _fast_. Less than thirty seconds had passed since the invaders forced the hatch, and it was already over, and they were already dead, and he knew if it hadn't been for Daniel he would've been with them.

He was busy trying to get his own wits back, and didn't notice Daniel staring at the last Drule. "Uh." Blood was pooling around them, strangely mesmerizing, _absolutely_ freaking him out. Finally he managed to tear his gaze away, looking at the first one he'd killed again before managing to look up again. More could show up any moment. "We've gotta close the door," he said weakly. "They're in the way."

Coming up around his console, Cam managed a nod. "We've gotta… yeah. The door. Come on." He moved to the Drule he'd shot and dragged her out of the doorway. Not that he particularly wanted her locked on the bridge with them, but options were in short supply here. "Weird… they're warm."

Pulling on the other one blocking the doorway, Daniel had noticed that too. A little too acutely. "Well they were just alive, and now they're not," he said as casually as he could. "Makes sense." Clearing the doorway, he moved up and closed the hatch, playing a bit with the broken lock mechanism until it clicked.

"Oh. Yeah…" Cam fell back against the door and slid down it. "Thanks for the save. I hope we never have to do that again."

_Yeah, it's just you hoping that_. Daniel snorted. "We should probably get back to our hiding spots. For cover." His eyes flicked to the blood that had pooled around the hatch. "We definitely won't have the element of surprise if more make it up here."

"Yeah. Good idea." His roommate stood again, gingerly avoiding the blood. "Thanks again, bud." He didn't acknowledge that; he really wished Cam would just stop thanking him. As usual when he wanted Cam to shut up, he didn't. "I owe you one—"

"—Please be quiet."

Blinking, Cam nodded and fell silent, retreating back behind his console. And once again they waited.

* * *

Lance stepped over the two Drules he'd just shot—one with each Axel—and looked up at his companions. Keith and Sven had both holstered their sidearms in favor of melee combat, their sword and axe both stained with dark blue blood. Deck one was pretty well _infested,_ but they'd cleared all but one of the exits from the cargo bay. "Alright, Team Medieval, let's keep doing this."

Smirking at the name—he liked it—Sven started down the corridor alongside Keith, who just shook his head. Lance trailed just behind them with his guns at the ready, staying alert for any sign of movement.

The sign wasn't really that hard to find, given one of the Drules was trying to force the elevator at the last airlock open. He wasn't having any luck. Poking his head around the edge of the alcove, he was yanked back by his patrol partner not an instant too soon.

Sven's axe cut through empty air where there'd been a Drule half a second before. "Kufot!" _I can't start missing with this, too!_ He ducked back around the corner as a flurry of laser fire erupted from the alcove.

"Fuck!" Lance did not duck back around the corner; he returned fire, though right now the attackers had better cover and his shots just clanged off the bulkheads.

"Lance!" Keith heard footsteps behind them and spun. They were making enough of a racket here to get unwanted attention, that was for _sure_. As one Drule rounded the corner behind them he charged, dropping to his knees and sliding along the floor, taking her off guard enough to get in close and slice through her armor.

Their pilot had retreated when he yelled, unable to get a clear shot at the new arrival, not that he'd needed to. "Shit. Nice move."

"Gotta have each other's backs." The commander got back to his feet, eyes narrowing as he heard more footsteps pounding from further down the corridor. "We've got to clear them out, though. Ideas?"

Sven and Lance exchanged looks, then the navigator shrugged. "Go get whoever's behind us first?"

"Works for me. Come on."

"So we're heading towards the footsteps," Lance asked in a tone that was half about clarification and half about snark.

"Got a better idea?"

"Not really. And we _are_ a fucking Explorer Team."

"They won't expect it," Sven pointed out—assuming they got moving before the enemy reached the corner first, at least. "We can use that."

"Exactly." Keith sprinted forward and cleared the corner, seeing one Drule right in front of him and thrusting with Raiden at a long enough range to actually lose his grip. It worked though, the blade parting ballistic armor as though it wasn't there, driving straight through the invader's stomach and dropping her to the floor.

Sven rounded the corner just behind him and swung his axe at the next Drule. This time he didn't miss, slicing straight through his neck, very nearly taking his head clean off. A brief flicker of disappointment ran through him; he knew actually decapitating someone was much more difficult than it was made out to be, but he'd always kind of wanted to know if he could pull it off.

Saying that out loud would probably get him weird looks; actually he was already getting one of those from Lance, though it probably had more to do with how much blood he'd just sent everywhere. He was definitely going to need a shower.

"Ew."

No time for anything else. The two behind them had broken cover as they moved away, and Lance spun to meet the attack. The first one opened fire, grazing him a couple of times before he put a bullet straight through one glowing eye. The second tried to shoot too, but there was a click as he squeezed the trigger. Growling, he lunged and spun Lance around, smacking him in the face with the rifle.

Keith jumped up and retrieved his sword as Lance swore, kicking the Drule in the stomach and getting off a quick shot into his thigh. Before the invader could recover he had a sword through the back, and Keith was smirking slightly as he went down. "That was not very noble of me."

"Fuck noble, boss."

"Slightly immoral."

"All's fair in love and war, or something, right?"

His response was a bloodcurdling shriek in Drakure from behind him, and he froze up as one last Drule came charging around the corner. Sven took a swing, knocking the new attacker's rifle away, but it wasn't though; he seized Keith by the throat and yelled in Drakure again, squeezing hard as Lance moved to try to get an angle. There wasn't one, and his vision was swimming, and out of other options he twisted and slammed his elbow hard into the enemy's guts.

With a slight gurgle, he lost just enough strength to loosen his grip, giving Keith the chance to tear free and throw himself to the floor. Lance fired an instant later, both guns into the Drule's face at damn near point blank range.

"…Teamwork makes the dream work," Sven commented as the invader went down.

Lance offered Keith a hand up, but was glaring at their resident Viking as he did so. "Really?"

"Am I wrong?"

"That is _so_ beside the fucking point."

"Come on." Keith let Lance help him up, then flicked some blood from his sword and turned. "We need to find out about the others."

"Yes sir."

Keith snorted. "We can drop the _sir_ here, Sven, I think it's about time…" This was certainly not a formal situation.

Sven just stared at him, and then Flynn's voice came over the comms. "Kogane, deck two is clear."

Lance breathed a slight sigh of relief as Keith nodded. "Deck one halls are clear. What now?"

"We have to get those bastards' ship off our ship," Lance growled.

Sven frowned. "How do we go about doing that?"

"We've got an idea," Hunk offered. "Seal up all the internal airlocks and open the bay, oughta kick 'em right off us."

Keith considered that. "It sounds good. We'd have to stop them from just ramming us again, though… Kleid, can our weapons take that ship out?"

"Yes. Aim for the engine block and prioritize firing the Wolfpacks." It might be the first time the anti-capital missiles they'd installed just in case would actually be useful. Better late than never. "Pidge, Vince, you there?"

"Yessir. Engine bay is clear."

"Somehow…"

Flynn couldn't help a small smile at that. "Standby on the controls for the main cargo doors. Be ready to open on our order."

"Understood."

"Brennan, get on the guns. We're going to knock this ship off of us. Aim for the engines and blow it to hell."

"Yes sir!"

Keith blinked as he looked up from giving the order. "Did he just call me sir?"

"He did." Lance frowned. "Gonna have to talk to him about that." He still needed to have some words with the bossman about that _mentor_ bullshit, but this was definitely not the time; he shot him a glare just daring him to comment.

Mercifully Flynn interrupted. "Kogane, can you clear the bay? We can manually seal the airlocks, but it won't do us much good if there's still Drules in there to shoot them back open." As he spoke he nodded to Hunk and Jace, who both ran off to start on the seals.

"We can do that." Keith motioned for Sven and Lance to follow, then opened the nearest airlock and raced in.

There were two Drules guarding the entry hole they'd made, in the middle of the cavernous cargo bay; they were standing back to back with two deflectors set up in front of them. Hunk's music was still blasting through the bay, and it seemed to actually be useful—Keith saw the Drule facing him yell something, but he couldn't hear it, and her companion didn't turn quickly.

Behind him, Lance took a shot, but it pinged off the deflector and off to the side. His next couple didn't fare much better. It got the attention of the guards, though, and he threw himself to the side as laser fire flashed through where he'd just been. It was enough of a distraction for Sven and Keith to close the gap, and no deflectors were going to do anything for that; one went down beneath a stab from Keith's sword, the other from an axe to the chest.

"Team Medieval for the fucking win," Lance said with a grin as he holstered his guns.

Sven spun his axe around, grinning too. "This is fun."

"…You're fucking creepy sometimes, Viking." All that got him was a nod; the Viking could not really argue the point.

Jace had been listening in over the comms, and snorted. "Go be creepy in the fucking airlock, clearing the bay doesn't help if you just _stand there_ when you're done."

Oh. Right. "Clear out!"

"Let's."

As they reached out and sealed the airlock behind them, Flynn watched the last status light go green on the control panel. "Pidge, Vince, now!"

"Uh…" Vince froze up. "What?"

"The bay doors, mechka!"

"OH." He yanked the control lever, sending violent shudders through the _Bolt_ as the doors fought to open. Stressed metal squealed, the warped panels not able to fully withdraw, but it was more than enough for what they needed. With its seal broken, the Drule ship detached and started drifting away, its boarding cutter visibly damaged from the ejection.

Not that it would matter for more than a few seconds. Daniel took aim as the frigate drifted into his targeting arcs, eyes narrowed as he assigned all his focus to the task. He was more than a little grateful for the distraction, really. A full flight of missiles arced in at the Andura, the Wolfpacks punching through armor while the anti-fighter Interceptor missiles delivered some extra force and shrapnel to the exposed engine cores. A wave of flame tore through the engine block, then up the ship's spine, and then it was spinning violently away from them as one of the engines blew outright.

As the explosion's shockwave jostled the _Bolt_, just slightly, the whole team breathed a sigh of relief as one. It was over.

…Maybe.

* * *

Jace slumped back against the last airlock he'd sealed, exhaling slowly. He really did not approve of whatever the fuck had just happened. "Okay, who needs a medic?"

"I'm all good, Jace. Kid, you okay?"

"…Yeah. Fine. We're fine."

"We're fine in the engine bay, Doctor."

His eyes narrowed at the responses. He knew these people. "Know what, fuck you people, I don't trust anyone here to know what the word 'fine' even means. I'm gonna do rounds."

Hunk chuckled, then became a little more serious. "So uh… what do we do now? Can't do hyperspace with a hole in the bay, yeah?"

"We can make a temporary patch from the inside. We'll need to leave the airlocks sealed." Flynn was heading back to the engine bay, already trying to calculate how long the patch job would take. "It'll be enough to get us to the nearest Alliance outpost."

"Alright." Keith was on his way to the bridge with Sven and Lance still flanking him. "Holgersson, you'll need to plot us to the nearest Alliance outpost ASAP."

"Already have one made out," Sven answered smugly. He had a _lot_ of backup routes made.

"Good."

Entering the bridge, Keith paused at the dead bodies on the floor, wincing. Then he looked up at Daniel, who was pointedly not looking at those bodies, and Cam, who kept glancing between them and his console. "Good work keeping the bridge secure, you two." They both seemed okay, as best he could tell; next to him, Lance looked Daniel over and breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"I told you I was fine," the gunner grumbled.

"Got to check, don't I?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Daniel grabbed his comms. "Jace, Lance's face is bleeding."

"Is it?" Lance blinked, reaching up and touching where the Drule had rifle-whipped him. Sure enough, his fingers came away bloody. "Damn it, not the face!"

"Might improve it," the medic snorted. "I'm coming."

Keith had come up to Cam's station in the meantime. "Anything else out there?" This wasn't where he'd have chosen to be stranded and requiring a patch job, for certain…

"Just a lot of debris from the ship," their comms officer said quietly. He didn't sound especially confident in that report, and he wasn't, because something beyond the screen of debris was bothering him. The Bolt's sensors were trying to get a better fix, but… "…Der'mo. Sir, there's another ship out there."

Lance looked over. "What."

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"You know he's no good at jokes!"

"I wish I was, sir." He'd gone very pale. "It's a Drule dreadnought."

Overhearing as he ran back into the engine bay, Flynn skidded to a halt, eyes wide. There were bodies. "Pidge, Vince, just imagine I'm saying something encouraging about whatever you did in here. No time." He reached the sensor console and stared. "Cevete."

"Salys sa kye…"

"Can we breach?" Keith asked, eyes on the screen as the massive vessel became clear. There were few other things that could cause anywhere near the visceral fear of watching a Drule dreadnought close in.

"No." There were some drawbacks to the _Vagrant's_ being built around one very large open chamber, and those drawbacks had never been more clear. "The cargo bay is too badly compromised, the planar stresses would rip us in half."

_Damn it_. They would have to wing it, then. It _was_ what they did best, and they _had_ been disabled by pirates in Drule space. Maybe failing to protect their territory would shame them. "Ask for aid. See where it gets us."

Cam grimaced, and his expression didn't improve when the comms crackled. "Alliance vessel, this is Captain Dervul of the _Scarborne Fist_. Silence your engines, lower your shields, and explain yourselves."

Their engines hadn't even been firing, and they were certainly _not_ going to lower their shields. Cam took a deep breath. "_Scarborne Fist_, this is the ACS _Jupiter's Bolt._ We were inbound to perform routine waypoint checks under the Deros Convention, but your station was unresponsive and we were attacked by pirates. We formally request assistance."

The Drule snorted. "The nerve of Earthling dishonor! Pirates? You attacked and slaughtered one of our patrol vessels, and now you dare to ask for aid?"

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?" Jace had arrived to the bridge just in time to hear that, and really wished he hadn't.

"Huh?"

"That's not good at all."

"Holy fuzzmuffins," Vince whispered, earning him a weak grin from Hunk.

"Think this might call for the whole 'holy fuckin' fuzzmuffins', little dude…"

"I… don't think we're getting help from them," Cam said quietly, still trying to wrap his brain around what he'd just heard; Daniel snorted.

"Really, Cam? They seem so welcoming."

"All of you be quiet," Keith ordered, moving up to take over the comms. "Captain Dervul, your ship attacked us, in blatant violation of the Deros Convention. We only defended ourselves."

The Drule considered that. "Can you prove this claim?"

"We have recordings." He gestured for Cam to pull up the comms archives as he spoke.

"Transmit them."

At a nod from the commander, Cam did as instructed, and a deafening silence filled the _Bolt_ as they waited. The hair on the back of Lance's neck was standing up in a way it hadn't since… he wasn't even sure. "I have a fucking bad feeling, and it's getting worse every second."

He wasn't wrong.

"You were given an order by the system's owner, and disobeyed it. You are in the wrong. Surrender or be destroyed."

"The fuck?"

"What the kid said."

"I'm absolutely fucking certain that's not how the Deros Convention works," Flynn muttered under his breath; next to him Vince squeaked a little incoherently before managing words.

"Effing fuzzmuffins?"

Hunk shot him a thumbs-up.

Keith gritted his teeth and stared at the dreadnought in disbelief. "Your vessel was in the wrong. The order was unlawful, especially after we explicitly invoked the Convention."

"I don't think reason is gonna work here, boss…"

"I have not requested infantile excuses, Earthling. You will surrender by the time we reach weapons range, or you will be destroyed. Do you understand?"

"Fuck," Daniel murmured. "Fuckity fuck fuck."

Keith closed his eyes. "We can't escape. They won't honor the Convention… Cam, squawk panic." To 'squawk panic' was to deploy a short standardized distress call, designed more to be undetectable than to actually convey information. When it reached the Alliance it would automatically trigger a patrol to come investigate. It was all they could really do.

"Signal away, sir."

"Good." This was going to mean… something. What? It didn't matter. He didn't really know the political ramifications, and right now he had to focus on preserving his crew above all else. "Kleid, thoughts?"

Flynn drew a slow breath. He knew Kogane already knew the answer to this, he just wanted backup. Fair enough; that was part of his job. "Not-dead is preferable to dead," he said quietly. "If someone gets our signal and we're captives, we have a chance. If they get our signal and we've already been reduced to our component atoms, not so much." He eyed the dreadnought's approach vector; it was in no hurry. "And if we start now we have a little time to prepare."

"I'm for taking a chance," Lance agreed.

Pidge nodded. "The fact that they're giving us a chance to surrender after we destroyed their first ship is a good sign."

"HOW?" Vince's voice came out a little too loud.

"Usually they'd kill us out of spite and sort the politics out later."

"Oh." He blinked. "Crap. Now I _do_ feel better."

Flynn looked between the two of them. "Pidge, go sneak whatever weapons you can into… however you ninja them into places. Vince, start wiping the systems back here. Hunk, be ready to lower shields."

Keith swept his gaze over the bridge and issued much the same instructions. "Cam, Sven, purge all records and databanks. Everyone, wipe your datapads. Sterilize this ship as best we can." As the team moved into action, he returned his focus to the comms and closed his eyes. The weight of command had never been heavier, but this was the only way… "Captain Dervul, we surrender."

"Ah, excellent, you've seen sense. We hereby graciously accept your surrender, Earthlings. You, and your vessel, are now the property of the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy."

* * *

Romelle was waiting outside the royal box, clutching her gaive'llar nervously while trying hard not to look too nervous. She'd never been to the arena before; was it used outside of the gladiatorial season? Perhaps she would ask later. For now, she straightened as Lotor approached.

"Are you ready, a'kuri?"

"I think so, sincline. Just a bit nervous."

He chuckled. "Imagine how nervous the gladiators are. Soon they will draw and shed blood for our glory."

That did _not_ help, but she fought down the grimace. "Yes." She swallowed hard. "For honor and… glory."

"Precisely." A slave arrived from the royal box to fetch them, and he took her hand. "Come, it's time."

Romelle nodded, following, hoping he wouldn't notice her palm was a bit sweaty. He didn't seem to… as they emerged into the box, she gasped slightly. The arena was enormous; there had to be tens of thousands of spectators surrounding the arena floor, and right now nearly every one was staring at them.

"Prince Lotor and his a'kuri, Princess Romelle of Pollux!"

She startled slightly at the announcement, then plastered on a smile and followed Lotor across the box. The crowd was cheering. He waved somewhat halfheartedly; he'd much rather just get to the fights. Usually he came to the box last so he could skip the rest of the announcements. But his father had insisted he come in his proper place today, so the people could see Romelle… he really did still _despise_ this courtship nonsense at times.

As they approached their seats he smiled, though; three others were standing in their path, waiting for them. Romelle paused a moment. Two were Drules, and the other was a hulking beast with gray skin, huge red eyes, and leathery wings. It looked more than a little bizarre in fine silks, especially when it grinned at her and revealed a mouthful of needle-like teeth.

"Ah." Lotor didn't seem at all fazed. "A'kuri, let me introduce you to some of my father's consorts: Prince Ta'lorr, Princess Axchiela, and Prince Domogathristes."

"…My lords and lady." She curtsied, fighting back a bit of confusion and a deep, dreadful certainty that she would _never_ learn that name.

"An honor, Princess Romelle." Both the Drules bowed.

The alien stepped forward and spoke cheerfully in a voice that was high-pitched and almost childlike. "Such exciting to finally meet you, my lady!" He leaned over and kissed her hand, or at least, came the closest something with no lips could come to doing so. "Many wonderful things spoken of you! Enjoy the show, this season looks to be most exciting!"

A bright flush stole over Romelle's cheeks. "Um… nice to meet you too."

Bowing his head and fluttering his wings cheerfully, Domo… whoever… scurried back to the other consorts, leaving Lotor struggling to hold back his laughter. "Come, a'kuri, let's take our seats…"

She followed and sank into hers gratefully, then lowered her voice. "Um, what… species is the prince?"

No need to ask which prince. "Vrykora. Fearsome and clever, but… flighty."

"Flighty. Because of the wings?"

"That's certainly part of it…" He looked up and groaned as the steward stepped to the front of the box. "The ceremony is about to begin."

Nodding, Romelle leaned forward slightly. She had watched several battles with Lotor, but none of the ceremonial aspects, and was curious to see what they would be like.

"Friends and subjects of the Ninth Kingdom, welcome to the Grand Festival of Blood and Blade! Today, and all days, shall we honor the legacy of Zarvarith the Unifier, who brought the warring factions of the Drule Supremacy together through honorable combat and trials, erasing the weak and elevating the strong. Gladiators seeking freedom, redemption, glory, and immortality: you will bear witness to them all, and they will shed blood for the delight of all who behold!" From there the steward launched into a discussion of Zarvarith the Unifier and her deeds; Romelle listened with rapt attention. She knew _of_ Zarvarith, and the historical basics, but as the announcer detailed battle after battle she found the games and their prominence making more and more sense…

Lotor was just struggling to stay awake. He'd heard this speech—this _exact_ speech—nearly twenty times before, and did not understand how the steward managed to make the most glorious period in Drule history sound so _boring_. At least his a'kuri seemed riveted… as the steward finally finished, she looked up at him and smiled. "That was fascinating."

He chuckled. "I hoped you might feel that way. It's why I didn't explain it to you before… so you'd find that interminable recitation interesting."

"You've heard it a lot, then… it never changes?"

He shook his head. "Why would it? The history does not."

True enough. And she supposed it _had_ been a bit dry, if one already knew the story. "Perhaps a different speaker, then? Someone who could bring it more to life?"

"If only." Again he shook his head, with a bit more resignation. "The last steward was worse." Her eyes widened.

Before she could say anything further about that, a loud blast on some kind of trumpet echoed over the arena. "And now, let the battles begin! For Zarvarith, for the Crown, and for the Supremacy!"

Romelle leaned further forward, watching with renewed fascination as several dozen Drules in what she took to be historical costume stepped out onto the arena floor. They arranged themselves into ranks, then charged in a flurry of war cries.

"The first battle of the season is always two teams of professional warriors," Lotor explained, anticipating her next question. "They reenact the ancient Battle of Naraku, and the victors are crowned the Avatars of Zarvarith for this season."

Nodding, she watched the battle, a maddening flurry of blades and blood. At times the teams formed back into ranks, presenting a unified front to their foes; other times the battle seemed to dissolve into a series of duels. Both sides were showing incredible skill, and both refused to go down without a spectacular struggle, but finally only one team was left standing…

A hush fell over the whole of the arena as King Zarkon stood and stepped forward. He raised his own gaive'llar, a heavy golden weapon that wasn't entirely un-sceptre-like. "Zarvarith the Unifier was a wise champion," he declared, "who spared her enemies when they showed the strength of the worthy. Warriors who fell to the blades of her avatars… you, too, have been deemed worthy!" He snapped the blade shut as the crowd roared.

Romelle let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Several medics arrived to the arena floor, carting off the wounded and the dead, assisting some of the victors to a special box. She was impressed by the efficiency they showed, really… it seemed like the Drules really did want to keep their gladiators in fighting shape, when they weren't ordering them _dead_.

As the crowd settled down the announcer stepped up again. "Our next battle shall feature a band of mighty gladiators from the slave world of Galtore! They fight for their freedom, and the right to venture to the stars as loyal warriors of the Ninth Kingdom. Against them stands the crew of the scout cruiser _Moon's Grace_, seeking honor for themselves and their vessel." The new teams stepped into the arena; the Galtorese were willowy canines with sharp sickle claws, while the crew of the _Moon's Grace_ moved in perfectly disciplined unison. "Ready yourselves, gladiators! Blood and glory await!"

This battle was quick and brutal. The Galtorese were fierce and brave; their Drule opponents were wily and resilient. Though Lotor frowned slightly as it went on… they were almost _too_ resilient. Some of the injuries were almost certainly feigned, they were falling too easily, only to jump up once their opponent's back was turned… but it wasn't enough. The team from the _Moon's Grace_ fell, and he stood as the Galtorese looked up to the royal box.

Without a word, he raised his gaive'llar and signaled for execution.

Romelle's eyes widened; she wanted to look away, but somehow couldn't tear her eyes from the display of savagery as the victors methodically executed their foes. Lotor returned to his seat and she looked at him with another wordless question.

"Those who forfeit their honor deserve no mercy," he said grimly.

Nodding her understanding—at least she somewhat understood—Romelle sank back a bit. "That was… intense."

He chuckled. "This is only the second battle of the first day. You will see feats of intensity you can't yet imagine."

She had very little doubt of that…

It proved more than true enough in the next several battles, with Zarkon and his consorts and Lotor taking judgment in no discernible pattern. At one point, Lotor jumped up to judge a second in a row: a particularly brutal battle with the victorious team consisted of a single warrior still able to stand, and her just barely. This time he signaled for mercy, again wordlessly. He didn't like speeches. The blade said all that was needed.

Though Romelle was still trying to sort things out. "You spared the losers?"

"They fought valiantly," he explained with a nod. "A single stroke of the blade could have made the difference between their victory and defeat. They will heal and remember how close they came—and we will have another glorious battle to watch because of it."

She mulled that over, considering the meaning of the games, and nodded slowly. "I can see how you would enjoy another battle by them." As the next teams arrived she mused, "It's almost like a deadly dance, isn't it?"

"Very much like that." He smiled, baring his fangs. "Are you enjoying it?"

'Enjoying' was perhaps not the word she'd have chosen, but she was at least coming to appreciate it, she supposed. "They are… terrifying, but I am gaining some insight…"

"Good." He kissed her cheek. "And not a moment too soon. The last battle is coming up… watch this one carefully, a'kuri. Their fate will lie in your hands."

_Oh_. She adjusted her grip on her gaive'llar and bit her lower lip in concentration. _Already?_ Nodding, she watched two new teams of Drules filing in. It would be up to her…

The sound of blades and shouts of pain and ferocity filled the arena, the teams going nearly blow for blow. At one point she noted one trying to retreat from the battle, watching from the fringes as his teammates fought honorably. Whether he we trying to exercise some strategy or simply spare himself the brunt of the battle, she couldn't guess at… but either way, when the opponents caught sight of him they fell on him mercilessly, leaving him bloodied and broken on the arena floor. His teammates seemed shocked, and she watched more carefully as they fought to recover, but soon they had all fallen.

Standing, swallowing hard, she looked at King Zarkon. He looked back to her and nodded. The crowd hushed as she stepped up to the front of the box, looking down at the fighters who watched her with silent anticipation.

_Honor…_ what honor was there in slaying the defeated, really? Unless their crimes were great, especially considering what she'd seen. Nodding slowly, she held her weapon up for them to see… and snapped the blade shut, laying the closed gaive'llar on the railing of the royal box.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Blushing, she retreated to her own seat, and the blush only became brighter as Lotor smiled in greeting. "Very well done, a'kuri." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "What did you see?"

"I saw one fight with dishonor," she said quietly, "but he had already perished for it, and the rest of his team showed great courage. I didn't feel that it would be right to see them all killed for the mistake of the one… and this way they can fight again, to regain whatever honor he cost them."

Lotor seemed very pleased with her reasoning. "A wise and well-considered choice." She blushed again, smiling back at him, pleased to have made the right call. Perhaps she would truly understand this, in time…

The three of Zarkon's consorts came over as the announcer dismissed the crowds, immediately launching into gossip about the battles. And to her own surprise, she found herself joining in.

* * *

What now passed for the Arusian war council was a motley assortment, to be sure. Allura and Larmina were there, as royalty, though neither was exactly experienced in the art of planning out a military campaign. Coran, as both royal advisor and a former Golden Knight; the shelter had little else in the way of knights anymore, anyway. Miralna was there more for her experience facing the Drules in pitched battle than on her own status, while High Priest Teynn was there to lend priests of the Radiant Warrior to the effort. Captains Randel, Sarial, and Sherion rounded out the group: they represented two units of castle guards and the depleted Dolce Vita militia.

It wasn't the army anyone would have chosen, but Arus had run out of choices a long time ago. This was what they had.

They'd started by poring over the notes Allura had made from the space mice's report. "You received these last night, yes?"

She nodded. "Another came this morning. The enemy movements have been like this for the last two days." Handing over another paper, she continued. "It does appear that they feel Arus has been fully pacified. Of course… I understand that if we retake the castle, they're almost certain to come back harder than they struck at first."

"Which is why it will be most important to make sure any Drules off of Arus don't know." Randel frowned. "That would buy us time to seek aid and reinforce our defenses, and restock the shelters in case of the worst."

"Let's keep the intel flowing as we gather our numbers. If I am correct, we have these points," Sarial was pointing on a crude map, "to re-enter the castle. If the guards keep to this routine, these key areas should offer the best spots to strike."

"How many technicians do we have left? They could be critical in hacking the Drule systems and keeping the ruse going."

"Very few, but if we can crack their systems we won't need many…"

"Princess," Coran spoke quietly as the others plotted. "Is this something you really want to do now?"

Looking at Coran, she nodded slowly. "I know it is dangerous. But we can't remain underground forever. We _need_ to fight back. If we don't, we'll never have a chance at freedom again. We've lost too much hiding here; the key to our freedom is above ground."

Coran thought about it, then nodded in understanding. She was right. They needed to return to the surface somehow. To give the people hope, if nothing else. And… he thought of the lion in the mountains, then looked at Allura again. Was there more to the castle than he knew?

It didn't matter, ultimately. The plan was beginning to take shape. And with a little bit of luck, it might even work.

* * *

_*Whew… this last week's been a really long year, huh? Stay safe and take care out there!_


	38. Gladiators

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 37_  
Gladiators

* * *

The trip to the capital of the Ninth Kingdom had been swift. Remarkably so, really. Drule faster-than-light travel was significantly slower than the Alliance's, when forging out among the open stars. But they could create jumpgates: not quite wormholes, but high-speed paths, like highways through extraplanar space. The Calidar system maintained a jumpgate to Korrinoth, given its strategic position, and the _Scarborne Fist_ had wasted no time in carrying its prisoners home.

Not that those prisoners had been aware of most of it…

Vince's eyes fluttered open, and his immediate thought was one of pure confusion. This was definitely not a ship. The floor and the walls were hard stone, and the hum of the engines was replaced by a distant murmur of ambient… well… something? Muffled footsteps caught his attention and he raised his head to see Keith pacing, his eyes lowered and his movements a little sluggish.

Pidge, too, was already awake; he was sitting in a corner keeping watch. The others were just stirring, a chorus of groans and murmurs of confusion as they slowly regained consciousness.

Hunk was snoring.

"Ugggh… what the hell happened?"

"What the fuck do you _think_ happened, Cam?" Daniel grumbled. It got him a look of relief from Lance, who then turned to check for Flynn; the chief was awake, though still curled up on the floor. No real reason to bother moving at this point.

What _had_ happened? Sven sat up and closed his eyes. He remembered being transferred over to the dreadnought, herded into a cell, though it had been strange. The armored guards had treated them with more awe than anger, saluting with the same guns they'd been using as threats. It hadn't made any _sense_. And then the cell itself, where they'd barely even had time to try to get their bearings before… he remembered a faint hiss, a fog…

"Fuckers drugged us," Jace snarled beside him.

"They wanted us to behave in transit," Pidge said softly.

Looking around, Vince did a quick count. It looked like they were all together, and a wave of relief flooded him for about half a second before the words _for now_ popped into his brain. He shook his head to force that thought aside.

"Transit to where?" Lance was looking around too, taking in the stone walls and the heavy steel door. "Where the fuck did they put us, that's the question."

"In a fucking prison cell," Jace retorted.

Keith stopped pacing and looked over his team. They were a little banged up from the boarding; he could see a few cuts and bruises. Beyond that, well, they'd just been drugged and brought who knew where. "Is everyone okay?"

"Never better, are you kidding?" Flynn didn't lift his head from the floor.

"Fucking peachy," Lance agreed, throwing the engineer a worried look.

"Wonderful."

"I'm alright."

"Do you mean physically or psychologically?" Vince was probably the only person in the room who'd taken the question seriously. "Because those are different answers."

Daniel nodded, though it was hard to tell, since he hadn't gotten up off of the floor either. "I'm with Vince."

Hunk snored.

It was a distraction Vince was happy to have, and slightly worrying on its own. "Should we poke him?"

"If you're feeling brave enough," Sven answered, earning a _look_ that he would've liked to have answered with a smirk. He couldn't quite get himself there, though…

"I've got this." Jace stood, stretched, walked over to where Hunk was sprawled, and paused. "…How did they even get him in here?" After a moment's thought he shrugged it off and dialed up his most dramatic voice. "Oh _no!_ The Drules took all our murder pepper sauce!"

"And we're out of donuts," Lance threw in.

"WHAT." Hunk sat bolt upright, looked around, and blinked a few times in confusion; then recent events flooded back and he shot the two of them a dirty look. Though technically he supposed they weren't wrong.

Shaking his head, Keith crossed over to a wooden bench jutting from the back wall and sat. "As long as we're all physically alright, that's a start." Psychologically _was_ an entirely different question, and one they could hardly hope to answer quite yet.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a little sore, though it was nothing serious. "So what do you think, they just keep us here? No way, right? Gotta be more surprises."

"Don't know, but I don't have a good feeling…"

"No," Daniel snorted, "I'm sure they just like keeping humans around like tchotchkes—"

"—How do _you_ know that word?" Cam asked blankly—

"—oh, and we have a Baltan!" Daniel didn't bother to dignify the question with a verbal response, though he did lift his hand just enough to flip his roommate off. "Makes us a limited edition set."

"Gives you a fighting chance, you mean," Pidge muttered. He absolutely did _not_ know what a 'tchotchkes' or whatever was, but he doubted it was relevant.

"Sure." The gunner didn't bother flipping him off. He liked his fingers attached. "Thank you for being captured with us, Pidge. You make us more valuable."

"A fighting chance for what?" Vince asked, feeling like they'd glossed over something important here. "Are we escaping?"

Nobody seemed to notice his question.

"Pidge, do you have anything?" Flynn asked, shifting a little bit. His sidearm was no longer in its holster, unsurprisingly, but maybe the ninja had done a better job.

He had, producing his shard knife seemingly out of nowhere and making it disappear again a moment later. "They got some. Not all."

"Shit." Lance abruptly realized his own lack of Axels or anything else. "I'm naked!"

Keith and Flynn both shot him looks of varying exasperation; he smirked at Flynn, who promptly went back to staring at the floor. On the other side of the cell Daniel raised his head for just a moment to look at their pilot, then snorted again. "And yet I'm not blind, it's a miracle."

"No _guns_," he clarified, though he supposed at least they _had_ left him his jacket. Otherwise they'd have some real trouble.

Checking his vest pockets as the others came up empty, Hunk made a face. "I tried to smuggle in some BOOMS, but guess they recognized plastic explosive when they saw it…" A small grin followed, as his fingers came across a small metal device tucked away in an inside pocket. "But they didn't get the blasting cap! Just need somethin' to blast."

"Where the fuck do you expect to get that?" Jace demanded, receiving a shrug in response. Big Dumb Hunk could only do so much.

Vince was seriously beginning to wonder if he needed to repeat his question, but then Keith stood, walking up to the door and peeking out the tiny barred window. Nothing was really visible except more stone. Turning back to the others, he shook his head and frowned. "We have to do what we can to get out of here, but we can't make any solid plans until we know what we're looking at."

"We're _looking_ at a fucking prison cell," Jace said helpfully.

"Outside the cell! For crying out loud…"

"We can't just fucking sit here." Lance shook his head. Nothing was immediately springing to mind as a solution, but that was clear enough. "We need intel. Hopefully our _hosts_ won't keep us waiting too long, and we'll get a look at what's on the other side of that door."

"At least they didn't separate us," Sven mused, drawing a vigorous nod from Vince and a slightly panicked look from Daniel. "…Isn't it a bit strange that they didn't separate us?"

"Not necessarily…" Jace frowned, looking around the cell again and considering what his SERE training had led him to expect. This wasn't it. It was reasonably warm and dry, with what looked like a small alcove in one corner for waste, and what looked like a fair quantity of food and water had been left by the door. "Fuck, this is _all_ strange. I mean for a Drule dungeon this place is actually less miserable than I would've thought."

Several of the others turned to stare at him. "Seriously?"

"…Yeah, it's at least two stars. For a _dungeon_."

"Makes a gulag look like a dump."

"Maybe they're intending to ransom us back?" Flynn suggested, taking Jace's actual point. "They'd want to keep us… relatively healthy."

"Could be why they've kept us together too, then?" Lance frowned. "How would they know we'd be worth anything, though?"

"Unless we missed something on the ship?" Keith shook his head, trying to think of what they might have missed. "There are the uniforms, but…"

"The Alliance _has_ been known to pay to recover traders and cargo ships who ended up in the wrong place." Flynn remembered going through a few drills on the _Magnusson_ for just such an occurrence, though they'd always included the crew being left on the ship. …It had been a much bigger ship.

Daniel made a face. "Wouldn't a ransom be admitting they broke our shitty—I mean, super useful treaty?"

"Why _did_ they break the treaty?"

"They could use the same justification they played on us. Entrapment. Bait and threaten us into attacking them, then claim we were the aggressors."

"Yeah, they couldn't prove otherwise if they don't give the ship b…" Hunk trailed off. "…Even if they do give the ship back, cuz we wiped the drives. So there's a chance, yeah?"

"My head hurts," Daniel groaned. "There's too many maybes running around, I'm not meant for all this thinking." Cam chuckled weakly, Sven rolled his eyes, and Lance reached over and lightly tapped his shoulder.

"Kid, breathe."

He tried it, but none of the maybes seemed to go away. "That helped nothing."

"Just _keep_ doing it, kid."

"That's the plan, old man."

"I'm with the little dude, nothin' makes sense." Hunk shrugged and leaned back against the wall, then his tone brightened. "So, we'll find out eventually. Charades?" Jace smacked him.

Across the cell, Flynn raised his head and rolled his eyes. "Hit him again, Doctor."

"Do it yourself."

"Doc's a one-hit wonder," Hunk agreed with a grin; the medic immediately smacked him again.

Though still worried—no, 'worried' wasn't nearly a strong enough word—Keith couldn't help a small grin at his team starting to act somewhat normal again. The grin didn't last very long. A loud metallic _bang_ cut off the banter, followed by the heavy cell door slowly sliding open. A force field flickered to life, sealing the doorway in front of a tall, slim Drule who looked over them with what might have been genuine interest.

"Ah, finally awake, and just in time."

"For what?" Lance asked immediately, eyes narrowing. He unconsciously shifted a bit, putting himself between Daniel and the guard. The kid had scooted back, deciding this was a good time to _not_ be lying in the middle of the cell anymore, and didn't mind Lance's intervention one bit. Vince hid behind Sven, who was entirely okay with it; Pidge stepped up next to Flynn and struggled mightily to not pull one of the knives he wasn't supposed to have.

Keith stood and moved forward, placing himself between the guard and the rest of his team, though Cam was right behind him. "For what?" their comms officer echoed in Drakure. The guard turned the curious look on him for a moment, and he stared back evenly.

"I am fluent in Common, young Earthling. You may speak your lesser language." He did seem to speak it easily, and turned to give Lance a short nod. "And the answer to your question is, to be honored for your prowess as warriors, of course. You will accompany me."

Several eyebrows shot up.

"Do we have to?"

"Warriors?"

"What are you talking about?"

Daniel and Vince exchanged glances; they were both certain nobody had _ever_ spoken of their 'warrior prowess', at least not without a hefty dose of sarcasm. Lance and Flynn looked at each other too, pretty certain this wasn't going anywhere good _regardless_ of warrior prowess…

"Your great victory over the full complement of a troop frigate, of course." The guard seemed confused by their confusion. "By the benevolent will of King Zarkon, your slaughter grants you the chance for glory."

Keith stared. Nothing about that sounded like anything they wanted any part in. "As… kind as that offer is, I think we'd rather decline." He didn't really expect that to work, but…

"The alternative is immediate execution for your crimes."

"Why did I see that coming?" Jace muttered.

Lance shrugged. "We'll go for the glory."

"There any way you could give a better description of this glory we're supposed to attain?" Daniel demanded, glaring at the guard. He distinctly remembered no glory at all involved in fighting the boarding party.

"And _how_ are we supposed to obtain it?" Keith asked with a grimace. It still didn't sound good; knowing what they were going to face ahead of time felt like it was worth a try.

It didn't work either. "You will follow and learn." If anything the guard still seemed just as confused as they were.

"Learn? Now I have to _learn_, too?"

"Kid, shut up."

"Honestly I probably can't," he protested, though he did lower his voice a little. "When I get nervous I talk a lot, it's kind of out of my control—"

"—Well try to curb it, alright? We don't know what the fuck is happening."

"Oh yeah, because now that I'm in the most stressful situation _ever_ I'll suddenly be able to curb my behavior, makes sense…"

"Everyone stay behind me," Keith ordered, looking over his shoulder at the team before returning his attention to the guard. "Let's go, then."

"Oh, boy." Hunk shook his head too, standing and moving to follow. "Okay, let's do this thing." He started humming Ride of the Valkyries, just for a little comforting familiarity; Vince shot him his best look of disbelief, perhaps also for some comforting familiarity.

The others fell in behind their commander as well, both nervous and wary. For a moment there was a sense of hope, given just the one guard. That hope lasted until they got into the hallway, where half a dozen heavily armed guards were waiting to keep them in line. Of course they were. Why wouldn't they be?

"Most stressful situation of my life just got more stressful," Daniel muttered; Sven hit him. "Ow."

"So many guards for little old unarmed us," Cam observed, looking around at them and raising an eyebrow. None of them seemed to understand, but each bristled and tightened their grip on their weapons as he looked at them.

The guard who'd been speaking started to lead them down the hallway—it was all more stone and metal doors. "Your reputations precede you."

"I have a few reputations, which one are we talking about?" Lance smirked; Flynn elbowed _him_. "Ow…"

"Why are we always so abusive?" Daniel muttered, definitely not curbing anything. "You guys keep hitting my head and then complaining that I don't use my brain…"

Jace smacked his shoulder. "This isn't _abuse_, kid, it's percussive behavioral maintenance." He looked back at the guards and frowned. "You guys know we got the reputation when we had _guns_, right?"

Nobody answered, and the team briefly fell silent, trying to keep an eye on their surroundings. A few cross corridors came up, though there was no telling what lay down them. Then a rough, sloping tunnel that gradually ramped up—had they been underground? It seemed like it. Finally the corridor ended in a massive door, and the guard walked up and placed a hand on the control panel.

What greeted them first was the sight of an equally huge, barred gate some distance beyond the door; a stretch of something like glittering sand lay beyond it. Between the door and the gate was a chamber lined with dozens of weapon racks.

The guard motioned them in. "Now, you have five minutes to prepare. Arm yourselves as you see fit."

As they saw fit? Lance looked at the weapons and frowned. "Any guns?"

One of the armed guards gave a derisive laugh; their guide just shook his head. "You will fight hand to hand, blood for blood, and if you succeed you will live another day."

"What the fuck is going on? What the fuck are we preparing for?" Daniel looked around at the bewildering array of melee weapons. "I think I have too much brain damage to think…"

"Uh, what are we fighting, exactly?" Hunk had his eye on a huge spiked mace hanging in a corner, but knew there were situations where hauling a big-ass mace around might not be the best idea.

"You will know when the gate opens."

Oh. Wonderful.

"Alright, team. Let's grab some weapons, then." Keith wasn't sure what else to even say in this situation. Confidence and go from there, he supposed. A rack of swords caught his eye; he and Cam both approached and checked them over, picking out a couple that looked serviceable. "Remember, Cam, balance is the key."

"Right." He twirled the slightly lighter sword he'd selected—one that reminded him a bit of the one his own family kept—and nodded. "What do you think of this one?"

"If you think it'll work for you, it's good."

Lance had joined them at the sword rack—it seemed like the correct default when he knew how to use absolutely nothing in this room. Then he looked back at the guard. "Is there a limit on what we can take?"

"Whatever you can carry and use."

"Great." He grabbed a sword and a couple of knives from the next rack over, muttering under his breath. "Don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but…"

"Pointy end goes in the other guy," Keith instructed. "Use the flat part to block."

"…Okay I knew that first part. Thanks for the second."

Vince was still standing at the door, feeling a little bit dizzy. He did not belong in this room. He _really_ did not belong in this room. _Now is the time to wake up from that coma you definitely fell into somewhere…_ he squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and still saw weapons. _Darn_. Sighing, he picked out a stick with some kind of rounded blade on it. It didn't really seem that sharp, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself with sharp.

Sven had circled the room and found nothing sufficiently axe-like, so he chose a mace instead. He'd always wanted to use one. Next to him, Jace had found nothing useful either, but mostly because he fought better barehanded; he didn't see any reason to grab a weapon he'd be less effective with than just using his fists.

That dilemma was going on with Daniel, too, minus the part about being good with his fists. "This is gonna be like sparring, except this time when I get pinned I'm going to _die_."

"Daniel, you aren't dying."

"You've seen me not spar, right?"

Lance just glared at him until he turned away, joining Pidge at a rack of knives and picking out a twisty dagger that looked, if not necessarily effective, at least totally badass. "Pidge, is this any good?"

The ninja had selected a knife and what was either a long dagger or a short sword, and had been testing the balance between them. He blinked in surprise at being addressed. "It's fine? But you might want something with more reach if you don't know how to use it anyway. Try a spear?" He had once saved his own life with a spear he hadn't known how to use; given Daniel _had_ graduated from the Academy, he had to believe the gunner was at least as competent as his seven year old self. Hopefully.

"Got it." Daniel swapped the dagger out for a wicked-looking spear he knew even less about. "You really _do_ up our value, dude. Though we're more like action figures than tchotchkes in this situation, I guess…"

Pidge stared at him blankly until Vince interrupted, having overheard the advice. "Pidge, is this a spear?" It seemed structured correctly, but he'd thought they were supposed to be pointier…

"…Yes, mechka."

"Yes it is or yes I'm a mechka?"

"Both."

Somehow, Vince had known he'd say that.

Chuckling, Hunk walked up and stood in front of the gate, hefting his huge mace over his shoulder. "Just hide behind me, little dudes, it'll be good."

"Totally my strategy."

"Thanks, big guy."

Flynn had picked out the closest knife he could find to Alliance standard issue, and found himself glancing nervously at Lance. No, he needed to focus… "Pidge. Look after Vince."

Eyes widening slightly, the ninja looked up at him and nodded. "Yessir. You look out for yourself."

Look out for himself? Right. He could try, anyway.

Keith was studying his team, and couldn't help feeling a twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach. They weren't all cut out for this. Specialization had worked for them before, but now that they were on someone else's terms… "Alright. Best fighters, handle as much of the work as you can. Everyone else, watch and learn and don't get killed." He hated it even before he said it, but what other options did they really have? "…And Jace, get that jacket off, it's going to make you a target."

"Que…? _Oh_, fucking…" The medic shrugged out of his field jacket—which was definitely not something he'd _ever_ actually been allowed to wear in the field, given the very large red cross patches on the armbands. "I knew that." He tossed it onto a nearby weapon rack and made a face.

Not a moment too soon. The gate started to creak open, and the guard spoke again from behind them. "It is time! Blood and fortune to you, warriors."

…_Here it goes_. Keith held his breath, stepping out into the stretch of sand—actually a mix of wood chips and gravel—and nearly freezing up again as he saw where they actually were. An _arena_. It was huge, filled with Drules, a murmur of anticipation starting to build as they made their way out onto the floor. Across from them, another gate had opened up, admitting a small cluster of armed Drules who moved with predatory intent.

Cam looked over at Vince and Daniel—who were both _definitely_ hiding behind Hunk now—and attempted to give them an encouraging grin. Vince nodded weakly, while Daniel turned and gave his roommate a light punch to the shoulder. "_You'll_ probably be fine, dude."

"Just… be careful out there, okay?"

"You too."

Looking around the crowd, Flynn stepped up next to their pilot, a surge of something that wasn't exactly panic welling up. Maybe dread. What the hell were they really getting into here? "Lance…"

Lance turned, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

It almost slipped out. Almost. Then his better judgment reasserted itself. _You _cannot _do that to him right now, are you insane? He doesn't need that distraction. _You _don't need that distraction._ He shook his head slightly. _Besides, if you say something now, you're as good as saying you don't think we're going to make it out of this…_ "…Don't do anything crazy," he finally offered with a weak smile.

Blinking, Lance took a moment before giving his best, most bravado-laden smirk. "Me? Never."

A voice began to boom over the arena: the harsh but strangely lyrical cadences of Drakure. All eyes immediately turned to Cam, whose brow furrowed in concentration.

"He's welcoming everyone to the… performance? Spectacle? I'm not sure about that, the Ninth's dialect is a little weird. They're introducing the members of the royal box." He gave a low whistle. "King Zarkon himself is here."

A few of them looked to the royal box, both from surprise and sheer curiosity. It wasn't every day you saw the ruler of an interstellar empire in person, even if it was an interstellar empire that had unjustly taken you prisoner. Zarkon cut an impressive figure in a huge golden throne, black and red silks setting off weathered indigo skin, bright yellow eyes outshining his own crown. There were others in the box as well; several Drules in ceremonial garb, some guards, a couple of aliens… including, curiously, a rather human-looking young woman with blonde hair, pale golden skin, pointed ears, and lavender markings on her cheeks.

"…Prince Lotor and his—uh, court-target? Court-victim? That _can't_ be quite right—Princess Romelle of Pollux…"

As Cam continued to relay what he could, stumbling a bit more over the dialect, Hunk glanced back at the gate they'd come through. The guard was standing just behind it, apparently to better watch the proceedings. "Yo! Threepio! Can we get a translation here if we're gonna fight in this fishbowl for ya?"

The only thing that startled the team more than their bomb tech's yell was the response; the guard actually bowed slightly. "As you wish." He stepped closer to the closed gate, clearing his throat and speaking below the announcer. "Today's first battle shall feature the crew of the _Breaking Shadow_, cowards who abandoned their comrades in battle. They are damned warriors now, seeking their redemption in victory." A wave of clearly unimpressed murmurs ran through the crowd. "Against them stands a fierce band of Earthling pirates, captured at great cost, with the blood of one ship's crew already staining their hands."

This time there were gasps, and what seemed like scornful snarls. Not that the Drule crowd was all that had been stirred by the description; several of the team bristled at the characterization of just how they'd ended up there, and Pidge bristled a little extra at being called an Earthling.

"Ready yourselves, gladiators; blood and glory await!"

"Gladiators?" Lance repeated, looking around the crowd in disbelief. "Gladiators?!"

"Fucking…"

Keith looked across the arena again, eyes narrowing as he looked over their opponents. "They don't look so bad."

"Neither do we, boss," Jace pointed out with a snort; he had a fair point there.

"This is _not_ gonna be good…"

"We'll be alright. Going in there planning to die is not going to help you survive."

"When it begins, let them come to us. Stay together and make them find an opening."

"And _don't run_. These guys don't like cowards."

"Woulda thought there'd be more of 'em," Hunk mused as the others debated strategy; he'd only counted seven among the opposing team. Pidge shook his head slightly.

"We aren't worth more of them…"

Any further discussion was cut off by a blast from something akin to a trumpet, and as one, the Drules charged.

* * *

"…So what do we do if we can't run?" Daniel was holding his spear and looking around at the others. "That's my main tactic! I'm fast! Good at running away!"

_"Don't_ run away. If you have to run, run at them."

"Kid, don't run at them."

None of that was helpful. "I'm so confused… I should've taken sparring more seriously."

"You're not the only one," Flynn muttered, dropping into a guard stance and holding his knife level. He'd rather have charged, really—letting the enemy come to them was just that many more precious seconds to _panic_. Vince, too, was panicking; his moms had never prepared him for this. No, he should definitely not be thinking about them right now, it could only freak him out more.

On the subject of panic, Hunk realized as the Drule charge took shape that no less than three of them were coming right at him. "Uh oh." He clutched his mace tighter and took a step back, then took a series of wide, wild swings. The mace caught one Drule solidly, knocking them flying with a loud _crack_; the second swing caught a second Drule, but not at a particularly good angle, and all she did was stumble off to the side. The third one ducked beneath his third swing and got well inside his arc, jumping up and slashing his side before he could recover, then darting away.

Only to be snagged from behind by Jace, who wrapped an arm around his neck and held on with all his strength. If he had to actually choke this guy to death, he would damn well do it—if he could just lock him down while the others handled his buddies, that was fine too. Either way, it would prevent any of the other Drules from getting a clear hit in on him, and he was pretty sure _not getting hurt_ was still part of his job right now.

Sven had charged just enough to grab the initiative as one Drule got into range, swinging his mace and driving them back. On the other side of the team's formation Pidge had crouched in front of Vince and tackled one to the ground, pinning her, though getting a disabling blow in was proving to be a challenge. He sprang off her after a moment and reoriented. The other two Drules had gone at Cam and Lance; their pilot managed to block and force his opponent back, somehow, while Keith stepped in to intercept Cam's and send them reeling with a feint and a sharp kick to the shin.

With their first charge blunted, the Drules backed off to regroup—other than the one Jace had locked down, anyway. "Just like that," Keith said quietly, nodding. "We've got this." He wondered about their opponents. Another ship's crew. Were they as far out of their depth here as half of his team? Had they been forced into this just as unwillingly?

Not that it really mattered. They were hardly backing down, and that meant his team couldn't afford to either.

The Drules charged again, this time trying to break the 686's line, and did a fair job of it as they lashed out with their weapons. None of them were interested in getting pinned down into duels. They knew they didn't have the numbers, and were switching between opponents to stay mobile. Good tactics, really. Cam kicked one away from him, traded slashes with another, punched a third in the face, and pulled back to let Keith take over as he checked the shallow cut on his cheek. Nothing too serious.

One of those had moved from Cam to Daniel, and Daniel raised his spear, ready to stab or run or stab and run or whatever the hell he was supposed to do, but then he locked eyes with the Drule and froze up. His brain was helpfully supplying him images of the _Bolt_, of the two he'd killed there, of their eyes wide open as blood pooled around them and how warm their bodies had been—why the _hell_ had their eyes been open? Movies always showed them closed!

His brain was also screaming for him to do something as the very alive Drule in front of him raised his sword, but if it wanted him to do that it really should've backed off with the damn flashbacks to—

—Lance noticed Daniel wasn't moving and ran for it, dodging a blow from another Drule as he lunged. Not fast enough. The kid finally seemed to get his wits about him enough to move, but not quite fast enough either; what would have been a killing blow got him in the leg instead, slicing down the side of his calf and sending blood spurting. "Fuck!" His eyes narrowed and he dove in at Daniel's side, stabbing the pointy bit straight into the Drule as instructed, then tearing the sword free and slamming the hilt into his throat for good measure. "Kid, you with me?"

The enemy dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, and all Daniel seemed able to do was keep staring at where he'd been, trying desperately not to look at him on the ground because holy fuck, what if his eyes were open? _There's no fucking time for this! Do something!_ But he couldn't make himself do anything but panic. He felt sick. They were going to die here, they were all going to die, he was going to see Lance and the others warm and bleeding with their eyes wide open and—

"Daniel!" No answer. Shaking his head, Lance turned to fend off another, keeping Daniel behind him and trying to force the worry aside. Right now they just had to get through this intact.

On the other side of the line Vince was not doing a lot better, at least as combat effectiveness went. He was panicking and frozen, for sure—trying to figure out what he could actually do if he had to fight, how to use this spear he'd picked up, why he was even here, _why_ he hadn't worked harder at combatives. He'd just wanted to do wiring!

He was hiding between Pidge and Hunk, trying to pretend he was cool and calm and looking for an opening. Maybe he really _was_ looking for an opening. Wasn't sure what he'd do with it, precisely, but looking for it nonetheless. Pidge was in a rematch with the Drule he'd fought in the first charge, tying her down, not letting her get away from him to take a shot at one of the others—though it was also keeping him fully occupied.

Hunk was having more trouble. The Drules were swarming him again. And the problem with having a big-ass mace was that it was, well, a big-ass mace… he just didn't know how to have a sustained _fight_ with this thing. He knew how to clobber dudes over the head with it and hope they didn't get within his arc, and they weren't cooperating with that last part one bit, and the cut he'd taken before was slowing him down—like he'd been all that fast to begin with. He managed to slam a fist into one's guts, and that gave him a moment of breathing room as the other enemies decided they wanted no part of that.

One of them opted for the second-biggest target, closing on Flynn, who'd so far done very little. He'd been trying to cover the back of the line, and look scary enough to not have to back it up… he'd known it couldn't last. Keeping his knife up he stepped back and started circling, his mind racing with what very little he remembered from hand to hand classes. It didn't help that one of those things was _knife wounds are hell and this is a tactic of last resort._ He did not want to have to stab someone to death at close range. He _really_ didn't.

Maybe it was his determination to not have to do that that kept his hand steady. Whatever it was, it worked—finding no opening, unwilling to stay in one place too long, the Drule moved to disengage and find a new target. Which… wasn't what he'd been going for either. "Excuse me?" he snarled, either feigning or actually feeling some indignation—too much adrenaline to tell which—and lunging forward, determined to take the opponent's back after all if they were going to offer it that easily.

Immediately they spun around, too fast for him to react, almost too fast for him to _follow_. By the time he realized what had happened he felt a sharp pain slicing down his forearm. _Faex!_

Rather than pressing that advantage, the Drule turned back to the melee and selected a new target anyway, leaving a retaliatory stab to hit empty air. It was Vince he sighted in on. The engineer had no idea what hit him. One moment he was watching Pidge slipping free of a tenuous chokehold—the ninja had seen the Drule get away from Flynn, but Vince had no way of knowing that. The next thing he _did_ know was someone had grabbed him from behind and flung him into the dirt. His spear went tumbling away somewhere and he reflexively squirmed and tried to roll; he felt a rush of wind, his shirt torn open by a stab that would have taken him straight through the back if he hadn't moved. The Drule snarled something, probably profanity, trying to tug his sword free of the arena floor—he'd stabbed down way too hard. Unable to reclaim his weapon he went for Vince's throat instead.

Flailing more, he managed to keep his attacker's hands off his throat, but just barely. Dirt was getting in his mouth; he tasted salt and sharp pine. New panic was setting in along with it. Pidge was running towards him at full speed, he could see the approaching shadow… could even the ninja actually get to him in time? The Drule was big, and he was winning, and his grip was tightening, and as panic surged Vince felt a crackling somewhere just below his skin and the world went bright and he rolled with all his strength and slammed his hands onto whatever he could reach and everything went blindingly white—

—Pidge skidded to a halt as light flashed from where Vince had fallen, and the Drule on top of him was thrown bodily across the arena, trailing the scent of ozone and burnt flesh. "Mijtairra…!" There was a gasp from the crowd as well—he wondered if they'd seen what had really happened. He kind of doubted it, considering every single Drule yet standing didn't immediately fall upon Vince as he slowly sat up. "Vince…?"

"I…" He was just staring at his hands blankly, a trace of smoke still drifting between them. _What just happened? _He watched the Drule struggling to stand, then going down again in a moaning heap. _I couldn't have done that… could I?_

Pidge didn't try to get through to him, not least because he had no idea what to say. He knew what he'd seen but it didn't make sense. He didn't _like_ things that didn't make sense. So he stepped back and covered the other engineer, keeping the best view of the battlefield he could.

Another Drule tried to charge in while they were distracted, but Flynn intercepted her, throwing a punch and barely connecting, mostly just hurting his hand. Naturally. It was enough to send her seeking easier prey, though. That easier prey turned out to be Hunk, who was back to trying to fend off several of her teammates. He was keeping them at a pretty good distance, too… but wasn't watching his back at all. He never knew what hit him, either. A sharp impact on his upper back, and the whole world went spinny and gray; he dropped.

Immediately half the team collapsed in on his position. Keith, Cam, and Sven had been mimicking the Drule tactics, taking what hits they could while Hunk occupied their attention. Now they fully committed to an attack, intending to _force_ their foes to engage them properly. Jace had still been holding down the one he'd grabbed at the start—choking someone to death took a lot longer than the movies liked to pretend. He had been fully intending to hold on until the unconscious Drule didn't have a pulse anymore, but under the new circumstances he twisted around and threw his captive at the one who'd hit Hunk instead.

Sven had not actually been enjoying the mace as much as he'd hoped, though maybe it was just because the enemy wouldn't stand still and fight. As he pressed the attack he took one Drule squarely in the chest, watching her stumble aside and fall. He was pretty certain he'd heard more than one bone crack somewhere in there. Feeling more than seeing a second enemy turn to face him, he whirled and cracked them in the ribs. _Maybe this mace isn't so bad after all._ This one went staggering back into Cam, who didn't have an opening with his sword. So instead he tackled them to the ground before bashing their head against the floor with his hilt.

_"Stay_ down."

Keith moved in on the Drule Jace had thrown, who'd regained consciousness but was wandering about in a daze. Most likely he'd suffered some brain damage from the extended chokehold, even if it hadn't killed him outright. He barely seemed to know where he was. It really wasn't in Keith to just kill him in that condition, so he threw a fairly light punch. It was plenty to send the Drule down.

Which left the one Jace had thrown him _into_, who had her wits quite a bit more about her. She darted at him with her own blade raised, and he met it, ringing several blows off her sword as she matched him strike for strike. But he refused to lose this battle. He'd heard too many cries of pain from his team, seen too much blood trailing to the arena floor. As she launched another attack he ducked around it and swung hard, forgoing defense in favor of ending the combat. He felt his sword hit something soft, hot liquid splattering over his arm, and jumped back as she collapsed with a deep slash in her belly.

Lance had still been focused on protecting Daniel, and was engaged with one last Drule as the swarm around Hunk went down one by one. His opponent punched him hard in the nose and he dropped back, cursing; for a moment dark spots swam in front of his eyes. He'd lost the sword somehow in the chaos—he could've sworn he'd sheathed it in an empty gun holster while grappling with one earlier—whatever, no time to worry about it. He went for one of the knives he'd taken and stabbed blindly through the haze, felt resistance and warmth, heard the scream… the Drule went down.

Spinning around, he sought a new target. And after a few stunned moments he realized there were no more targets to be had.

"…Is that all of them?" Keith asked, coming to the same conclusion.

"I think so." Cam was panting, staring at the one he'd told to stay down, fully expecting it to jump up again. But not one of them did; some were twitching or struggling, but there was no question the fight was won.

Lance turned back to Daniel and grabbed his shoulders. "Kid? Come on, talk to me." The gunner just stared at him, through him. He was focusing on the combat breathing he'd learned at the Academy, trying to focus on anything but his badly bleeding calf and the dead Drules all staring at him. "Kid—Jace! Get over here, the kid's bleeding and I think he's in shock."

_Everyone_ was bleeding to an extent; Jace could hardly stop to worry about that here, they could deal with it once they got somewhere else. Though looking at Daniel's expression… the second part of Lance's guess was a bit more critical. "Think you're right. I've got him." He slung Daniel over his shoulders, careful of the cut on his leg, and turned back to the gate.

Flynn had turned to check on his wrenchlings as well. Pidge and Vince seemed okay—more or less okay, at least? Vince was staring blankly at his hands still, but Pidge was tugging him back towards the gate and he was quietly acquiescing. Then he caught sight of wrenchling number one. "Hunk!" The big man was motionless on the arena floor. _Don't. Don't you dare be…_

"…donwanna go school… 'sall fuzzy. Snow day?" He stirred and forced his eyes open with a great deal of difficulty. "Oh… wha hitme?"

Letting out a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he was holding, Flynn moved forward to help him up, along with Sven on his other side. "I'm sure you'll remember. Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Herding his team back to the gate, Keith drew up short as he realized it wasn't opening. The guard was still standing there; he motioned for them to turn back around.

"Are they fucking kidding?"

"They don't seem to have much of a sense of humor."

"Dude, we are _not_ gonna have another round right now… are we?"

The guard, once again, seemed surprised. As if they were supposed to have already known how this gladiator thing worked… maybe the Drules should have considered gladiator orientation. "Turn back to the royal box, warriors. Once the defeated are judged and their fate is carried out, your battle will be finished for the day."

Silence fell over the team. Or perhaps more to the point, stillness, as the words sank in.

"…I'll do it, sir," Pidge offered quietly. "If necessary."

"Do what?" Vince whispered.

"Kill them, Vince." Sven was also whispering. "That's what's being decided. The losers' fate." As he spoke Lance and Jace glared up at the box. They didn't have _time_ for this…

Keith looked over at Pidge and shook his head slightly. He thought he understood the offer. Baltan morality was different; the ninja was offering to shield them from the act. He appreciated it… but knew he couldn't live with himself as a commander if he let a subordinate take it all on. So he turned his gaze to the royal box, breathing slowly, hoping against hope that it wouldn't come to pass.

The blonde woman stood and stepped forward.

Romelle had never seen Earthlings before. She'd heard they bore a superficial resemblance to Polluxians, and she could see it in them. But it wasn't why she stood. That was a deeper sense of familiarity. It had taken hold when they'd first stepped into the arena, confused and so clearly out of their depth. It had strengthened when they'd tried to leave, not knowing the traditions of these battles, just wanting to take their wounded and heal. To be somewhere other than here, as playthings for an empire they surely hadn't volunteered to belong to.

She swept her gaze over them. The looks on their faces. Anger, horror, grim determination. Yes, she knew them…

Raising her gaive'llar, for just a moment, she wondered if this was right. If the defeated had shown enough honor, if the victors deserved their blood. But no. The victors didn't _want_ that blood. And so she snapped the blade shut, setting it on the railing, and the crowd roared in approval.

"…What just happened?" Vince asked, blinking up at the royal box.

As the creak of the gate sounded behind them, Pidge looked up at him and smiled faintly. "I think that means we don't have to kill them." He'd barely finished speaking before several slaves ran into the arena, starting to gather the wounded and dead Drules onto stretchers.

"I think that means we're done," Keith agreed. "Let's get out of here."

"About fucking time," Lance growled, shooting another worried look at Daniel.

The guard bowed deeply as they reentered the armory, and even the armed guards looked slightly more respectful. "Well battled, gladiators. Replace your weapons and I will lead you back; the medics will come to your cell shortly."

"Exfuckingscuse me?" Jace snorted. "Nobody's touching my team, just give me some bandages."

"You'll have to take that up with them."

Lance dropped off his knives and grabbed Jace's jacket for him, since the medic was carrying his kid. The others replaced their own weapons, assuming they'd made it back with them; Hunk gave his mace a little pat. It had been a good mace. Pidge considered palming another knife but decided against it—they might keep inventory, and that would just make things inconvenient.

"I dropped my spear," Vince said worriedly.

"They'll figure it out."

"Don't think the other guys were bringin' their weapons back."

"…Yeah, good point." Nonetheless he licked his lips nervously, still tasting traces of salt from the arena floor.

As they left the armory Daniel finally shifted; he was feeling lightheaded and more than a little nauseous, and the combat breathing wasn't keeping him one damn bit calm. "Jace please put me down." _Before I puke_.

As Lance gave a sigh of relief, Jace helped Daniel get right side up again, keeping a strong hold on him. "Use my arm the rest of the way back. No weight on that leg until I can look at it."

"Okay."

It wasn't ideal, for sure, but it would be good enough to get back to the cell. And then, well… who the hell knew.

* * *

In the relative 'safety' of the cell, silence reigned for what felt like a very long time. Jace had done initial rounds, taking stock of the cuts and bruises. Everyone was banged up, and Hunk and Flynn had taken pretty solid slashes, but only Daniel's injury was serious—Lance had donated a sleeve from his shirt to rig up a makeshift bandage until the Drule medics turned up.

They could _really_ hurry the hell up. It had been a matter of minutes, but it already felt like hours.

Shock might have been setting in for all of them. They'd done what? They'd _been_ what? Gladiators? How the _hell_ had they gone from searching for some mythical weapon to being forced into blood sport by a hostile empire, all in a couple of days? It was too much to take in, and whatever adrenaline and survival instinct had gotten them through it was rapidly starting to crash.

Maybe.

Flynn was watching Lance, who was watching Daniel. He was scolding himself for the near-slip before the fight. He hadn't even gotten to scolding himself for the _actual_ fight yet, but he was about to be spared that effort…

"Get up."

He blinked, raising his head more out of surprise than anything. Pidge was standing over him looking angrier than usual. "What?"

"Get _up_," the ninja repeated icily. "You need to work on a few things."

_'Work on a few things,' really?_ He looked at the blood still seeping down his sleeve and frowned. "This really isn't the time for—"

"—Shut up." That shocked him enough that he _did_, settling for a wordless warning glare. Not that those glares ever did anything. "You were useless out there."

…Accurate as it was, he was not at all in the mood to take it while he was literally still bleeding. Nor was he particularly in the mood to take it from someone who'd trained his whole _life_ for this sort of thing. "Sit the hell down, Stoker. I'm aware of my limitations."

Pidge hissed something in Baltan that was undoubtedly better left untranslated. "You think that's good enough? You don't have that luxury. You're one of the biggest targets here, especially now that _they_ have seen you can't fight worth a—"

Flynn jumped up, glowering down at a not remotely impressed ninja and fighting down the urge to throw a punch and prove him wrong—for one thing it was more likely to prove him right, for another even if it landed it would only hurt their situation. Instead he grabbed Pidge's shoulders, shoving him back onto the bench along the wall. "I said sit down," he snarled, "and I won't say it again."

For a very long moment they stared at each other, smoldering. Neither of them was going to back down. But Pidge had one advantage: he was right, and Flynn knew it.

_He's trying to care, in his own little jackass way. I think._

Getting his temper under control, Flynn drew a deep breath and nodded once. "Now if there's something you'd like to discuss, let's do that."

"Discuss? Fine. The next fight can't possibly be that easy, and _everyone_ has to be ready."

Hunk looked over from where Jace was poking at his wounds. "That was easy?"

"Compared to what it could have been? Yes. We outnumbered them!"

"He's not wrong, Flynn," Lance said quietly, his gaze drawn away from Daniel for the first time since they'd gotten back.

Their chief engineer sighed. "I know he isn't."

"He's not wrong in general." Jace didn't like the look of Hunk's cut—it wasn't too deep, but it was in a damn inconvenient place, right down the side of his chest and half the ribcage. It would make a real mess of his range of motion, and the sooner it could be properly patched up the better. "Where's those Drule doctors we were promised, I need to steal their shit."

Cam was still stuck on the idea of that being _easy_, and grimaced. "What could be worse than what we just went through?"

"Doing it again," Vince suggested dryly. He was staring at his hands again. Could he do _that_ again? Did he _want_ to do that again? No, he definitely didn't… what would he do if it happened again?

Even Hunk looked reproachful. "Why would you even _ask_ that, little dude?"

Daniel wanted to say something snarky. He _really_ wanted to say something snarky. All he could bring himself to do was close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall. The thought of more dead Drules… ugh, he'd been such a _loser_, freezing up like that. Next time he'd probably actually die…

"Next time," Jace said with a deadpan look at their comms officer, "someone gets their jugular slashed instead of their extremities." That shut everyone up for another minute.

Finally Flynn exhaled and nodded. "Alright. So… working on some things? We don't know how much time we have."

"We do need to work on some things," Keith agreed, "and not just Flynn." His second was not the only person on the team with questionable hand to hand skills—and even those of them who were good at it hadn't exactly escaped unscathed. Though escaping unscathed was not a realistic expectation here… but they could at least try for it. "We don't have a lot to work _with_ in here, but we're going to have to do our best."

As if summoned by his words, the door opened and the force field sprang to life. Three Drules were standing there: one with a rifle, two with large cases marked in Drakure. "Gladiators."

He spun to the door, standing between them and his team. "What do you want?"

"Medical team," the leader said gruffly, gesturing to the other one with the case. "Ordered to treat your wounds."

"About _fucking_ time." Jace jumped up too, approaching the door. "Give me the kits and get lost, I've got this handled."

The Drule stared uncomprehendingly; Cam tried translating. "He's our doctor. He wants to treat us himself, if you'll give him supplies."

"That is unnecessary." He said it in Common again—maybe he only knew a couple of key phrases. "Our honor to give gladiators care."

Glaring, Jace stepped closer to the force field and shook his head. "Cam, tell him his fucking people cut my people up and they're _not_ laying a fucking hand on _any of you."_

Blushing a little, their comms officer obliged… more or less. "It may be unnecessary, but he would rather do it himself." Antagonizing the medics with the supplies more than necessary just seemed like a bad idea.

This time he answered in Drakure. "Very well… he will not be the first. He may treat you, but we must observe, to ensure nothing unfortunate happens." He handed one of the cases through the field.

Cam exhaled a little. "He says it's okay, but they have to watch. So we don't do anything… unfortunate."

"Unfuckingfortunate?" There was much more Jace would've liked to say about that, but giant donut dude still had an oozing chest wound so he just took the kit and retreated. The Drules remained in the doorway.

Keith frowned as their medic started going through the supplies. "Will that be enough to patch everyone up, Doc?"

"Surprisingly good kit." Though Jace couldn't read Drakure in general, the Alliance did instruct medics on the names of basic medical gear. Just in case they captured enemy supplies. The irony of this situation wasn't remotely lost on him. "Should do the trick, how about you focus on making sure people don't need it next time?"

"We will. Just checking."

Daniel had retreated more aggressively, or attempted to—from the moment the Drules appeared he'd tried to burrow further back into the corner he was in, doing his best not to even look at them. It wasn't working. Lance crossed over to sit next to him, giving him a small nudge. "Talk to me, kid."

Talking was not high on his list of fun things to do right now, and that was definitely not normal. "…'Bout what?"

"What happened out there? You can't… do that again."

_Duh_. He'd actually figured that out on his own; the pain in his leg helpfully kept reminding him. "Didn't mean to."

"Didn't think you did." Lance shook his head slightly. "But look, I… need you to keep moving, to defend yourself."

…That hadn't been exactly the argument he'd expected to make, though it wasn't wrong. And it seemed to get through; the kid grimaced. "I… I _was_ moving. And then," his gaze flickered over to the Drule medics for a moment, "I kept seeing _eyes_."

Glancing between Daniel and the Drules, Lance felt himself only getting more confused than he'd been before. "Eyes?"

"Big dead eyes staring at me. The ones from the _Bolt_. And then I couldn't move."

"The _Bolt…?"_ Lance still wasn't following, and he felt like he _should_ be, like this would all make sense if he had just one more piece.

It got him a mildly resentful look that didn't last; Daniel really didn't want to talk about this, but he knew what happened if he tried to tell Lance he didn't want to talk about things. Better to spit it out and get it over with and move on to something else. _Anything_ else. Running his hands nervously through his hair, he closed his eyes and muttered, "I had to kill two of the Drules who made it to the bridge, and then we had to move them, and they were warm and their eyes stayed wide open and it sucked." This was not making the images in his head any better at _all_.

Lance stared. _Shit._ "Alright… yeah, uh, not ever really prepared for that…" He briefly wondered if any of the Drules he'd shot had kept their eyes open. There had been way too much going on for him to notice it, really—there had been no killing and then just having to sit around with the bodies and _wait_. "…I've got nothing on making it better," he admitted.

"Then why are we still talking about it?" Of course Lance had nothing. He was fine, they were _all_ fine, clearly nobody _else_ had had a problem with killing. Daniel shook his head, trying to force the images out, but they wouldn't go. What was wrong with him?

"Because it's stopping you from protecting yourself, and…" Realizing what he was about to say, the pilot grimaced, but forged ahead. "I need you alive, kid. You dead isn't an option. Them dead is."

"Them dead is what?" Words weren't entirely making sense, and the options his brain kept supplying weren't making things any better either.

"Better than you dead!" Lance was struggling. How else could he get it across?

They'd been speaking quietly, but there wasn't a whole lot of privacy in the cell—especially not when everyone had fallen more or less silent to let Jace work rather than picking up their own conversations. Hunk had just been introduced to Drule disinfectant, which stung like _hell_, and covered a yelp by jumping into the conversation. "He's got a point!"

Keith decided this was the time to join in as well. "He's right. We need you alive, Daniel. We… I need all of you alive." He crossed over and crouched next to them. "It's us or whoever gets thrown at us, and I don't want it to be us."

Daniel scowled. None of them were getting it. Him being alive wasn't the problem, the Drules being _dead_ was the problem. How the hell were they all just okay with it—why the hell _wasn't_ he okay with it? He was supposed to be the fuck-it-all direct-to-Explorer-Team badass here, not some little _kid_. "Why doesn't anyone else here have this problem?" he finally erupted in frustration. The team's veterans he could understand, but Cam? But really—"Even fucking _Vince_ could move!"

Vince, who'd barely been able to stop staring at his hands for the last twenty minutes, looked up. "I just got lucky," he said hesitantly. The _Bolt_ felt like a distant memory, where he'd never had any time to think about what he'd done. In the arena he'd been too lost in whatever was going on with his sparking to freeze; he wasn't sure that was really a good thing. _It's all just a fluke…_

Looking between them, Pidge spoke up quietly. "Reactions to killing aren't always logical." Hopefully nobody would ask him what a logical reaction to killing _was_. That was something he knew he couldn't answer, but then, perhaps that was why he said it. "Especially the first."

"Pidge is right," Keith agreed. "He's rather blunt about it, but he's right."

"It's not _easy_ for any of us." That much Lance was sure about. Nobody else was dwelling on the deaths? Maybe so. But maybe that was more survival instinct itself.

Cam nodded his own agreement. He'd been focused more on following his training, on successfully implementing what he'd learned, than the end results. He didn't _want_ to think about the end results. "People who are just okay with killing are the scary ones. But the Commander is right too, we just… have to survive and get through this."

"Damn straight." Jace had finished patching Hunk up and now brought the kit over; Flynn's cut was in an easier spot, it could wait. "Let's do a better job on that leg."

As Daniel shifted to let Jace get at his leg, Lance felt an overwhelming pulse of near-panic. He needed the kid to understand. "Kid, listen, _I _need you alive."

It wasn't helping. "I get that! I get the words coming out of your mouths, okay? But I don't get… none of that… how does that stop… fuck." Putting it in the form of a question was just going to make them try to answer again, and he was pretty well over that. "Can everyone just leave me the fuck alone?!"

"No," Jace snorted, starting to untie the makeshift bandage around his calf, then turning to glare at the others. "But the rest of you are _upsetting my fucking patient_, back off."

As the others backed off—though very reluctantly, in Lance's case—Daniel gave their medic a weak smile of gratitude. "You're my favorite right now."

"That won't last."

"Didn't think it would. It's such a rare occurrence, that's why I had to tell you."

"Fair enough." Smirk. "Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." He pulled out the disinfectant and started cleaning the wound, and Daniel nearly jerked away from him.

"Fuck!"

"At least he warned you," Hunk grumbled, glowering at their medic, who just shrugged unapologetically and continued his work.

Lance had drawn back, but was still wound up; Flynn moved over and put a hand on his shoulder, earning a thankful look. It only calmed him down a little, but in this situation he'd take a little. The chief's own problem child had spoken with a little _too_ much authority on the subject of killing, but he was damn glad he hadn't been put in Lance's spot. He sure as hell wouldn't have any answers.

As Jace started stitching his leg up, Daniel realized he officially wanted Lance _back_. But he was way too prideful to admit that out loud—and maybe being prideful was a good sign? Either way he bit his lip and stared at the pilot. If he didn't read his mind and save him from talking and sounding like a giant baby he was going to be so, _so_ damn resentful…

"Is that a leave me alone glare, or a get the fuck back here one?" Lance murmured, catching the look.

Having seen his share of both types of glares, Flynn cracked a weak smile. "Yes."

Shooting him another grateful look, Lance scooted forward again, sitting by Daniel and getting what was definitely a _thank you for reading my mind even if it's kind of worrying_ glare. Right now he'd take it.

Keith looked around at the team and inhaled slowly. They still had work to do… on skills, not just acceptance. But the Drules were still in the doorway, and he didn't really want to start discussing such things with them there. They could be faking not understanding Common. So he waited as Jace finished his rounds and returned the medkit, handing it through the force field with a glare. "Thanks. Get lost now." As they left and the door slammed shut, he turned back to the others. "Okay, now what?"

"Now we have to get to work." If they were going to get out of here, surviving the arena again would almost certainly be part of it.

Sven nodded. He'd remained silent during the killing discussion; he had little to say that would help. Training with lethal weapons had always been a sport to him, really—and as long as he kept looking at it as a sport, he didn't have to think too much about the _actual_ consequences. Which may or may not have been healthy, but it was getting him by. It definitely wouldn't have helped Daniel, though. Now he could help a bit more. "We may not have much to work with in here, but we can still practice basics. And stances help." He'd done a good deal of empty-handed work before anyone had ever let him touch a battle axe.

"Right. We'll make do." Keith looked over at the food they'd been left, frowning. "Can we break one of those plates into knives?"

"Would they give us somethin' we can turn into knives that easy?" Hunk asked. Not that he was an expert on how to run a prison, but it just didn't seem like something a brutal empire of conquest would be dumb enough to do.

Still standing by the door, Jace figured there was no point theorizing when practical testing would do; he picked up one of the plates and chucked it at the wall. It didn't shatter. It _crumbled_. "Nope."

"Perfect." He shook his head. "Alright. So, what's our plan? Start from the beginning? That doesn't seem efficient. We don't have a lot of time."

"Shouldn't need that, should we? Even I _passed_ combatives." Flynn made a face. "The issue is more in the execution."

Pidge looked over at him. "Was that a joke?"

"…No?" _Did he just recognize a pun?_ "Not intentionally, at least. But the point stands."

"It does." Keith frowned, considering their options. "Maybe start with what you _are_ good at. Work from there. Daniel, speed can be a weapon. Flynn, didn't you tell me you play lacrosse?"

His second snorted. "I said you could call it that, mostly I just threaten to hit people with a large stick…" He trailed off, blinking. "…_Oh_."

"I don't threaten to do anything," Daniel grumbled. "And the large pointy stick didn't work so well last time." _Yeah, it was the large pointy stick. Definitely not operator error, freezing like a wiggy little wimp…_ He tried to shake that off. "You said I can't run away and I can't run at them, what am I supposed to do?"

"Hit and run," Pidge offered. "Flanking strikes. I'll teach you."

Vince made a face as several people turned to him. "I really don't have any physical talents." Sparking didn't seem like it ought to count.

"Really, no sports? Exercise routines? Video games?"

"Of course video games, but what good is that?" He made a face. "Great, I know Mortal Kombat."

"That's somethin' though." Hunk cocked his head. "You're used to seein' the whole fight, yeah? Tactics and stuff. We can use that. Uh, somehow."

Keith nodded. They could definitely use it. "It's a place to start… and if we're going to live to get out of this mess, we'd better _get_ started. Right now."

* * *

The liberation of the Castle of Lions would be carried out in two phases. The first was misdirection. According to the space mice, as well as a few militia scouting attempts, the Drules kept to a strict patrol schedule. They'd counted two units of roughly thirty soldiers each that frequented the castle: the patrol unit, and then a palace guard of sorts that protected Governor Tarlok himself. A third unit had occupied Dolce Vita.

The village was the weak point.

Long since abandoned, with what was left of its inhabitants hidden away in the tunnels, the castle village had been turned into a makeshift barracks. The occupying soldiers and the castle patrol were both housed there, and it seemed they were even beginning to reactivate some of the infrastructure; smoke had started coming from the village forge recently, and several gardens were being tended. The ancient fortifications built to guard the castle were manned for the first time in centuries. And with no Arusians there to bear the cost of retribution, it could be attacked with impunity… or, more importantly, odd happenings could be afoot.

Danor, from the castle workshop, had modified three of their remaining comms relays to block all nearby signals. Larmina had helped with that part. Scouts had slipped them into the village, hiding them in long-emptied caches where no Drule would ever dream to look. Oh, they'd _tried_… they'd searched everywhere for the source of the interference. But in the meantime the occupiers had to send runners to get clear of the village grounds in order to contact the castle. Response time was down.

Terrain would be their friend. The Chayvos Pass which Dolce Vita stretched across was mostly flatland, with Lake Almeria on one side and a scorched swath that had once been part of the Forest of Altair on the other. But the pass, too, had old fortifications. Fortifications buried over millennia of peace. Fortifications that could still be accessed from the tunnels, if one knew where to look. Fortifications built specifically to facilitate ambushes against anyone who got past the village.

_We will strike. They won't know what hit them. They won't know we're coming until it's too late. And then…_

Allura walked at the front of the ragged Arusian army, her bow in her hand, Coran at her side. The three Captains walked behind her, flanked by two priests in full ceremonial armor—battered but bright, cleaned and consecrated in the shelter's waters for this desperate battle. Behind them came the guards and the militia, Larmina among them; two dozen volunteers from the shelter population brought up the rear. Some had little more than pointed sticks as weapons, but they'd insisted on fighting for their planet.

For the Crown, perhaps…

Much further down the tunnels, Miralna led the knights. There were five of them, herself included. Theirs was the key to this whole plan. The other four had been stationed in the castle; they knew the lay of the land. Miralna didn't, but she carried the sacred sword, and she would lead the charge. They had to convince the Drules there were more of them. That the village was under a full strength attack, enough to require reinforcements from the castle…

"For the Radiant Warrior, for the High King, and for Arus!"

Sending the first signal to the Princess, they charged from the tunnels. The sky was dark, though it was just barely midday; a storm was rolling in from Thunder Ridge, hanging heavy in the air. They came across a patrol first, two guards who barely had time to raise their rifles before the knights fell on them. Two knights took the guns from their fallen foes—this was no time for tradition. They needed firepower. One took aim at the forge, laser fire stitching over the chimney and toppling it. Denying the enemy a resource… and more importantly, getting their attention.

"Split up," Miralna ordered, beckoning to the others. "Remember, silence anyone who sees you, but give them time to report your position first."

"Understood."

"We're on it."

The streets of Dolce Vita were narrow and winding, and she knew the locals would use them to their full advantage. Her job was to be a symbol. With the sacred blade drawn she moved ahead to the village square, which was empty—the Drules weren't much for recreation, perhaps. No matter. She'd brought something with her aside from the sword, a challenge the sinycka couldn't refuse.

A tattered banner: a crown and a sword backed by patches of blue and gold. The mast at the center of the square had stood empty for too long. As she heard shouts from the streets around her, Miralna ran the banner up that mast, tightening the straps and sounding a war cry of her own.

"The flag of Arus flies again, sinycka—come and take it!"

It was too much for the Drules, who'd been sent for what was supposed to be light garrison work. Arusian knights seemed to be lurking around every corner, and the flag being raised was the last straw. A runner was sent, sprinting from the village, to bring the patrol unit from the castle and crush this counterstrike.

Nobody paid any mind to tiny, beady eyes watching the runner depart… as he called his report in, the mice scurried back to make their own.

It came only a few minutes after the signal from the knights. Allura turned back to her warriors, raising her bow. "They're calling for reinforcements. It's time."

"To the fortifications," Coran ordered, echoed by the captains as they raced to their positions. Long-sealed openings in the earth opened up, unnoticed beneath the darkening sky. Unnoticed until the Drule ranks began advancing from the castle, anyway. Then, with Allura taking the first shot, the arrows began to rain down.

She lost herself in the rhythm as chaos engulfed the pass. Load, draw, release, repeat. Her eyes narrowed as the Drule soldiers returned fire, lasers scorching off the ground, unable to see precisely where they were even being attacked from… but that wouldn't last, and when they were able to regroup the tide would turn.

Unless the Arusians turned it first.

"Second wave!"

The melee forces scrambled from the fortifications, the guards at the front, the volunteer forces behind them. The enemy had been expecting none of this. Half of them simply dropped their rifles outright; confronted with swords and spears waving at them, they drew their own blades out of misguided reflex. The ambush was working perfectly as intended…

That wasn't to say they weren't acquitting themselves well. Allura tried to cover the volunteer forces as best she could. The guards were well-trained, and could hold their own against an equal foe. The untrained volunteers, well… she doubted any of them had signed on without knowing what they faced. But they were her people, and she would protect them to the best of her ability. Several times when a Drule thought they had one pinned down, an arrow would strike, the princess' deadly precision suddenly far more than a proper royal hobby.

Soon enough, for the first time since the War of Golden Revival, blood stained the Chayvos Pass. The Drules had been routed—though not flawlessly. A few of her people had fallen, but Allura knew they couldn't stop. To stop was to waste their risk and their sacrifice.

"Nanny, Elder Ollar, the pass is clear." They had been waiting, ready with other volunteers to come and retrieve the wounded. She would trust them to do so; it was her only option. Turning and beckoning her standing forces forward, she glanced over them briefly as they gathered the fallen Drules' weapons and let herself simply _feel_. A twinge in her stomach at their reduced numbers, a surge of new confidence as she saw the knights arriving from the village. A flicker of relief as she saw Larmina's fiery hair among the militia. And a redoubling of her determination as she turned to face the distant castle.

"Princess?"

"That's half the battle," she said softly, then raised her voice as the winds picked up. The dark clouds overhead were starting to crackle with electricity, and she could smell the rain coming near. "We won't settle for half of this battle. You've seen it. The enemy occupies our homes and plunders our resources. But most of all, they've tried to destroy our confidence. Our hope. Our belief in anything beyond defeat, our right to stand on the surface and breathe in the sun and the storm." Her eyes narrowed. "They can't have our hope. We will see nothing beyond this _victory_. We will live or die on the surface, reminding them whose land they've dared to claim. And we will not stop until the Castle of Lions returns to its rightful owners, even if it has to run blue with their blood!"

A thunderclap shook the sky as the soldiers cheered her words, and she could have sworn she heard—even felt—the roar of a lion beneath it.

"Now! For Arus!"

"Diya Poratn! For Arus!"

As the rain began to fall, they charged.


	39. Battle Tested

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 38_  
Battle Tested

* * *

The thought of trying to sleep in a Drule slave dungeon had seemed absurd, in the abstract. After a gladiatorial battle and a stretch of impromptu combat training, it had come more easily than expected… not _easily_, objectively speaking, but more easily. It didn't stop every single member of Explorer Team 686 from hoping to wake up somewhere else. Anywhere else, really.

No such luck.

Jace cracked an eye open, looked at the stone floor, and cursed prolifically—even by his standards. "You know, I'd gotten used to having an actual fucking _bed_."

"I miss bed," Vince said sadly. He wondered if he'd ever see one again.

Cam groaned, stretching out a little and regretting an awful lot of his life decisions. "I miss coffee."

Similar complaints began to circle the cell as the team gradually regained consciousness. "I miss donuts."

"I miss toast."

"I miss my engines."

"I miss beer… and my guns."

"I miss my battle axe. And my books."

Shaking his head, Keith stretched his legs out and rolled his shoulders—he'd slept sitting back against the wall, and that had been a mistake. "Okay, okay. How's everyone doing?"

"Missing things, sir," Pidge offered flatly. He missed his throwing stars. And having a functioning chameleon suit—that would have been _really_ helpful right about now.

"Fan-fucking-tabulous," Daniel grumbled in a voice that dripped sarcasm, staring at the ceiling. "Sir." It got him a look of mixed relief and confusion from Lance; the sarcasm was reassuring, but he'd still used the word _sir_.

"Could be better, could be worse," Sven said with a shrug. They _could_ all be dead already. Perspective was important.

Next to him, Jace finished stretching and stood, looking suspiciously around the cell. "Everyone's bandages still on? Know what, no, I'll just check." His options if the answer was no would be limited, but at least it was something to do.

"Is it bad I was hoping yesterday was just a bad dream?" Cam asked quietly, attempting to get at least slightly comfortable. It wasn't working.

Vince snorted, though his expression was sympathetic. "I've been wishing I'd wake up from a coma dream for weeks."

"Illogical," Pidge muttered. "But understandable."

"Alright." Keith silenced them with his best command tone, then stood and stretched a bit more. "While Doc makes his rounds, we need to prioritize. Survival first. Then we need a plan." Survival wasn't enough. _Survive, evade, resist, escape._ The ship had pretty well sailed on evasion, and options for resistance were limited. Escape?

If anyone could do it, his crazy team could. That much he _had_ to believe.

"Looks like they brought us food again," Hunk observed, pointing to the door. Ten cups of water and a plate piled with, well… something… were waiting. Formless lumps of dull beige whatever. He approached to get a closer look, poking one of the lumps, which had a doughy texture. "…If you can call this food."

Lance eyed it and made a face. "Looks like something I wouldn't feed a pet."

"Looks efficient," Flynn mused; it didn't look wholly unlike what they'd had on Dathreil. Growing up on highly efficient ration wafers was where he'd picked up the lack of tolerance for _flavor_ that the flyboy always seemed so distressed by.

As if reading his thoughts their pilot looked up at him and waved dismissively. "See, him saying that is _bad."_

_Better than overpriced brunches_. Sven just kept that to himself—either it wouldn't be appreciated, or worse, it _would_ be. There would be thoughts. So many thoughts.

The food certainly didn't look encouraging, though Keith noted the portions were surprisingly generous. Perhaps, given what they'd been forced into here, that made sense. "It's probably not great, but if it's at least edible, we've got to keep our strength up."

"Yeah." Jace was checking Daniel's bandages. "Pretty sure we can rule out them poisoning us if they're sticking us in fucking _gladiatorial combat_, so let's try not starving. You've all been eating giant donut dude's cooking, this can't be that much worse."

Being in a dungeon was no reason to let _that_ challenge slide. "Kinda like eatin' the Doc's cooking!"

The medic flipped him off and went back to poking at Daniel's wound; the kid gave him a resentful look. "Am I still alive?"

"If you're not you're damn good at faking it."

"You're alive, kid. Stay that way."

That got Lance the resentful look too. "Yeah yeah, I know, it's one of those annoying _expectations_ you have."

"I do love to annoy," he agreed with a smirk, then bit into a piece of the so-called food and blanched. "Alright, know what, I officially miss Jace's sandwiches."

"His sandwiches aren't even that bad…"

"They're wonderful, and definitely better than _this_."

"They are better." Hunk shrugged as he took another bite. "Who'da thunk?"

"Hunk and the Doctor both make perfectly serviceable food," Pidge muttered irritably. "Except the chili. Is this relevant?"

It probably wasn't, but at least complaining was making the tasteless mush a little easier to stomach. Vince nibbled his and shook his head. "I'd rather eat burned basil." And he ought to know that one. At least it was better than mushrooms… probably.

"Tastes like nothing whatsoever." Flynn caught Lance's eye. "I like it."

"Of course you do."

Daniel was not eating. Now that he'd made the mistake of mentioning it, he wanted toast. He _really_ wanted toast. Only toast sounded good, and the stuff the Drules had left them was definitely not toast. Unfortunately for him, he had a medic still paying close attention to him, and not eating was not going to be an option. _"Hey_, fallen angel, don't make me force-feed you like you're a Viking on Dradin."

Sven looked mildly affronted by that.

"You know," the kid grumbled, looking at the arm where his angel emoji sat, "I actually feel worse than the morning after I got that tattoo, and that's kind of impressive."

Lance shook his head. "Eat, kid. Just pretend it's toast."

Sighing, he tried a bite, and his expression twisted in disgust. "No amount of mental bullshitting is going to make this taste like toast."

Cam looked at him worriedly. "Just… try to eat, Daniel. Please?"

"When you use that sweet, worried, almost motherly tone, it makes me want to _smack you_."

"Well, if it would make you feel better…"

"Kid, don't smack Cam."

"But it _would_ make me feel better!"

Finishing off his food—it was calories, and right now that was what mattered—Keith cleared his throat for attention and stood. "Alright! That's enough. We need to figure out a plan."

"What do we have available, exactly?" Flynn leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing in thought. "They got everything I tried to sneak in."

"The food?" Lance suggested. "I mean, this shit is dense."

"I have two knives," Pidge volunteered. "My suit is damaged, I can't use stealth. I can cut the power cell out if it would be useful, but it's all inert capacitors and passive biothermoconversion. Nothing combustible."

Hunk looked over at him. "Internal or external biosource?"

That had not been the person the ninja had expected that question from, and he blinked. "…Hybrid."

"Ah, yeah." Their bomb tech gave his best Big Dumb Hunk grin. He could have rigged something up with a cell that took fully external fuel input, but elaborating was just going to ruin his reputation. "Can't use that for much. I've still got that blastin' cap, for what it's worth—ain't enough to blow that lock on its own, though. Not even close. We need somethin' that can make a bigger BOOM, even if it needs a little help."

Keith considered that—the parts of it he'd understood, at least—and started pacing. "We could potentially overpower the guards. We have the numbers."

"Bossman, they have _guns."_

"Yeah, and they'd probably be expecting us to try to overpower them, wouldn't they? I'd think prisoner escort is when you're on the highest alert."

"Then we need something else…"

It shot through Vince like a sudden shockwave as he finished his tasteless food. "Salt."

"Huh?"

"Say what?"

"Halite… rock salt." He spoke hesitantly, not quite sure where he was going with this, but remembering the salt on his lips and finally putting together just what he'd been seeing out there on the floor. "The arena is full of it. Those bits of gravel. It's all halite."

Hunk perked up, and Flynn looked over at him with interest. "Salt. Sodium chloride—_that_ salt?"

"Yeah. Halite is the mineral form."

"What are you thinking, Vince?"

He looked at Keith and shook his head slightly, then looked to Hunk for help. What _was_ he thinking? Pure sodium was explosive. So what? This wasn't that. It was _table salt_, for crying out loud. It was a totally innocuous everyday substance, it didn't help them—

"—Okay so we've got two knives, a blasting cap, a biowhateverthefuck power cell, and some clay dishes that break easy." Jace had taken plenty of chemistry; he saw where this was going. But much like Vince, he couldn't find the way through. "How do we get the sodium out of the salt with that?"

Hunk looked between them and nodded slowly. He also got where they were going. But there were easier ways… if one was well-versed in the ways of BOOM. "Might not need to. They gave us water, yeah?"

"Yep." Lance picked up one of the cups and took a sip. "Why?"

"If you dump melted salt in water, you get a _serious_ KABOOM."

"Seriously?"

"It's something." Keith frowned. "You'd have to heat the salt somehow…"

"The arena floor wasn't just salt." Pidge was frowning too. "That would be absurd. It must be in the local stone, but a lot of the floor also seemed like… wood shavings and sawdust and such, kir sa tye?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And you can set that kind of material off with hardly a spark…" Flynn looked at Vince, who looked at his hands and shook his head slightly, then thought better of it and turned to focus on Hunk instead. "…Or a blasting cap."

"So while we're fighting for our lives in the arena, we need to collect bits of gravel and wood chips from the floor?" Keith repeated that sentence in his head and thought it already sounded insane, but that was nothing new from this crew, and maybe talking it out would make it seem less crazy. At least a little. "That's going to be difficult, but not impossible."

Daniel shifted a little, trying to follow. He felt like he was back in school—boring school, not Lance's fun type of training. But he did like explosions and he definitely wanted out of here, so he didn't tune it out. Not too far from him, Sven was already planning combat collection tactics. It wouldn't be that hard. A few rolls out of the way, ducking from a blow…

"Just fall down a few times, we can handle that." Hunk gave a huge grin, though it didn't stay for long. "Only problem is, how much can we bring back? We're only gonna have one shot at this…"

Lance frowned, looking at his badly battered jacket. "I have pockets."

"Me too." Daniel had never been so happy to have his hoodie.

"Same. We can't be obvious about it, though." Flynn looked at his work jacket and shook his head slightly. "Unless we want to bet on them seeing us bringing back pockets full of the arena floor and figuring it's just harmless souvenirs."

Nobody was remotely willing to bet on that. "How much of this stuff will we need?"

That question fell to Hunk, who considered it and grimaced. "Fair bit. We need enough salt for a big enough kaboom, and enough wood to sustain a fire long enough to melt it. Ain't gonna be just a handful or two. We may need more than one go out there…"

"Good thing we did combat practice first, then."

A round of nods answered that, and Cam exhaled slowly. He didn't feel he had much useful to add here. "This is a weird plan you're all hatching, but if it gets the job done…"

"Weird as fuck, it's our specialty." Jace saw another issue. "Who's gonna carry the melted salt around?"

Pidge looked over at the dishes. "…Clay."

"Is that gonna work? You saw that shit disintegrate when I threw it."

"Heat resistance and impact resistance are completely different functions," Flynn pointed out, and elaborated when the medic gave him a skeptical look. "It's a thing. Early spacecraft used heatproofing tiles that were so fragile you could break them with your bare hands."

Things were shaping up… Keith looked over at him. "So you think the clay can handle the heat." At his second's nod, his frown of concentration deepened. "So we'll gather as much salt and wood in our pockets as we can without being conspicuous. You think we could get them to give us a pitcher or a bucket of water, instead of just these cups?"

Lance remembered the grudging respect the guards had seemed to show after their fight. "Maybe if we win?"

"Worse case we'll just pool what's in the cups." Hunk grinned. "Pun _totally_ intended." A round of weak chuckles went around at that; they could use whatever amusement they could wring from this mess.

It still seemed crazy. Even by their standards. And wedding themselves to a single plan couldn't be wise. "Alright. This is one option. Before we move forward, do we have any others?" He stepped a little closer to Flynn. "For that matter, do we really believe this one will work?"

The team exchanged looks, and silence fell as they scrambled for other options. "No windows. The arena itself is no help. We _have to_ either open that door or get away from the guards out in the corridors—they're the only options."

"It's an electronic lock and the panel is outside. No way to hack or disable it."

"We did squawk panic. But that signal could take days or even weeks to get from Calidar to any Alliance station that can do something with it, and there's no guarantee there's anything they _can_ do with it."

Uneasy silence fell over them. If there were any further options, they weren't presenting themselves; finally Jace pretty much spoke for everyone. "I mean, if it's either we sneak shit out of arena melee fights to build some crazy-ass molten salt bomb, or we try to bring down half a dozen armored Drules with guns with our bare hands… the bomb seems less stupid."

"I always side with less stupid." Lance got more than a couple of doubtful looks and scowled slightly.

"And at least it's something to _do_." Flynn shook his head. "Having a crazy plan that has to run flawlessly is better than just sitting here waiting and hoping the Alliance comes through."

"We sure as _fuck_ can't count on them."

"Especially if intel is involved. I say we MacGyver this shit."

Keith sighed and waved to silence that discussion; it was a testament to the stakes that the discussion actually stopped. "Alright. This is our plan, then. It may not be a great one, but it's ours. We'll give it a go." What they would do _after_ getting the door open would merit further discussion, but they really didn't have enough information for that yet. They would pay more careful attention on their way to the arena next time, and go from there. Although… "I wish we had some more weapons than a couple of knives to make our escape, though."

"I'm sure we'll run into guards on our way out of here," Sven pointed out. "Hopefully smaller patrols than they send to escort their gladiators. We can steal their weapons when we cross them."

Pidge nodded his agreement with the navigator's assessment. "Smaller patrols, and it'll be easier when we can take the initiative than when they're all watching us for any wrong move."

Oh really. Daniel raised his head and looked over at Sven with a weary attempt at a smirk. "I call dibs on any gun you end up stealing. We both know you won't have any use for it." He'd feel so much better with a gun right now. He didn't want to think about _shooting_ it, but he wanted one.

_At least he's feeling a bit better._ Sven shot the gunner his best death glare, but didn't argue. There wasn't really an argument to make.

"That's the spirit, Daniel." Cam's encouraging tone earned him another _now I want to smack you_ look, but he was pretty much okay with that for the moment.

"Doc, you've gotta leave your jacket here, yeah? We can use it to hide our stockpile while we're gone." Their medic nodded, and Hunk grinned. "We've totally got this."

"I hope so." Keith looked around the team, his gaze lingering a little longer on the kids… he shouldn't think of them as _kids_. He knew that. They were trained soldiers as well. But it was hard not to be a little extra protective of them, and he exhaled slowly. "And most importantly, we _have_ to win the fights. We can't lose anyone."

"Nobody's fucking dying on my watch," Jace muttered under his breath; only Sven heard it, and gave his shoulder a little tap of reassurance.

Pidge looked at him and stood. "Then we should get back to work, kir sa tye?"

"Yes." Keith beckoned for the others to stand, nodding to himself. "Let's get to it." No more time to dwell on worries. They would do what they always did, their best.

And the best an Explorer Team could do, they'd learned, was usually pretty damn good.

* * *

It was the next day when the guards came for them again; apparently gladiators were allowed a bit of rest. They'd used the respite as effectively as they could, and the team's mood was grimly determined as they followed down the corridors. Several of them were focused on the exact layout—it still didn't tell them much, but information was better than no information. Lance wasn't watching where they were going; he was glaring enviously at the guns their escorts were carrying, and his open hostility was keeping their attention while the others studied the surroundings.

All too soon they reached the armory, and the lead guard waved them inside. "You have five minutes to prepare. Fight well, and you will live another day. Blood and glory to you, gladiators!"

"Didn't he say that last time?" Jace muttered as they entered, again ignoring the weapons.

"Yeah, pretty much. Maybe it's a requirement."

"Yes, he probably has to say it. Like a server repeating the lunch specials." Sven had tracked down the same mace he'd used before—in a different spot, but a distinct knot in the wooden handle gave it away. It had served him well enough, after all.

Hunk was picking out a quite different mace. This one didn't have spikes; they _looked_ badass, but hadn't really done a whole lot for him last time. "I could do with a lunch special."

"I really hate this," Cam said softly as he and Keith picked out swords. He took a knife as well, while Keith considered things for a moment and picked a second sword from the rack.

"You can do this, Cam. Just remember your training."

"Yes, sir."

Pidge had picked out a selection of knives, and paused to give Hunk a warning glare. "Don't let mechka get hurt." Flynn had told him to look after Vince, but the tactics they'd devised for this battle weren't going to allow for that. He didn't like having to trust someone else with _his_ charge, but it was unavoidable…

He didn't much like Hunk's response, either. "Awww!" The ninja's darkening expression was greeted with a huge grin. "Don't worry, I've got this. Right, little dude?" He looked over at Vince, who was holding a spear with slightly—_very_ slightly—more authority than last time. "Just like we talked about." It got him a nervous nod.

Flynn, too, had gone for a spear—one with the slimmest, shortest blade he could find. He didn't see any staves, and a blade seemed like a good thing to have, but the lacrosse experience he was supposedly meant to draw from here had not included the sticks having _pointy bits_. Better to play it safe.

As the others armed themselves, Daniel looked over the options in bewilderment. The pointers Pidge had given him had not included an optimal weapon—seemed like an oversight, now that he thought about it. And he kind of doubted there was any such thing as a weapon that _didn't_ suck to kill people with. Shaking his head, he grabbed a sword, because what the hell? Everyone liked swords. Except Sven.

Having found what he thought was the sword he'd used last time—maybe he was superstitious—Lance looked over at their visibly nervous gunner and caught his eye. "Kid? You over them, right?"

Daniel glowered and proceeded to misunderstand the question, but with all kinds of conviction. "Am I over them? You mean am I not seeing dead eyes staring at me and weirdly warm bodies in pools of blood?"

At least he still had a little snark. Depressing snark, but snark nonetheless. "I mean it's you or them… pick you, alright?" _The only dead body I'm afraid of seeing is his._

The kid gave him a thumbs-up. "Gonna do my best."

"You better, kid."

Any further conversation was cut off by the rusty squeal of the gate as it began to rise. Keith turned, eyes narrowing. He could feel the energy in the room—his team still nervous, still concerned, but no longer lost and confused. This time would be different. "Here we go."

The announcer's voice boomed over them as they walked out onto the arena floor, taking much more careful note of its composition. Not _all_ the gravel seemed to be halite, but there were plenty of crystalline sparkles in the muted light.

"He's introducing us as fierce Earthling pirates again," Cam translated, making a face. While much of the crowd still booed and hissed, there were a few cheers scattered about as well.

"Never thought I'd hate being called a pirate," Lance mused.

Cam snorted, listening as the announcer began again. "We're up against a criminal band from the recently… conquered? Adopted? Ugh… world of Kro, who…" He paled slightly as the crowd gasped. "…Who have mercilessly slaughtered two opposing bands of gladiators so far." He looked up at the royal box and scowled. "Trakhni tebya."

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"Criminals?"

"Wait, are we back on Dradin?"

"Pretty sure they consider _us_ criminals…"

"Yes, but they don't _call_ us criminals. We get pirates." Sven grinned slightly. "Which I actually kind of prefer." His ancestors would have been proud, at least… maybe.

Pidge snorted. "I'm just tired of being called an Earthling."

"Suck it up, ninjerk, you're stuck with us."

"I prefer Terran."

"That's not even an actual thing, of course you do."

As the announcer fell silent they got their first look at the Kro… _Kro-ans? Kro-ites? Kro-bars?_ They were pale reptilians with long, spiky tails, forked tongues flicking as they studied their foes.

"…I really hope those lizards don't bite."

"Aww man, I don't want to kill lizard people," Daniel complained as he tightened his grip on his sword. "Lizards are awesome." _Yeah that's totally why_.

As the announcer called for them to begin, the Kro line charged with deafening war screeches, and Pidge looked over at him with a shrug. "Well, they want to kill you."

"Alright, everyone." Keith braced. "Let's do this."

There were ten of the Kro; a fair fight, in theory. It would make the strategy they'd worked out that much easier. The team stepped back and split into pairs, mostly—Pidge and Daniel fell away to the edges of the line instead, while Hunk squared up with the center of the line and charged.

"Krowabunga, dudes!"

The two lizards in the center of the enemy line had, completely rationally, focused in on his weapon. It would take all they had to block a crippling swing. They weren't remotely prepared for him to not swing the mace at all, taking advantage of their brief window of confusion to just bowl right over them and drop them to the ground.

They were up quickly, hissing in irritation, and turned to face their attacker… but not with confidence. Not because their attacker was huge and strong and carrying a mace the size of a small tree, though that helped. But the Kro had also noticed Vince lurking behind them, holding his spear like he knew how to use it and just waiting for them to present an opening. To say they were surrounded was a little bit of an overstatement, but the tactical situation was close enough.

Deeming Vince the easier target, both raised their weapons and moved in on him. He gulped and braced himself, then nodded nervously as Hunk shot him a thumbs-up. _Just like we talked about…_

The huge engineer raced forward, clocking one Kro from behind and making it very clear why they should _not_ turn their backs on the guy with the giant mace. As the one he'd hit stumbled past Vince, Hunk followed, and the other engineer retreated to get the two between them again.

Okay, so he was pretty much being the bait. But if it worked, he'd deal with it… what choice was there? He could think of worse things than playing a lure, though he could also think of better. Way better.

As they circled the lizards, keeping them entrapped and off-balance, the Kro figured it out and opted to aim for the greater threat. Hunk braced, ready to block; Vince saw an opening of his own and lunged with his eyes closed, stabbing into and _through_ the lizard's side.

Screeching, the Kro tried to claw his weapon out—it hadn't actually hit anything vital, but it was bloody and _inconvenient_. It smacked him with its tail and spun him to the ground, leaving a few holes in his shirt and deep scratches on his chest, and then Hunk clobbered the lizard over the head for good measure. It dropped.

"Dude…" Hunk stared blankly at the spear, then at Vince, and wondered where _panicked skewering_ was on the panic scale in relation to sparking.

"…Oops?" Vince shuddered and picked himself up off the ground, grabbing what he could of the wood and gravel beneath him and shaking his head to clear it.

"That was kinda terrifying, little dude. Awesome, but terrifying." Moving closer to cover him as the other staggering Kro started to shake it off, Hunk tousled the younger engineer's hair, blocking anyone from seeing him sneaking the stuff from the arena floor into one of his vest pockets. Then they both turned to face whatever came next.

With Hunk and Vince causing chaos in the middle of the melee, Pidge and Daniel had gone to make a mess of the outskirts. Pidge had sprinted straight at the one on the left side, ducking beneath the greatsword it raised in his direction to take a slash at its ribs. He kept right on running; when the sword fell he was long gone.

As planned, Daniel went at the one on the right, which seemed to acknowledge him as its target by meeting his eyes. For an instant, he froze again—but this time as he fought it off he heard Lance in his mind. _I need you alive, kid._ Actually he might have heard every one of the _many_ ways he'd said it lately all at once. Either way, he managed to shake off the paralysis, replaced with a kind of numbness as he let himself focus on pure survival.

Sprinting forward with a sword he didn't know how to use, he implemented his new training halfway flawlessly. Each time he moved in and took a swing, he easily dodged the return strike, getting the Kro more and more frustrated as he darted circles around it. The problem was, he wasn't doing any damage either.

_You have to actually hit for hit and run tactics to work!_

The Kro he was harassing had a pretty distinct pattern in its own attacks, and the next time he cut in he shifted his approach. The angry lizard person took the cut to its arm and roared; he gave it a slightly regretful look as he broke off and ran in Pidge's direction.

Jumping up and kicking the lizard he'd been fighting, Pidge gained some separation and moved in on Daniel's target. They switched off; the ninja got in a good stab and left a knife embedded in his new target's hip, while the gunner managed a decent slash that robbed him of several scales. These Kro fared a bit better against the attempt to surround them, standing back to back and fending their next strikes off.

Well _that_ wouldn't do. Eyes narrowing, Pidge vaulted backwards, trying to draw them apart. Daniel ran forward, acting on instinct rather than any knowledge of technique. The one with the knife in its hip had its range of motion severely reduced; he stabbed it in the chest, leaving his sword behind as well, not stopping to look at the body as it fell because that would _not_ be helpful. Running on the adrenaline he moved in on the one chasing Pidge, who had started circling back.

"Watch the tail!"

With them both closing in the other Kro whirled in what was an almost graceful spin, scything its spiked tail through the air to drive them back. It worked well enough, and it flailed a little to regain its balance as they regrouped. "You know, you're really kind of adorable." Daniel paused, realizing what he'd said, and clarified. "Not _you_, ninja. Well, you're adorable too, but not lizard person adorable."

Scowling, Pidge sprang at the Kro, demonstrating just how adorable he was by flipping forward and catching its neck with his arm. Momentum dragged it through the rest of the flip with him, and he heard a _crack_ as they both hit the ground; its neck was bent at an unnatural angle.

"I like lizards too." He surreptitiously gathered some of the arena dirt as he watched the other Kro—which was twitching and trying to rise. These things _really_ didn't seem to be bothered enough by penetrating stab wounds. "But they're a lot cuter when they aren't trying to kill you, kir sa tye?"

Daniel snorted and slid the scattering of wood chips and salt into his hoodie's pocket. "Agreed."

The others had paired off a bit more traditionally, breaking the battle into smaller engagements that the Kro seemed happy to work with. Flynn stared down the one opposite him, which happened to be carrying a short mace that wouldn't help with its reach disadvantage one bit; they'd trained, sure, but he would still take any further unfair advantage he could get. The lizard next to the one he was focused on came too; Lance stepped up beside him, holding his sword in a guard stance and trying to remember everything Keith had taught him about it all at once.

"Come and get us," Flynn murmured with a small smirk, and Lance gave him the briefest affectionate glance. _This is _not _the time to find him cute._

A second later, the time was up, the Kro were in range, and Flynn lunged—not at the one raising its mace to try to strike him, but at the one bearing down on Lance. It realized a second too late, but still succeeded in blocking; he spun the polearm around and jabbed it in the guts with the non-pointy end. It gave a weird sort of squawk and took a powerful swing in return, and he instinctively intercepted the blow. This was already _so_ much better than last time.

At the same time, Lance had gone for the one with the mace, smirking as it hit empty air and left itself wide open for his first slash. A few of its scales dislodged and rained down, though it didn't seem deterred. It struck again, this time getting a solid hit on his shoulder. "Ugh, that's gonna fucking bruise, _rude_." He managed to block the next few, remembering what he'd learned. Defence over offense. An opening would come.

It came, and he slammed the sword forward, straight through the Kro's throat. Maybe these lizards were resilient against other stab wounds, but it wasn't coming back from _that_ one; he pulled his sword back out and made a disgusted face as orangeish blood sprayed everywhere. Guns were _so_ much better than this bullshit.

Flynn startled a little as the blood splattered over his jacket. "That's disgusting, flyboy." He was still trading strikes with his own opponent, which was getting the better of the exchange but not enormously so. And its teammate going down distracted it, just for a moment. Eyes narrowing, he flipped his polearm around and stabbed it square in the stomach with the non-business end, much harder than last time. It hissed and staggered back, spitting a little blood at him.

"Fucking disgusting," Lance agreed with a smirk, leaning over to pick up one of the fallen scales as a trophy. And more importantly, some of the dirt with it. Then he moved up to offer support against the recovering Kro, exchanging nods with Flynn as they readied themselves. They totally had this. Probably.

Sven and Jace had staked out a bit of open ground, and the navigator spun his mace with a flourish as two of the lizard people charged them. He couldn't help a small grin. Maybe—well, probably—he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was, but under the circumstances it didn't seem worth actively _avoiding_ having fun.

Next to him, Jace dropped into a crouch and picked out a target. "Viking, are you being creepy already?" He sprang as the Kro came in range, taking one down at the knees.

"Aren't I always?" Sven took a few swings at the remaining lizard. It gave him plenty of space, tongue flicking as it circled, looking for an opening; he didn't intend to give it one easily. As he circled back within sight of Jace he noted the medic struggling. Apparently none of his martial training had prepared him for wrestling with something with a _tail_. "Are you alright?"

"Aren't I always?" Getting a little bit of initiative, he managed to wrap the Kro's legs up with its own tail, and attempted to improve his positioning. It didn't _quite_ work. The lizard got a slash in right through the scorched hole in his pants where he'd been burned by the Drule boarding party; it wasn't deep, but it hurt like a bitch. "Fucking—" On reflex he tried to roll back and get away, but the Kro tried to stay with him. It immediately found itself flying through the air, crashing into Sven's opponent and both going tumbling to the ground.

He had an interesting definition of 'alright', one that he'd no doubt yell at anyone else on the team for having, but Sven shrugged it off. That wasn't unusual. "Just checking." As the two lizards disentangled themselves he swung his mace into one's lower back, earning a satisfying crunch and a bizarre hiss-squawk of indignation.

"Yeah, and a—" Jace did a reasonable job of mimicking the hiss-squawk. "—to you too, asshole." He grabbed the other one and tried a chokehold, which was completely ineffective. Okay, so they had some kind of different throat structure too. Great.

Of course, no fortified windpipe or jugular was going to help against Sven turning and smashing it in the face with his weapon, being very careful not to hit the medic as well. The Kro dropped.

"I appreciate your aim, Viking." Jace shook his head slightly. "And your creepiness."

"Well," Sven shook his mace off smugly, "I appreciate your appreciation." As Jace carefully made sure _not_ to pick the arena debris from his clothes, they turned back to the first Kro to finish the job.

Facing off against the final pair, Keith took the stronger-looking of the two while Cam traded blows with its teammate. He'd never heard of Kro before, but the lizard people would have been sufficiently terrifying even if they _weren't_ fighting for their lives in an arena. "I'm going to have nightmares about alligators.. "

"Just survive to have that nightmare, Starr." Keith grunted as his opponent's tail caught him in the stomach, but recovered quickly—it was no Kulaphe tail strike, that was for _certain_. It followed up with a disarming strike, sending one of his swords skittering across the arena floor. He dropped into a roll to go after it, the Kro following close, ready to finish him off… but instead he grabbed the hilt and rolled back, coming up inside its guard and slashed up its thighs and abdomen with both blades. It retreated with a howl.

Cam wasn't faring so well. He and his opponent were matching blows evenly, but the Kro also had a tail and a strong muzzle to bring to bear. Thinking he had an opening, he lunged in, only to be caught by the lizard's teeth sinking into his wrist.

With a scream he brought his other hand up—the hand with the knife—and punched the Kro hard in the face with it, sending it reeling back and clutching one bulbous eye.

"Cam!"

If the Kro had any hope of turning the tables, it was taken by Keith racing in to protect his protege. The snarling lizard lunged for Cam again and was met with the commander's sword across its exposed throat, slicing through more than deeply enough to get at the critical arteries.

Watching it go down, Cam checked his arm and shuddered; there were bloody tooth marks on his forearm, but apparently the lizards had a fortunate overbite. He hadn't had anything critical punctured. "I'm alright," he panted out as Keith turned to him, perhaps not wholly convincingly. "Ow…"

It was good enough for now, Keith decided, and spun to look for a new target… but there were no more targets to be had. Once again, Explorer Team 686 held the field.

* * *

It had been quite the battle. The Earthlings seemed to have had a different strategy this time, and quite a few of them seemed to have improved even since the last battle. Romelle had watched carefully, knowing that this fight was another for her to judge. She stood and moved to the front of the royal box and noticed that they had remained in the arena this time as well, much different than the last fight they'd had. They were learning and adapting… she quietly studied the group, still considering her decision. Her eyes came to rest on one of them, one of the raven-haired ones who was good with a sword; he was staring up at her intently with icy blue eyes.

There was something about him that tugged at her. The others of his team seemed to respect him for some reason; he wasn't the biggest or the fastest of the group, but had come to stand at the front of their line. Their leader, perhaps? But it was his expression that held her captivated. Sadness? Remorse? Weariness? Well, after that battle, the last was understandable. But his eyes seemed to be almost begging her, pleading with her about something. Reluctance to do what she could order, perhaps? _He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to kill if he doesn't have to…_

She'd barely noticed the silence that had fallen over the arena until she nodded slightly and closed her blade, and a cheer rose up. That much she noticed. But her gaze remained on the Earthling leader…

A look of relief crossed the man's face. He raised his sword in some sort of respectful salute, the hilt about chin height, and brought it down in a near imitation of her own actions. Then, with a small nod of his own, he turned to his team and they filed out of the arena.

A soft murmur of approval streamed through the crowd as they left, and Romelle slowly returned to her seat. She looked at Lotor as she moved; he seemed curious, even shocked over the gesture from the Earthling. She quietly resumed her seat beside him.

Lotor watched her curiously for a moment before speaking. "Do you disfavor the Earthlings, then? I didn't expect them to display honor."

_Disfavor? _Romelle startled a bit at his question, flailing for a reply. "Well, I suppose? The criminals fought rather honorably and the Earthlings seem so… weak? They're only killing when they have to." Her earlier thought of them not wanting to be there, yet adapting to their circumstances, came rushing back to her. _Kind of like me…_

No, it wasn't _disfavor _that had informed her decision at all. But she was pretty sure she ought not say that.

Lotor considered that, a small grunt of acknowledgment escaping him. "True, they have stayed their blades often." He nodded. "Earthlings do often tend towards mercy, on the occasions we acquire some for the arena. Perhaps it _is _best you spare their foes… these seem to fight well enough, and it would be a shame to see them dulled by a loss of morale."

They sat quietly, watching the next couple of battles until the announcer introduced a new team that was being sent into the arena.

"This battle will see failed warriors of the Crown Guard, in search of redemption, face a band of captured knights from the subjugated world of Arus!"

Lotor tilted his head curiously as the captured Arusian knights stepped forward. In the shadows they had been pale; as they stepped into the light of the arena floor, their skin rapidly darkened, causing the bright golden marks on their cheeks to stand out. He looked at Romelle, her light golden skin and the similar lavender cheek markings, then back to the knights. The features were similar as well. It wasn't unusual for different alien races to share similar traits, of course, but this seemed excessive…

Romelle's eyes had narrowed, a dark expression on her face. "Arus," she whispered, almost a growl. She remembered Lotor mentioning the planet's pacification, but hadn't given it much further thought; that had been before the wargames on the _Raven's Shadow_, which had taken most of her attention.

"A'kuri?"

She blinked as he addressed her and turned him, her expression lightening only slightly. "Yes, sincline?"

"You are… familiar with Arus?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Lotor nodded and fell silent. He was still somewhat curious, but not so much as to ask, especially since the fighting was starting and quickly got remarkably vicious. Romelle, for her part, was watching intently, silently hoping that the Crown Guard would triumph.

The Arusians fought bravely, and with the ferocity of cornered beasts. He was well able to see just how their planet had held out so long against the Ninth Kingdom's troops. But they were simply not good _enough_, as it ought to be, just as ultimately they could not resist their betters… as the battle drew to a close, Romelle practically jumped from her seat and looked to the king.

Zarkon had been watching the fight with interest. He'd been about to stand to judge them himself, given the Crown Guard's status, but he paused when he saw Romelle's questioning expression. It was the first time she'd done that. He tilted his head, smiled, and gestured for her to go forward. _Perhaps Lotor is doing a better job of courtship than I thought._

Romelle respectfully bowed her head to him before moving to the front of the box, her gaive'llar at the ready. Looking up at the royal box, she noticed only a couple of the Arusians looked surprised. So many didn't even recognize a Polluxian. Those who did almost certainly knew what was about to happen.

Trying to keep her face impassive, Romelle raised her weapon. She briefly thought about letting them live, to be further humiliated by fighting for the Drules… but no. With all the enthusiasm Lotor had hoped she would show, she slashed downward.

Even the prince was a bit startled. Immediately the Crown Guard sprang into action, efficiently slicing the throats of each of the fallen knights; Romelle remained at the front and watched until it was finished. Then, slowly, she returned to her seat, where Lotor was watching her with much more curiosity.

"I dare suspect you might be more than 'familiar' with Arus, a'kuri."

Romelle looked back to the arena, keeping her chin high. "Yes." _Their inability to protect their own planet is why I'm here. Let them die. _That probably wasn't the answer she ought to give… she sighed. "Long ago, my ancestors were Arusian. There was a… conflict, so to speak, and my ancestors were forced into exile from the planet. They went to Pollux, settled, and eventually mixed with the local populace. That feud has not faded, at least from our side; we are _not _fond of our distant cousins."

Lotor looked between her and the arena floor, where slaves were clearing away the bodies. "Indeed." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Things have a strange way of working out at times, don't you think? They exiled you and now here you are, soon to be a true Princess of the Ninth Kingdom, while Arus lies broken and enslaved to our will."

Blushing a little, Romelle couldn't help but agree. "Yes… fate has a strange way of manifesting."

He chuckled. "Indeed it does. Perhaps when the games are over, after you visit your mother, we could arrange a royal tour of Arus. Just to have a look around… and remind them of their place."

* * *

The Castle of Lions had been breached in short order. Maybe the Drules shouldn't have put so many _holes_ in it.

Larmina was leading Hanso and Allendar to one of the unused service entrances; all the scouting said the Drules weren't covering it, and indeed might not realize it existed. But it opened out towards the Forest of Altair, so she'd been about the only person in the castle to use it on a regular basis. Aunt Allura had been a little hesitant about letting them split off from the assault—it had lasted roughly as long as it took Larmina to remind her of _every single time_ she'd overruled Coran over the last month.

It still didn't look right, the scorched swath of earth that had once been forest… as she looked out over the emptiness, and the remaining trees beyond, she heard a growl and froze.

"Larmina?"

_It's there again…_ "Did you hear that?" Of course they hadn't. They hadn't heard it in the foothills, they wouldn't here.

"Hear what?"

_Knew it_. She shook her head. "Nothing, come on, let's keep…" This time when she trailed off, the two of them tensed as well. Because this time it wasn't a mysterious sound. It was movement.

Something was charging out of the forest towards them: something huge and fast, gray fur matted by the rain, bright eyes reflecting the lightning. Allendar cursed under his breath and raised his bow, trying to take aim at the creature, but Larmina put her hand up and pushed his arrow away.

"Don't! That's a banewolf."

"I figured it's a banewolf!" He sounded slightly panicked. "That's the problem!"

Oh. Right. "They're my _friends_," she said in a tone that did not welcome any objection, and stepped forward. Maybe that was reckless—she didn't recognize this one, unless the puppies she'd met had grown up already. But hearing the growl again, she somehow just _knew._

The huge wolf skidded to a stop in front of her, lowering its head and nudging her side. Hanso and Allendar's jaws dropped as one.

"Wait…"

"What?"

Grinning, Larmina looked back at them, then patted the banewolf's fuzzy snout. "Are you here to help us?" It still felt a little odd to ask that so conversationally, but after her previous encounters, she felt surprisingly confident…

It yipped.

"…No seriously, _what?"_

She looked at Hanso and smirked, then opened her mouth to explain. And stopped. Because it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't _have_ an explanation. "Trust me, I wondered that too." She scratched the banewolf's ears, and it snuffled happily. "Still kind of do, but this is a thing that happens and we don't have a whole lot of time to mess around asking why, right? We've got a castle to liberate!"

Hanso was still gawking at her; Allendar looked between her and the wolf and finally shrugged helplessly. "Why not? I'd rather it be with us than against us."

"Is this like those rumors that Princess Allura talks to mice?" Hanso asked finally. "Except you've got, you know, giant semi-mythical killer wolves instead of mice? I think you won that draw."

"I like them," she agreed smugly. "Come on, let's do this."

No resistance greeted them at the service door, but they could hear combat echoing through distant hallways. The main forces had recovered plenty of guns from the Drules outside, though only the guards were trained with them. The knights had taken a back entrance as well… they would hit the invaders from everywhere for _real_, the way the feint on Dolce Vita had pretended they would.

The first enemy they found was rushing down service staircase, apparently having just awakened, juggling her rifle and looking a little bit flustered. They didn't give her time to recover. Larmina lunged forward and landed a blow with her staff, sending the guard tumbling down the steps in a hail of Drakure curses.

"I've been waiting _so_ long to smack a Drule," she declared with a small grin.

"Is it everything you hoped for?"

"You know it! Come on, the workshop is this way." That was their target. The sooner it could be secured, the sooner they had whatever machinery might yet be intact. If this attack went bad, they could even use it as a fallback and staging point.

Not that this attack was _going_ to go bad, but it was nice to have backup plans.

As they approached the service staircase, the sounds of the main battle were getting closer. The second Drule they encountered seemed to be running from the commotion—before Larmina could even consider how odd that was, she saw an arrow bounce off a wall behind him and bury itself in the back of his neck.

"Thanks, Auntie," she whispered as they ran past the fallen soldier to the stairs.

At the workshop doors, they paused and exchanged wary looks. It didn't seem as simple all of a sudden. "Do we just go charging in?" Allendar whispered; the banewolf snuffled.

"Well I don't think we should _knock_."

"…Why not?" Hanso looked at Larmina. "Do you speak any Drakure? You know, pound on the door, yell for help?"

"Uh, I know a little? It's mostly cursing." She wrinkled her nose in thought, certain she had at one point been taught a basic request for aid, back when the Drules had been prickly neighbors rather than an invading army… what was the worst that could happen? They'd have to open the doors and charge in anyway? _Let's try it_. She pounded with her staff and yelled. "Alai'ru moka ker!"

Someone yelled back; something about coming to assist. Or about truffles. Or possibly a spaceship party? Drakure was hard. In any case, she motioned to Hanso and Allendar, who both drew their bows and waited.

The door opened.

The arrows flew.

The first Drule went down with a startled cry, managing to get off a shot with her rifle as she fell. It hit Hanso; he went down with a scream of his own, but a torrent of profanity said he was still alive. He wouldn't be for long if the other two Drules weren't dealt with immediately. "Cover him!" she ordered Allendar on instinct, racing in with her staff raised. The soldier she was targeting fired but missed, and she jumped to add momentum, bringing her weapon down on his head with all her strength. He immediately went limp.

A growl from the other side of the room; while Allendar had been shielding Hanso and taking aim with his bow, the banewolf had taken care of the last soldier much more quickly. It landed with its fangs deep in the Drule's throat, splattering bluish blood.

"…Eww?" Larmina muttered as the wolf began gnawing on its kill. "I mean, thank you, eat up, but also eww… Hanso!" Tearing her gaze away from the wolf, she ran over to him, reassured by the fact that he was _still_ swearing his head off. But his voice was wavering, and that seemed like a bad sign.

"Sinycka… got lucky." Weak as it was, his voice managed some indignation. "Think I'm gonna… need some of that luck now too, huh?"

"Better to be lucky than good," Allendar agreed. He'd torn his shirt off to put pressure on the wound, but was looking at it with a grimace. "Ugh, this is filthy, stopping the blood is only so much help if it gives you half a dozen infections… we need water or alcohol or something."

Larmina blinked, remembering her own time in the workshop. And the bribery that had made it possible. "Danor kept a wine stash hidden down here—some of it was pretty strong, to hear him tell it. If anything's left, would that work? Maybe the sinycka didn't find it."

"Better than nothing. I'll stay here and do what I can for him."

She turned and ran deeper into the workshop, which was in shambles. It looked like the Drules had dismantled and removed much of the equipment, but they'd replaced it with racks of weapons and armor and some other indiscernible boxes. It would be just their luck if the boxes were medical supplies… they could hardly stop to guess and check. Instead she made her way to the corner office where Danor had kept his personal belongings, slid a wall panel aside, and grinned. Two dusty bottles of wine greeted her. Grabbing them both, she ran back to Allendar and watched him treat the wound as best he could.

"Dovayat, that stings…" Hanso closed his eyes and exhaled. "How do you think… the others are doing?"

"Hard to tell, from here." Any sounds of combat had long ago faded, considering they were in the very depths of the castle. She looked at Allendar, who was still holding the shirt down over Hanso's wound. "What else can I do to help?"

He looked at her, then over at the banewolf; it was padding over after seemingly deciding Drule didn't taste very good. No great shock there, truthfully. "Can you and, um, your friend make sure this place is clear?" Looking around at the clutter and the high shelves, he grimaced slightly. "Plenty of spots some sinycka could still be hiding after the racket we've made."

It was a good point, Larmina decided, though when she'd asked to help she hadn't really anticipated leaving them _alone_. But if they could confirm the workshop was secure, that wouldn't matter. "Sure, we're on it." Motioning for the wolf to follow, she moved back among the shelves, her nerves on edge as she began to methodically check every corner.

About halfway through, she did encounter something, but it wasn't a Drule. It was a faint shimmer—familiar by now—swiftly coalescing into the ghostly form of some regal-looking ancestor or other… the history of the House of Raimon was not one of her strengths. At her side, the wolf whimpered and lowered its head, bending its forelegs in what could almost have been a banewolf bow.

"Um… hello?"

"Daughter of Arus." The ghost nodded an acknowledgment, flickering faintly. "I come bearing news from Princess Allura: the Castle of Lions is secure."


	40. Privileges of Rank

Pride: On the Hunt  
Chapter 39  
Privileges of Rank

* * *

Their third fight had been against Drules again; more disgraced soldiers. Apparently the Ninth figured there was no reason to court-martial troops who misbehaved when the gladiatorial arena was an option. Those of the 686 who'd been through the Alliance's disciplinary system—and that was _plenty_ of them—were gaining a whole new appreciation for the JAG.

This group hadn't worked together very well at all, but they'd seized the initiative early and might have overrun the team had it not been for Keith singling out and dispatching their leader. He'd recognized their weakness correctly. Without a leader the Drule cohesion had completely disintegrated, each gladiator worrying about themselves and their own battle, leaving them vulnerable to divide-and-conquer tactics. It had still been rough, but they'd escaped with cuts and bruises and muscle strains rather than, well… _worse_.

After checking everyone over and chasing the Drule medics away, Jace had gone over to the spot in the corner where his discarded jacket was shielding their escape supplies. It was a couple of sad little piles. Sifting through what the others were bringing over he shook his head in frustration. "The wood-to-salt ratio in this fucking arena could learn a few things from giant donut dude's barbecue recipes."

"Oh don't say barbecue, Doc." Cam was fumbling with his shirt, trying to work what he'd brought free—it would've been easier if one of the damn enemies hadn't stomped on his hand out there. He hurt. Badly. "Now I want some."

"We'll have a big BBQ when this is over," Hunk promised. "With all the salt Doc could want!"

Lance smirked, eyeing Jace. "Are you admitting Hunk's recipes are good?" Even Sven couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow waiting for that answer.

The medic rolled his eyes. "I'm saying this is a time when ridiculous amounts of salt would _actually_ be helpful."

Vince snorted, but the broader point was sound. Usable salt was proving harder to retrieve than they'd hoped. "We do need more."

"How much would you say we need?"

"More."

"What he said. Ain't exactly a standard equation for salt-to-water-to-BOOM that I know of. This is usually a thing you do in your backyard to freak out your parents, not practical demolition."

Sven eyed Hunk and quirked the _other_ eyebrow. "Are you speaking from experience there?"

"Maybe. …Totally."

"How much more, though? One more fight? Two?" Lance made a face. "I swear I put more into my pockets than comes out."

"Depends how much we get outta those fights." The big engineer was looking at the piles with a little bit of worry as well. They weren't building supplies as fast as any of them had hoped. But they still didn't have any other ideas.

Finally managing to work his own contribution free of his shirt, Cam handed it over and grimaced. "Thought for sure that one with the huge sword was going to skewer me trying to get this…"

Daniel looked over at him and shook his head. "You're such a _dweeb_."

Blink. "A dweeb? What's that even mean?"

"Probably what mechka means," Vince suggested dryly; Pidge looked up in confusion.

"I've _told_ you what mechka means. I've never even heard of a dweeb?"

Sigh. "It's more the implication… never mind."

"Dude, it's an _insult_," Daniel said indignantly. He would've explained further, but trailed off for a moment as he realized he was not actually sure of the definition. It wasn't part of his usual repertoire, it had just felt right at the moment. "I think it means you do stupid shit."

"Know what else means you do stupid shit?" Jace asked, covering up their wood and salt and turning back to the others. "'Explorer Team building a molten salt bomb'… actually just those first two words are enough."

"No, that qualifies under fucking badass," Lance corrected, then turned to Daniel and shook his head. "Honestly, kid, I expect more from you than _dweeb_. I know you're better at insults than that, you need to step up your game."

Oh. Great. More expectations. "Well, when I'm no longer a _Drule arena slave_ I'll make sure to get right on that."

"We know you will." Cam reached over and ruffled his hair. "Takes one to know one, whatever it means. I learned from the best. Right?"

Daniel stared at him blankly, and it slowly became a glare as he fully comprehended what had just happened. "Did you just ruffle my hair, fanboy?" Being implicitly called a dweeb, fine, whatever; he'd been called way worse. Touching the hair was _not okay_.

Grin. "I can do it again."

"I don't think that's a good plan, Cam."

"Cam, leave Daniel's hair alone."

Lance's admonishment was not as effective as Keith's; their comms officer straightened up a little. "I didn't mean anything by it, sir. Sorry, Daniel." It didn't stop Daniel from glaring daggers at him.

"Are you two going to fight?" Pidge asked. "We _could_ use another practice session, but people are still bleeding." He'd been told that meant it wasn't the time.

"There'll be no more fighting outside of our standard slave duties," the gunner answered with a pious look. "But there can be dramatic retellings of the time Cam flirted so bad he got shot…"

"You _wouldn't."_

"Boys. Enough."

Nobody was listening to Keith anymore. "Really? I wouldn't? _I_ wouldn't?" Daniel turned to the others for backup. "Lance, does that sound like something I'm capable of?"

Like that was even a question. "I think you're capable of anything, kid."

"We can still do charades," Hunk offered, trying to cut this off before it went too far.

All it got him was a glower from Flynn, who wasn't entirely convinced Cam and Daniel's bickering was worse than charades. "Someone hit Hunk for me."

"You're sitting right next to him," Pidge pointed out.

"…Yes, but I don't want to do it." Hunk snickered at that; Lance smacked him lightly, and it turned into a pout.

Hunk was not the only person pouting at Lance; Daniel had been giving him a mildly disgruntled look through that whole exchange. Finally he muttered, "Is me threatening my friend with emotional and social torture _really_ the time for you to go all weird and M-wordy on me?"

"Wait, what?" What the hell had he said that was mentor-y now? "I just meant you're unpredictable and a smartass!"

"That is literally the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"M-word?" Keith echoed, looking between them. "What M-word?"

Daniel pointed accusingly at him. _"You_ don't get to mention the M-word!" The accusing finger moved to Lance. "I thought you were going to talk to him!"

Their pilot scowled back at him. "I hadn't found the time, what with being captured and made a gladiator slave and all, but fucking fine. Keith, this is all _your fault."_

"…What did _I_ do?"

Jace motioned Hunk over to himself and Sven. "Giant donut dude, you smuggle any popcorn in?"

"I wish, dude. I _wish_."

"What if he says _that sentence_ again and I'm forced to impale myself on a sword from the shame?" Daniel demanded; he'd entirely forgotten anyone else was even in the room. "That won't help with the whole gladiator slave thing!"

"What are you—"

"—Keith, let's get something straight here." Lance glared. "I'm not a fucking mentor and we do not _ever_ say the M-word. Got it?"

Blinking, eyes darting back and forth between the two, Keith slowly realized what was going on. It was all he could do to hold down a chuckle. "Sorry, just called it like I see it."

It didn't make Lance any less indignant. "See it? You look at me and see that?"

"Not in the regular usage of the word?" Shrug. "But for an Explorer Team? Yeah."

"No." He stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. "And _never_ fucking tell Daniel you're proud of him, that's just going to make him do something stupid like mercury spillage again…"

He hadn't lowered his voice nearly enough, and Daniel jumped in. "Yeah, that! This time it'll be _way_ more idiotic than trying to destroy Cam's stupid bird with what I thought was rocket fuel."

On the other side of the cell, Jace had gone over and taken a couple of their newest round of rations, ripped them into popcorn-sized pieces, and distributed even quantities to Sven and Hunk. It seemed like the proper thing to do.

"…Why would saying I'm—" Keith cut that off at the look on Lance's face. "—why would saying _that_ make him do something like that?"

"Have you met him?!"

"Obviously. And he's improved since that first meeting…" Pausing, Keith lowered his own voice and muttered, "Slightly."

Daniel sulked. "Why do you like to hurt me?"

"See? It's the wrong way to handle him…" Lance trailed off as Keith raised an eyebrow and he realized exactly what he was saying. "But me knowing that in no way makes me an M-word! Fucking fuck…"

"No, definitely not, flyboy." Flynn smirked. "Who could ever imagine that? You've certainly never talked about setting up play dates for him, either."

"…YOU _WHAT?"_

"Play dates?"

"You nearly _agreed_ to that play date," Lance shot back with a look of mild betrayal.

"You tried to set me up on a play date?" Daniel's annoyance gave way to a sudden strike of confusion. "Wait, with who?"

"You don't want to know."

"It was a bizarre lapse of my usual pristine judgment."

Hunk made some more pseudo-popcorn and passed it out to Jace and Sven.

Scowling, Daniel shook his head and glared up at the ceiling—he couldn't glare at everyone in the cell at once, it got the point across. "Just… I don't… haven't I been through enough emotional trauma without you people adding to it?"

"We're an Explorer Team, Daniel." Cam was still trying to figure out how in the world they'd gone down this moon rabbit hole; he supposed what he'd just said explained that, too. "I think trauma in all forms is what we're going to get."

"This is trauma?" Pidge muttered under his breath; Vince shrugged and answered equally quietly.

"To some." He was personally still hoping for that coma dream.

"You know," Daniel was now glaring fully at Cam, "sometimes when you talk, I imagine you going through a woodchipper, and I get happy enough on the inside to not call you names."

"We're already doing okay with wood chips," Jace objected.

There was a time Cam might have been legitimately upset by that, but by now he was pretty sure it was an expression of endearment. Weird, Daniel-y endearment, but endearment nonetheless. "I suppose I've had that coming for awhile, huh?"

"Yeah. Since day one. When you got pissed at me for opening a door."

"Disrespectfully opening a door," Cam retorted, then shrugged. "Though since we're all apparently bringing up our past sins here… Pidge, I'm sorry about the peanut butter thing."

Pidge stared blankly; he wasn't the only one. Daniel snorted. "I've committed no sins… at least none I feel bad about." Minus killing some Drules, he supposed, but there was no need to bring _that_ up again.

"Okay, that's quite enough." Keith exhaled slowly. It was good for morale to be up; this conversation track just didn't seem necessarily suited to _keeping_ it there.

Flynn nodded in agreement. "Maybe this is _not_ the time to start bringing up every minor confessional we have."

"Are any of us even fucking Catholic?" Lance asked, looking around the cell. Several shrugs answered him. "See, we don't need to confess sins."

"We didn't even steal that part of Catholicism on Dathreil, and we stole fucking _Latin_."

"The most fussy part, of course."

"Obviously."

Footsteps echoed outside, silencing them. They'd barely gotten back from their last fight, it couldn't be time for a new one already… it had just become reflex. If guards were near, they shut up. It was a good habit to get into, for the times they were discussing something consequential.

The door opened; a different guard than usual was standing there. She tossed a roll of something brown and drab into the cell. "Warriors, I bring you greetings and congratulations in the name of the arena master. Your prowess in battle has earned you the right to bear a name and standard into your combats." She indicated the roll. "You may design your banner as you see fit, but know that any insults will be yours to defend in battle. Blood and glory to you, gladiators."

As the guard vanished, the team just stared blankly at the door for what seemed like a very long time. All that they'd just been talking about faded away in the face of whatever the _hell_ they'd just heard.

"…So, uh, raise your hand if you foresaw getting arts and crafts assignments in the alien slave dungeon," Daniel finally snarked.

"Earned us the right?" Vince repeated blankly. "Did they tell us there were reward tiers in the slave arena?"

Hunk shrugged. "Maybe at ten wins we get a free burger?"

"I'd love a burger."

"Same."

"Fuck yes."

"Not here you wouldn't, pretty willing to bet."

Keith shook his head but didn't stop the chatter this time; morale was still worth it. He went to unroll the bundle instead. It was a large square of coarse brown cloth, with three pouches of thick pigment wrapped up inside of it. Nothing remotely usable as a weapon, of course; even the fabric was too rough and brittle to be of much use in any escape plan. No surprise.

Daniel hadn't been wrong. It looked pretty much like they'd been assigned an arts and crafts project.

Well, what the hell? "I can't believe I'm asking this, but does anyone have ideas for a team name?" He shrugged helplessly. "Better to play along than invite any suspicion we don't have to."

"I've got one," Jace muttered derisively. "Call us the Honey Badgers, because we don't give a fuck."

"Dude, that meme last went around like five years ago."

"Like the bitchy blue space elves know or care?"

"Yeah, point."

"Have we considered not playing along might be the best way to play along?" Flynn asked, frowning. "What if they expect us to tell them where they can shove their banner?"

"I volunteer," three people offered at once.

Keith frowned. It was a fair point, but looking back, he was pretty certain he'd seen a banner on the opposite gate in their last battle. "They don't really seem like they're big on reverse psychology. I don't know if overthinking ourselves in circles helps us, either." He picked up one pigment and frowned at it. It was a deep blood red, and he frankly didn't trust it to be anything but all natural.

"Just paint a big middle finger on it and call it a day," Lance suggested. "They said we can defend our insults, let's give them the fucking insult."

While the rest of them were debating, Cam had moved over to the cloth and picked up the black pigment, tossing it thoughtfully between his hands. "Guys, I've got the perfect name. And the perfect symbol to tell these bastards exactly what we think of their arena."

That earned him several raised eyebrows, then Flynn shrugged. "If you've actually got something you want to do, no objections."

Slowly the others murmured in agreement, and Keith nodded. "Have at it, Starr."

Cam nodded and crouched over the banner, squeezing the pigment out. From the faint smell of smoke and dirt that emanated from it, Keith guessed it was coal-based. He made a mental note to save some; that might actually help their plan after all. Whatever Cam was drawing, he finished it up remarkably quickly, then stood and held up the banner. "Here we go."

It was immediately apparent why it had been so quick; he'd left most of the cloth blank. There was only a team name in bold, jagged letters.

**THIS SPACE FOR RENT**.

The team exchanged looks of mixed amusement and disbelief… and finally, Hunk burst into laughter. It spread through the cell until even Pidge and Jace were snickering, and Keith nodded with a grin of his own.

"It'll do."

* * *

Based on the feeding schedule—without a window, it was hard to tell time in any other objective fashion—it was the next day when their usual guard arrived again. They could see some of the armed guards arrayed behind him this time; it looked like there were extras. Cam shifted behind Keith, just a little. "Thought today was our day off?"

"Gettin' all kinds of company these days, yeah?" Hunk frowned at the door.

"Great."

"Yay."

"Are we fighting again?" Sven was the only one to actually address the guard, who shook his head.

"You have earned time away from your cell, gladiators. If you wish to remain, so be it. Else we will take you to either the arena to watch other battles, or the slave recreation yard for some time. You need not all make the same choice."

It felt like they'd all done a lot of blank staring lately, and yet the guard had managed to invite more. Finally Hunk whispered, "There really _are_ reward tiers."

Neither choice sounded especially attractive, but both sounded potentially useful. They needed information. Keith looked around at the others for a few moments, then back to the guard. "Can we discuss it?"

"You have five minutes."

"You bring us such joy," Lance said, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the others. "Would be nice to see different walls."

"If we can get out of here for a little bit I'd say we should," Flynn agreed.

Jace snorted and crossed his arms. "Whatever passes for fresh air in this place while we're _not_ in mortal danger would be a great idea."

"Alright." Keith waved the group in closer. Splitting up felt intuitively wrong, yet he didn't feel _unsafe_ considering it. Clearly the Drules thought highly enough of their gladiators; it was doubtful this was a trick. And splitting up would give them more information than only taking one option. "So, fights or rec yard. Who wants to go where?"

"I vote rec yard." Daniel had no interest in seeing any other fights. He didn't even want to see their own.

"I'll go with the kid."

"I'm going too, then. In case he aggravates that leg."

The kid gave Jace a look of disapproval that didn't really last. "I'm not gonna… well, I might. Okay, good idea."

"I'll go to the arena." Keith looked at Sven, who caught the invitation and nodded his acceptance. "We can analyze the fights. Flynn, you and Pidge to the yard? Get a good look around?"

Pidge nodded also, and Flynn cracked a wry grin. "That works…" Turning to Lance, he whispered under his breath, "Fuck. We're going to have that play date."

Their pilot's eyes widened, and he grinned back. "Shut the fuck up." Mercifully nobody else seemed to hear it this time.

Cam stepped closer to Keith. "I'm with the commander."

"I'll go to the arena, I guess." Vince didn't feel like he'd be much use either place, but he definitely didn't want to stay in the cell alone, and he'd be better at studying enemy combat tactics than running around in some prison yard.

Lacking any strong preference either way, Hunk decided to stick with the nervous kid. "I'm in for the arena too. People behind us might not appreciate it, but eh."

"Alright." Keith turned back to the guard, who'd probably heard the whole thing, but wasn't saying so. He wondered if that was a sign of respect, too. "Half of us will go to the arena to watch, the other half would like to go to this recreation yard."

"Very well." One of the armed guards stepped up, and he motioned to her. "Kurile will lead those who have chosen the yard. I will take the rest of you to the arena. Come."

As they left the cell, Pidge looked up at Flynn and whispered. "Sir, what exactly is a 'play date'?"

"Pidge… just forget you ever heard that."

"Yessir."

* * *

The arena stands were accessed through a whole new labyrinth of corridors. They passed a few Drules—spectators? They didn't seem to be slaves—who saluted as they went by, which just made everything seem that much more surreal. The guard led them through a reinforced door and they found themselves in a small VIP box of sorts, with their 'banner' hanging on the wall.

"Really?" Vince murmured.

Cam snickered. "That's so freaking funny." Sven couldn't help a smile too; it _was_ pretty funny, and they had to take what humor they could get in this situation.

"Well, it gets us out of the cell, right?" Keith moved up to the front of the box and picked out a seat. The arena looked very different from here, for certain…

"…Dude, do these seats actually have cushions?" Hunk had walked up to one and was poking it suspiciously. There were definitely cushions. Most of them were bloodstained to a degree, but they were still soft.

Their guards had taken up a position just inside the door; the leader seemed amused. "Strength comes with privileges, gladiators."

Sven shrugged and dropped into a seat; he'd needed a shower and some laundry for much too long to be worried about a few bloodstains. He was a walking, talking bloodstain. Cam was a bit more skeptical, but swallowed and dropped next to Keith. Vince held out the longest, staring at the cushions, seriously questioning the Drule idea of 'privilege'. But politeness and survival instinct—he was finding an overlap—finally won out, and he sat. _Ugh_.

Looking around, they could see the occupants of the boxes beside them, each also bearing a banner—rather more ornate ones, of course. On one side a large group of Drules sat in front of a crown and a broken shield. On the other, beneath a snarling beast of some sort, sat a group of muscular humanoids with turquoise-striped maroon skin. They wore furs and fangs, and Cam gave a low whistle; they looked _terrifying_. "Wow, check out those guys a box over."

"Hmm. They look… intimidating," Sven agreed, as Vince's eyes widened and Hunk gave a low whistle.

The announcer's voice started to boom over the stadium, drawing their attention away from their fellow gladiators; Keith nudged Cam, who nodded. He was getting the hang of the Ninth's dialect. "This fight is more captured pirates—ooh, captured _Drule_ pirates, guess they don't like that?—against a group of uh, 'born slaves trying to rise above their station'." Both sides actually looked to be Drules, which seemed a little surprising; then again, the way things went in this arena, maybe it shouldn't have been.

Whatever the case, they charged each other with full enthusiasm, the pirates seeming especially bloodthirsty. Keith leaned forward, eyes sharpening, taking in the flow of the battle. Hunk gave another low whistle. "They keep that up, they're not gonna have much left real quick, yeah?"

"Yeah." It was an all-or-nothing strategy, overwhelming force with no thought for defense. They'd seen it go poorly in their own last fight. Here it seemed to be working better, at least so far.

"It may work for them," Sven murmured. He was focused on the individual movements, trying to identify anything he could in their fighting styles, memorizing the techniques. There were some commonalities between them and the Drules the team had faced, perhaps a standard martial art among their people. Every bit of information helped.

Though Vince was trying to watch the arena, sort of, his eyes kept being drawn back to the crowds. The bloodier it got, the louder the spectators roared; he didn't get it. He _really_ didn't get it. Only the other gladiators seemed to remain stoic. "Who do you suppose they are?" he asked softly as Hunk caught his eye. "Pirates too?"

The big man shrugged and looked back at their guard. "Yo, Threepio—what _is _your name, anyway?—you allowed to tell us anything about our lucky fellow gladiators over here?" He gestured around to the other boxes.

Seemingly startled to be addressed, the guard considered that for a few moments. "I am Skalor," he finally answered, stepping forward as the other guards held their weapons tighter. "Those," he motioned to the scary maroon gladiators, "are the Legend-Killers of Ariel. They were undefeated early in last year's gladiatorial season, but fell prey to the dungeon fever and could no longer fight. Usually that would send them to the laborer pits, but the crowds demanded they be given a second chance, and their warriors have eagerly seized it."

"Legend-Killers?" Vince repeated, gulping. Focusing on the crowd was _not_ making him feel any better.

Skalor paid no attention. "On the other side," he gestured to the Drules, "is a unit of the Crown Guard. They failed a test set to them, a simulated assassination attempt against His Majesty, and entered the arena to redeem their terrible shame. They have crushed all foes easily, and been granted the right of execution in each battle."

Cam swore in Russian, as Vince gulped even harder. "I hope we don't have to fight either of them, honestly."

"Every team is probably just as bad, though… I mean, not us, probably. Are we?"

"Still…"

Skalor tilted his head in confusion. "Either of them would be a great and worthy challenge for gladiators of your skill. You should be honored to sit amongst them, as they are to sit beside you."

"Uhhh… yep! Totes honored here, for sure." Hunk grinned. "Thanks, Skeletor."

"Very honored," Sven agreed.

"Honored is not the word I'd use…" Vince kept his voice down.

Cam looked between the other teams again, and couldn't help the curiosity. "What do they say about us?"

"Don't," Keith tried to object, but it was too late. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but the guard was answering.

"That you are mighty warriors who slaughtered a full frigate's complement of troops in battlefield conditions. That you have won nearly flawless victories and killed very few, permitting your foes to live with shame and defeat." He looked over at their banner. "That you need no fearsome standard to display your might."

"Is that… good and scary?"

"Cameron."

Skalor just chuckled. "You will see."

"Okay… thanks for the explanation." He blushed and looked at Keith, recoiling a little under the commander's glare. "Sorry, sir."

"That doesn't seem all that bad," Sven mused, turning his attention back to the arena floor. "Doesn't have quite the same intimidation factor as 'Legend-Killers' but I suppose we'll take what we can get."

Hunk nodded. "He does make us sound way more badass than I thought we were."

"I'm still thinking I'm not badass," Vince snorted; Cam looked over at him in surprise.

"Did _you_ just say badass?"

"What's he supposed to say?" Hunk pointed out. "Badbutt?"

"I've just never heard him swear before. Sorry, Vince."

"Yeah, well. Badbutt sounds ridiculous."

Sven side-eyed him. He wasn't really inclined to complain about language under these circumstances—unless it was Jace, who'd be disappointed if he didn't—but he was certain they'd had this conversation before. "I believe we discussed 'hardcore' as an alternative."

…They had, hadn't they? It seemed like forever ago. Vince shook his head. "Yeah, I guess."

They were cut off by the end of the battle, a cheer rising up from the crowd as the last of the slaves fell. The pirates turned to the royal box. One of the Drules there stood, stepping forward, raising their blade; rather than closing it he slashed downward with enthusiasm.

"What does that…" Cam trailed off as the pirates sprang into motion, almost casually disemboweling each slave in turn. "…Oh."

"…And that's more hardcore than anyone needs," Hunk whispered, earning answering nods. Hardcore it might be; it was definitely not badass.

_"Way_ more than anyone needs."

"That girl, the princess…" Keith closed his eyes for a moment. "She's been sparing us this."

"Why, though?"

"I don't know." If he looked over at the royal box he could see her, though not well at this angle. "Though the one time, we kind of locked eyes, and… well, I can't explain it." He'd just _known_ she wouldn't force them to kill, somehow. And she'd granted that reprieve each time.

"Maybe she likes us."

"I'm just going to be happy that she's doing it, whatever the reason."

"Feels like we should send her a gift box."

"We get out of here and I'll send her a whole gift basket…" Sven fell silent as Keith smacked his leg, jerking his head towards the guards, who mercifully seemed fully focused on the executions. "…Not that we have much in the way of gifts to send," he covered quickly.

Hunk chuckled. "A few more wins and maybe they'll start makin' no-banner t-shirts or somethin'. We can send her one. Maybe even autographed."

That got a round of laughs, and Cam looked over at him. "Leave it to you to lighten the mood. Thanks, Hunk."

"What I'm here for, yeah?"

Clinging to what little bit of levity they could get, they watched as several slaves cleaned up the arena and two new groups of gladiators emerged. Maybe, with any luck, this fight would be a little less _hardcore_.

* * *

Following Kurile down the corridors with several other guns pointed at them, the rec yard team did the best they could to track where they were going. It only did so much. Lance was just searching for anything that stood out, but nothing stood out; the architecture down here was all featureless stone blocks. Flynn was counting doors, but what did that matter? All the cross hallways were in the same place. She took them up the third corridor on the right, which sloped up more dramatically than the path to the armory. The cells were definitely underground.

"Don't suppose you want to brag up your architecture while you've got a captive audience?" Jace asked their guide. He didn't expect much out of it, and got what he'd expected: a glare and a threatening wave of her rifle. "'No' would've worked just fucking fine."

"Hey, he has a point. I do love a good building history." Lance tried his most charming smile. Anything they could wring out of her could only help…

"Have a favorite gladiator group?" Daniel asked. Maybe if they pretended it wasn't just the building they wanted to know about she'd ease up.

She did not. Glaring at both of them, too, she waved the gun again and grumbled something in Drakure. Lance wondered if she actually even spoke Common… maybe they should've grabbed Cam. Oh well. "Fine, fine. Even this smile can only do so much."

Thankfully, before too much longer they reached a heavy door. She led them through that, then a second one, and then a third—like a sort of double security airlock or something. The third finally opened into the rec yard: an expanse at least twice the size of the arena floor, covered in dirt and scrubby moss-grass-stuff beneath a cloudy sky.

"What the fuck?"

"Okay, wasn't expecting that."

"Oooh, we get to have swamp picnics!" Daniel gave a dramatic little hop; his leg still hurt too much to jump for fake joy any more than that. "Yay!"

As they stepped out into the yard, the door slammed shut behind them, and Lance sighed. He'd been hoping for something a little more like the arena itself. "So much for hoping to grab more salt out here. This feels unhelpful."

"Very much so," Pidge agreed, looking around. They were surrounded by fortified walls, perhaps thirty feet high and dotted with guard stations. There were others in the yard, quite a few in fact—clusters of what were presumably other gladiators, some sparring, others throwing or kicking balls around. "Unfortunate, but we may as well look around anyway, kir sa tye?"

"May as well," Flynn agreed. "Do a lap around the outside, see what we find?"

Doing laps sounded only slightly better to Daniel than fighting, and he was longingly watching a few of the gladiators organizing a game of some sort. It was almost certainly more than one group. "I don't suppose there's any way you'd let me go kick a ball around with those guys?" He was more or less directing the question to their medic.

Jace frowned. "Much as I approve of you wanting to kick them in the balls, I'm not sure it's the best idea right now… wait, that's not what you said."

"You want to kick a ball around with random gladiators?" Lance raised an eyebrow, then reconsidered. It did seem like there was some mingling going on among different groups… which seemed odd in itself, but who knew. "Well, they do expect us to do… whatever a gladiator slave does."

"I just want to do something that's not trying to kill people, and also maybe have some fun?"

"No reason you can't," Jace said with a shrug. "Unless they decide to kick a potential future opponent right in the fucking stitches, anyway. I'll go with you." He looked at the others. "You three go do your lap dance or whatever."

Flynn smacked him.

Lance frowned, but he couldn't really argue the point. The kid could use some fun. Hell, maybe they would even learn something from the other gladiators, stranger things had happened. "Just… keep your eye on him."

"Don't I always keep my eye on you people?" The medic snorted. "Often to my own fucking regret…"

"Yeah, you're fucking annoying that way."

"We appreciate you, Doctor," Pidge offered in what was probably not _meant_ to be a sarcastic tone.

"I appreciate you too, ninjerk, I guess. Come on, let's go play ball, or whatever the hell."

"Yes!" Daniel grinned and turned away, heading for the nearest group with a ball. "I'll be fine, I got a scary doc looking out for me!" Jace shook his head, flipped the others a salute, and followed.

Lance frowned after them. "Why does this freak me out more than fighting?"

"Probably because we understand how fighting works." Flynn took one look at the expression on Pidge's face and cut him off before he could speak. "In theory."

Rolling his eyes and muttering something in Baltan, Pidge turned and started jogging along the wall. "Keep up, you two."

Neither moved. "…Really?"

"He's your kid."

"You have to remind me." Flynn sighed, exasperated. "'Keep up', honestly. His legs are _short_. Come on." He started jogging after the ninja, leaving Lance blinking in momentary confusion before running to catch up.

"Wait, no one told me this meant actual exercise!"

"We probably need it by now! I haven't had to drag a piece of engine case plating around for what, a week?"

"I do kind of miss the _Bolt's_ boxing bag."

They'd gotten back into Pidge's earshot, and he glanced back at them. "That's what the other gladiators are for."

"Not the same, ninja."

"It's close enough."

Lance gave Flynn a look, and the engineer shrugged. He was not taking responsibility for any of that; nobody had ever called _him_ an M-word.

Daniel and Jace had approached the game that was organizing between several Drules and a few… well… he wasn't sure what the other gladiators were, exactly. They were ghost-white and fuzzy and had four arms, which seemed like it wouldn't be fair in the arena, but then neither had the Kro and their tails. Whatever they were, he smiled brightly at them and the Drules. "Mind if we join in?"

There was a bit of discussion, then one of the fuzzy ones stepped forward and waved them in. "Always room for more."

"Awesome! Which team do you want us on?"

"Better come with us, nobody else here speaks Common." The other gladiator eyed Jace. "What's the angry one's deal?"

"Oh, him?" Daniel smirked. "He's not angry, that's just his face. He looks way worse when he's angry."

"Porra…" Jace shook his head. "I'd love to yell at you for that, but I know better."

It didn't make the kid smirk any less. "See? He's fine. He just doesn't want me getting hurt…" There was definitely an implied question in his words.

The fuzzy gladiator laughed. "Nobody's going to hurt you here, Earthling. That's only for the arena. There's a code."

_Oh yeah?_ That _was_ useful. Yet again, it felt like they'd missed some kind of gladiator orientation. Or maybe this was how it always spread. Either way, Daniel nodded happily. "Works for us!"

The game wasn't hard to pick up, really—not unlike soccer, except there were no nets, just multiple scoring lines to kick the ball across for varying amounts of points. Even Jace was enjoying it before long. He'd been decent at soccer growing up, he'd just dropped the hobby because his parents approved… this was _not_ how he'd expected to revisit it.

For his part, Pidge was enjoying the run. Flynn and Lance might've been too, he couldn't tell. But on the far side of the yard he slowed, catching sight of something on the wall. A series of cracks in the weathered stone… they'd all been patched up, but it wasn't perfect. Feigning needing a rest, he stopped and let the other two catch up.

"Ninja is making weird faces," Lance observed, earning a scowl.

"Do I say things about your face?"

"No, because my face is perfect."

Flynn bit back a laugh and decided it was safest not to comment. Besides, he knew damn well Pidge didn't need a rest. "Did you see something?"

Nod. "Did you see the damaged part of the wall back there? I could climb it."

"Climb it?" Lance echoed. "Like Spider-Man?" It got him a blank look that he supposed he ought to have anticipated. "Nevermind."

"It was a valiant attempt, flyboy," Flynn said quietly, earning a skeptical frown; Lance wouldn't have bet on _him_ knowing who Spider-Man was either. In any case, he quickly returned to the point. "Does that help us? The rest of us surely can't."

"I haven't seen a gate in the wall yet. There probably isn't one. But there might be a way to get the rest of you over." Pidge frowned thoughtfully. "A rope? We have a lot of jackets."

"We are _not_ using my jacket as a rope," Lance objected immediately.

"You'd rather stay here?"

…_Well, fuck_. "Last resort only."

Flynn shook his head. "If we have to use our clothes flyboy can just use his shirt, he sacrificed one sleeve already."

"Oh, you want me shirtless?" Lance laughed. Flynn was absolutely _not_ going to answer that, and he quickly moved on at the momentary awkward silence. "Can we find out what's on the other side?"

"I don't think climbing up right now would be wise."

"…No, don't do that."

"Let's keep moving." Pidge turned and picked up the jogging again. "Maybe we'll find something else." Exchanging shrugs, the other two followed. They were coming closer to where the others were playing, just in time to see Jace take a pass from a Drule gladiator and snap it over to Daniel.

He took off running, splitting two defenders easily and shooting past a third. The ball sailed over the two-point line to the cheers of his teammates, and he grinned. This was actually fun. Well, mostly fun. As long as he didn't think about potentially having to kill his new teammates later, or more immediately the fact that his leg was starting to really ache… _ow_. After a couple more minutes he came to a decision, approaching Jace and doing his damnedest not to limp.

"So, uh… if I admit something right now, is there any way we can _not_ tell Lance?"

The medic gave him a very judge-y stare, then smirked. "I guess I can keep it from him. I mean, it's not like he's your mentor or anything, right? If he was, that'd be totally different."

Daniel returned the judge-y stare with interest. "I… he's not… know what, I don't wanna tell you anymore." He turned and started walking away, grumbling under his breath. _That's what I get for trying to be mature and tell him when I'm hurt…_ he was so busy pouting about how mature he was being that he failed to pretend not to be limping anymore. "Ow."

"Oh for fuck's sake." Jace had walked after him, rolling his eyes. "I said he's _not_, I'm trying to back you up here, asshole. And I can see you limping."

He stopped. "Please just come fix me."

"I'm a medic, not a fucking miracle worker, but I'll see what I can do."

"And we're not telling Lance?" He sat down and pulled his pant leg up to let Jace see the wound, which was definitely bleeding a little bit again. "His overprotective stuff is already in high gear, no reason to make it worse."

"See, I thought hovering was _my_ job." It looked like a couple of bandages had loosened; he could fix that easily enough, at least. "Fuck him, I'm not telling him shit."

Daniel laughed. "Thanks."

"Any time."

* * *

Romelle had taken a very long shower after the day's gladiatorial games. In fact, that was becoming a bit of a theme; the more vicious the battles became, the more she felt bloodied by proxy. That the combat seemed exhilarating both encouraged and concerned her, and both for largely the same reasons. Was she learning? Adapting? Becoming something different, something more like the Drules she was meant to unite her people with? It felt like fulfilling her duty at the cost of herself.

Again.

Still.

She was sitting wrapped in a towel, brushing out her hair, which was long since sufficiently brushed but she found the ritual soothing. Especially doing it herself—Kalindra would often take care of such things before formal appearances, and watching the battles was considered such an appearance. It was a small thing, but any bit of comfort helped. Her gaive'llar sat on the dresser in front of her, its presence also something of a comfort; not the carved skull, so much, but the symbol of Kistrial etched into it.

Focused on the calming ritual, she never heard the door open, and indeed had no idea she wasn't alone until Prince Lotor appeared behind her in the mirror. "A'kuri?"

"Sincline!" She dropped the brush and spun around, blushing furiously. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"It's alright," he chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. "Perhaps I should have knocked, but I was so excited to arrive… I have some good news about our wedding!"

"Oh…" It took her a moment to grasp. Sometimes she forgot that there was to be an actual wedding ceremony involved in this somewhere along the line. It always seemed like a distant future blur. "…Oh! What sort of news?"

"Our fathers have _finally_ come to an agreement on the matter of heirs." He shook his head in annoyance. "Father was needlessly reluctant on the subject…" _If he weren't always so _picky _about proper heirs, I might have another sibling to be doing this nonsense instead_. "But he's given his blessing at last, and once you are carrying a child, your father will be ready to formally bless the wedding."

Not a bit of that struck Romelle as _good news_; she frowned and leaned over to pick up her brush, buying herself a few moments to think. It didn't really help her fake any joy. "…Oh."

The muted reaction drew an immediate cloak of concern over his face. "It's nothing against you, a'kuri! The people might object to a half-blood on the throne, is all. There is some history, you understand. But the firstborn is heir to the armadas, not the crown." _Usually_… he shook that off and smiled, baring his fangs. "I have no doubt that Polluxian blood, with proper training, will forge a wonderful warrior. Just as it is forging a wonderful Princess."

Much as he was not looking forward to taking the throne, Lotor had to admit he was looking forward to a child. After all, the firstborn _was_ meant to be a warrior… and who could question him taking a very active hand in his child's military training, instead of neglecting that child in favor of political nonsense? It would be a win-win situation.

Romelle watched him, the genuine happiness and even pride on his face, and sighed. It was hard to be angry at him, even when he got everything so painfully wrong. "No, it's not that. Just…" She trailed off, wondering if she really dared speak out. _Be silent. Do your duty. For Pollux._

"What is it, then?"

His look of worry encouraged her. The gaive'llar in front of her even more so. _No. Speak up for yourself. You _are _still a Princess, and he keeps telling you to be strong._ She rose and took a few steps away, her eyes on the winglike symbol on her weapon. "I didn't know anything was being discussed about heirs… I hate being left out of things that concern _me_ so often." She looked up in frustration. "It's not even that I object to children," _I don't think,_ "but I feel I should have been there. It's me, it's _my_ body that will carry this child. Why didn't I have a say?"

Lotor stared uncomprehendingly for a moment. "…To carry the heir of the kingdom is the rarest of honors," he finally answered, in a tone that was still worried but not quite apologetic. "I promise you, the technicalities were _excruciatingly_ boring… and I wasn't sure my father would bend on the matter." He approached and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "If he'd refused to grant that honor… I didn't want to subject you to all of that."

Of course. Carrying his child was a privilege, why would he imagine she'd want a say? She clenched a fist around a bit of the towel. "It may have been boring, but it's still a huge event in a person's life! In _my_ life!" She turned back to him, almost pleading with him to understand, and decided to try a different angle. "And I appreciate you wanting to spare me, but… if I am meant to be a future ruler by your side, it should have been a learning experience as well!"

The prince's eyes narrowed. "A'kuri, there's no need to raise your voice towards me." She did have a point, though, he decided as he mulled over her words. If he wanted her to handle other matters of politics, letting her be excluded from the negotiations had been foolish. Perhaps she'd even have found them interesting? He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Romelle had taken a half-step back; she hadn't quite realized she'd ended up yelling. "I'm sorry for raising my voice, but…" She trailed off in a weak sob. She'd made her case; but why should she have expected anything else? Never mind her place here, she knew her place with her _own_ father well enough. Of course they'd seen fit to leave her out of it. She'd never been given a choice before…

Lotor's hand tightened on her shoulder, breaking just a little through the fog of despair. "Strength, a'kuri. You were correct in what you said. You will rule at my side; I promise not to leave you out of any future decisions." He pulled her around gently, smiling again. "But for now, what's done is done, and we must produce a child. Perhaps getting to work on that will calm you?"

…He didn't get it at all. But the numbness she escaped to did seem welcoming right now, and she felt her mind already beginning to drift at the prospect. There was no other way out; may as well take what there was. Nodding, she wiped her eyes and let the towel drop to the floor. "Yes, sincline."

Soon enough, the world faded away.

* * *

This was _not_ how Tarlok had foreseen his governorship going.

The Arusians had tossed him into a small room largely stripped of any furnishings. Everything hurt, and badly. The arrowhead still lodged in his kneecap sent shooting pain up his leg every time he so much as twitched. Other puncture wounds along his arm had stopped bleeding, but he'd been chained too securely to even clean the blood; it had dried hard, sticking his tunic to the tender wounds. The chains themselves dug a bit too tight into his thick wrists, and his muscles strained like fire from the awkward position they'd left him in.

No doubt the soldiers would have mocked him for such petty inconveniences, but that was why Tarlok wasn't a soldier. And now the soldiers were dead, so what good were they anyway?

Mentally grumbling about his predicament wasn't helping anything either, but he didn't have much else to do. But soon enough, the door opened. A single Arusian knight—was she a knight? The fiery-haired girl wore no armor, but she carried a bloodied staff and glared at him like she was eager to use it—entered, followed by…

"Princess Allura, isn't it?" He tried for his best ingratiating tone.

She said nothing, but waited until most of her advisors were arrayed outside within earshot of the Drule. She didn't want their true numbers to be known. Looking about the room, she noted that its original use as a small conference room could still be seen. Though lacking much of its furnishings, there were still some chairs that appeared usable. Taking one with an armrest, she made herself comfortable in it before addressing the captive.

"And just whom do I now have as my guest?" she spoke softly.

"…I am Governor Tarlok, the hand of the Ninth Kingdom, envoy of King Zarkon and chosen lord of this world in his name."

"Mmm… and yet, for all your titles, you don't appear to be having a pleasant day on Arus. But then, I would guess these events are not exactly going as you planned." Drawing her bow across her lap, she made a point of studying his injuries. "Perhaps we can make matters better for you by taking care of those wounds?"

"You would give aid to one who is your enemy?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Her eyes—green surrounding pinpoints of bright blue—were deathly cold as she studied him. "We are a peaceful and kind people, Sir Tarlok. We would gladly give your wounds the finest care. But… sadly, it seems we have a shortage of doctors at this moment." She toyed idly with the bowstring. "Many seem to have died in recent months. And our medical supplies are limited, critical even, for some reason. You understand, don't you?"

Her voice had never once raised, her words polite and measured, but her tone was sharpened steel. Tarlok bit the inside of his cheek. He was no fool, current predicament aside; he had a suspicion of where she was leading him. "Indeed I do."

"My duty is to my people. Being a governor, I'm sure you understand such difficult choices. Those who can protect Arus must be prioritized." Her eyes sharpened. "Of course… there is a way you can help protect Arus."

"You wish for the events that have just happened to not reach Lord Zarkon's ear. You must know, even if I agreed, that would be an impossible ruse to maintain? Never mind that you can't force me to commit _treason_."

"True… but would that be worse than where you are now? Surely King Zarkon would not be very pleased with you, being in this circumstance. I am curious… how _does_ your lord handle governors who fail to stand their ground?"

Tarlok's eyes widened, and he grumbled in frustration. Such a fall from grace could, in theory, be recovered from… but only if one were in very good standing with the King. A status he could not guarantee he would have, under these circumstances. "You have a point," he growled as he shifted, staring at his knee as it found a new level of discomfort. If nothing else, the ruse would buy him time to explain.

Time… if there was something that everyone in this room could agree on, it was a need for time.

It might bring shame upon him to take such a bargain, but if his next actions were handled just right… "I shall make no mention of your presence," he finally agreed, bowing his head in defeat. "As far as my superiors beyond Arus' soil shall know, I still maintain this castle."

Allura smiled. "Let's see about those wounds of yours, then. I'll send one of our doctors in." As she moved to leave, her gaze hardened again. A warning. "The longer you can maintain the impression that all is well, the better… you understand."

Tarlok understood, alright. He noted the disappointment in the fiery-haired one and read the warning there as well; he would have to be very careful with every word and action from now on. So be it.

As they left, Coran fell in beside Allura and whispered. "Do you trust him?"

"No… not a bit. He will try something. So I need everyone to keep fully focused on their tasks, should our time on the surface be shorter than we wish." Everything from this moment on would be as time-critical as it was delicate. It wouldn't be easy. But if they could salvage enough, get enough contact established, find enough help… perhaps it would work.

The old knight nodded his understanding. "We will see to it, Your Highness."


	41. Attrition

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 40_  
Attrition

* * *

It didn't take them the full five minutes to prepare for battle anymore. They grabbed their favored weapons, exchanged a few reminders not to die, and waited for the gate to open. Was adjusting this much to their situation a good or bad thing?

Couldn't be that bad, if it kept them alive. They had to keep telling themselves that.

"Okay. Heads on a swivel, everyone." Keith stepped up to the front of the group, swords at his sides. "We don't know who we're up against, but we know they're only getting tougher. I don't want any complacency."

"Think we've got this by now, boss."

"We _have_ had a lot of practice."

"And practice makes, uh… more practiced!"

That was for sure. "We're practiced, alright." Lance hated that he was feeling impatient for this to start, but the sooner they got it started the sooner it was finished. "Let's just get this over with."

As the gate began to lift, they filed out into the arena, doing what they could to calm themselves. Sven was twirling his mace; Vince was just trying to keep his breathing steady. Cam glanced over at Daniel, who had his jaw clenched. "You scared?"

"I've kind of been in a constant state of terror since we got here," he muttered back. "It just feels normal at this point."

That was fair.

Loud cheers greeted them from the stands. That had been happening more often too… Hunk waved cheerfully to the crowd, blowing a few kisses to the loudest sections. Jace rolled his eyes and dropped an elbow into his ribs. "Giant donut dude, knock that Stockholm syndrome shit off."

"It ain't like that, Doc!" the big man protested. "I just think it's funny they're a bunch of Drules cheerin' for us, might as well encourage it, yeah?" He flashed the crowd a thumbs-up.

"…Yeah, okay." Jace shrugged and saluted the crowd too, though he used a different finger.

Lance snorted, flipping the crowd off too, and Keith frowned. "Alright, focus." Morale was important. Winning this battle was the _most_ important. Across from them, a band of Drules was emerging from the gate. A _large_ band of Drules, no less… he frowned deeper as the announcer's voice began to ring through the stadium.

Even he had to snort as they were announced in terribly-accented Common as the 'This Space For Rents'.

"Porra." Jace looked over at their banner hanging by the gate and shook his head. "Never getting used to that part."

"It's surreal as fuck."

"No kiddin'."

Even as he snickered at the announcement, Cam was listening carefully to the rest of it. "Apparently we're at the point where the announcer doesn't think we need any introduction? You know, except for being 'the alien pirates, the This Space For Rents'—"

"—We heard," Pidge said bluntly, and Flynn lightly elbowed him. "Sorry."

Cam decided it was safest to just ignore that, and a moment later any levity fled. "Oh, _shit_. It's the Crown Guard."

Those who'd gone to the arena on their day off froze; the others looked at them in confused worry. "Uh…"

"Wait, _that_ Crown Guard?"

"Those… _them?_ The ones that were…"

"Yeah." Cam swallowed and looked at the others. "They're supposed to be pretty vicious."

They certainly _looked_ vicious. It was easily the most organized team they'd seen yet, standing in a relaxed formation as the announcer continued. And they looked eager for battle. Perhaps that was normal… or perhaps they'd heard stories of the fierce Earthling pirates, and were actually excited to face them down.

The feeling wasn't mutual. Mostly. Pidge was grinning. "Sounds fun." Though immediately he regretted saying it aloud; _every time_ he looked forward to a fight he seemed to end up hurt. Fortunately, Vince had apparently given up bothering to glare at him for such comments, so he wasn't forced to acknowledge his regret.

"This is not good," Sven murmured, twirling his mace a little more emphatically.

Daniel didn't like the Viking looking worried. He didn't like it one bit. "So we're fucked?"

"No, we can do this." Keith gave them all his best commander's stare. They couldn't be intimidated, they couldn't back down. They had to—

"Megriz'ul gael ka'leir!"

They'd heard that line enough to know it meant the battle was beginning.

The Crown Guard charged.

"Oh great, they're in a hurry." Lance braced himself and gritted his teeth. The 686 hadn't charged an enemy formation yet, at least in any coordinated capacity; he was pretty sure this wouldn't be any different.

Next to him, Flynn dropped back a step and tightened his grip on his polearm. "At least they all seem to like coming right at us?"

"Try to take them fast if you can." Keith raised his sword in a guard position, watching carefully; they were outnumbered, and the more quickly they could remove that disadvantage, the better.

Jace stepped up and squinted, something in the line bothering him. It took him a moment… then he realized what he was seeing. And if he was going to make use of it, he only had a few moments. "Boss, permission to do some stupid shit worthy of giant donut dude?"

That was definitely not the person he expected that sort of question from. "What've you got, Doc?"

Was that permission? It sounded like permission. Smirking, Jace focused in on a Drule in the front of the enemy formation, and broke into a run. "Banzai, bitches!"

"What the fuck?"

"…Doc, you crazy ass…"

Almost instantly the Crown Guard line fell apart; maybe an inability to adapt to the unexpected was part of how they'd gotten dumped here. Half the charge continued, ignoring the one human barreling into their midst. The other half stopped, though there seemed to be further confusion on exactly what to _do_ about it. Only three seemed confident on the correct course of action: the one he was charging, and the two on his target's flanks. They dropped into position to reinforce each other, and as he sprang at the one in the middle, the two on the sides attacked.

What Jace had seen had been a simple tactical miscalculation, or what he personally would have described as a 'fucking bad idea'. Two Drules carrying long pikes, with a knife-bearing ally in between. Pikes weren't maneuverable or versatile weapons. They were good for exactly one thing: stabbing. And fucking _committing_ to it.

By the time he had knifey on the ground, the two with the pikes were too fully committed to back out. They tried, for sure. And they succeeded, in the sense that they didn't kill each other. But they certainly did _stab_ each other.

"Well, if it works…"

Their enemies briefly unsettled, the team seized the initiative. Keith sprinted into the midst of those who'd continued their charge, dodging and weaving, slashing at anyone who came into range and getting one in the throat. He didn't stop to see if it actually killed her; no time. They had to do as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible, and assess once they got a moment to breathe.

Hunk and Lance had both moved to exploit the breach Jace had created. Hunk swung his mace between the two, catching them as they yanked their pikes free of each other and splintering one of the weapons like matchsticks. Lance went at the one who still had an intact weapon, figuring they had a better chance of becoming a threat again later. His swordsmanship was sloppy, but the Drule had a hole in his side. It evened out—he could do some damage. And he did precisely that, driving his blade into the enemy's other side and wrenching it through his ribs, grimacing at the spray of blood. Another one fell on him, landing a heavy blow with a mace before he clocked it in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, then kicked out and stabbed almost blindly. That one went down, leaving him panting and thoroughly grossed out.

"I miss guns."

Outnumbered as they were, Cam quickly found himself engaged with two of the Crown Guard at once. Both swung at him, and he dropped, rolling out of the way. Neither made the mistake their companions had—for one thing, they were both carrying swords, giving them a bit more room to break off the attack. But it got him out of the way and gave him an opening. Coming up out of the roll, he slashed one Drule in the back of the legs, sending them buckling to the ground.

The other tried to fall on him, only to be slammed in the back by Keith and go down with blood spurting from the small of her back. "Keep moving, Starr."

"Yes sir!" Jumping up, he charged back into the fray.

Jace's ploy had worked out for Jace himself for about thirty seconds; things had gone a little bit sideways after that. Literally. The problem was that he'd finally run into someone who could match him in ground fighting without the use of a _tail_. It took all he had to break free and retreat to a relatively open spot, nursing a cut to his chest and cursing profusely as he sought a new target.

Getting pinned down in duels was plainly _not_ something they wanted to do. There were too many of the Crown Guard; like their enemies in their first battle, the team would be better served to remain mobile and unpredictable. Hopefully it would go a bit _better_ for them than it had for that band of enemies.

Maybe it yet would. But as the melee unfolded, Flynn and Sven found themselves cornered back to back, with a pair of Drules squaring off against them and nowhere to run. Glancing over their shoulders they exchanged nods, a silent agreement not to break formation. If they _had_ to duel, at least this way they were covering each other's backs.

Sven wasn't doing the greatest at covering his front. His opponent was carrying a light longsword, giving him both more reach and better agility than his mace could afford. Not for the first time, barely staving off a slash to his midsection, he lamented the absence of an axe in the armory.

Flynn wasn't doing a whole great deal better—he had a decided reach advantage on his own enemy, but he also only had so much understanding of how to use his weapon. Mostly he was blocking, giving ground until there was no more to give, hoping that if they kept these two occupied the others would have some better luck.

After clunking the two with the pikes, Hunk had settled into a pretty solid routine of wandering the melee, looking scary, and making anyone who stood still for him regret it—enough had gotten in return shots that he was going to have some nasty bruises, but the other guys always came off on the worse end. Vince was shadowing him, jabbing a few that he'd left staggering in circles until they went down and stayed down. It wasn't what he'd have called optimal, but at least it was working.

They were stuck in a gladiator arena, they'd blown by 'optimal' a really long time ago.

On the outskirts, Pidge and Daniel were doing their thing, and their thing was peeling bad guys off their teammates. Daniel had one Drule fully monopolized—whether she actually _understood_ the things he was saying about her mom, he didn't know, but running his mouth seemed to be keeping her attention regardless. Pidge had managed to get three of the Crown Guard chasing him, mostly by taking shots at them while they'd been otherwise engaged. He'd caused more chaos than damage, but some Drules found that sort of thing far too insulting to ignore.

At some point he needed to actually stop and deal with them, though… his eyes darting over the battlefield, he saw Sven and Flynn pinned down and cut in to assist.

Around then, Sven actually got himself un-pinned. A little. He managed to gauge his opponent's swings and block one at the hilt, knocking the sword from his hands. Another strike sent the Drule to the ground in a heap. But he'd barely even had a moment to feel good about himself before another one came barreling in at him, blade flashing.

Both he and Flynn saw Pidge incoming, and on instinct they separated to give him room to slip through. He disarmed Flynn's opponent as he passed, forcing the startled Drule into retreat.

Then the three he'd had chasing him showed up.

"Ninja, really?" Stepping up and using his polearm much more like a staff than anything, Flynn managed to fend off a few slashes—made much easier by the fact that the enemy clearly hadn't expected to be intercepted, either. They'd had tunnel vision on Pidge, and in mere moments they paid for losing that vision; as his superior officer put up a defensive flurry, he'd circled back around and taken the largest of the Drules at the back.

Leaping up, he stabbed one knife into the back of his target's neck, and the Drule collapsed in a motionless heap. "Yes, really."

"…Okay, fair." He really should trust the ninja's combat instincts, he supposed. They just had a habit of making so damn little _sense_. The other two Drules, suddenly surrounded and wary, fell into a defensive position very much like the one he and Sven had been pinned down in not so long ago. He moved up to cover Pidge, trading wary blows with the one in front, still largely just trying to hold out. If he could hold his own, that was a win.

Sven was still having some trouble—he'd pulled a Jace and was just wrestling with the Drule who'd moved in on him. He was _that_ sick of facing off against swords. Pidge had been fully intending to move ahead and help him before his opponent realized what was happening, but he'd lodged his knife too deep in his first victim's spine. That seemed to happen to him a lot too; in this case he was blaming the battered knife.

Regardless of _why_ he couldn't get it loose, it slowed him down just enough. The tide turned around him as the two Drules broke out of their guard stances, both swarming in against Flynn and forcing him into a staggered retreat; he lost his balance, dropped, and snarled a few curses. "Pidge, watch your back!"

Pidge didn't hesitate. He'd abandoned his knife, and immediately turned his lunge to assist Sven into a defensive roll. The blade that would have skewered him through the spine arced down his left shoulder blade instead, cutting deep and drawing a sharp gasp. "Salys sa kye—"

Flynn's combat reflexes kicked in. Which was remarkable, given he hadn't realized he had any. Flinging the Crown Guard who'd followed him aside like a misbehaving engine part, he lunged forward and slammed the blade of his polearm straight through the stomach of the one who'd slashed Pidge. "Back the _fuck_ off my wrenchling," he snarled as he yanked the weapon free, watching the Drule go down with rather a lot of his innards suddenly on the outside.

The one he'd thrown hadn't gone terribly far, and circled back as he freed his weapon. But then Pidge was up, recovering from the momentary shock of his wound, and landed an uppercut with his good arm that sent the attacker staggering. "Watch your _own back_, sir!" He dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, cursing the pain shooting through his left side. "…And thanks."

None of that had actually helped Sven, but it did get Jace's attention. He'd wound up in a grappling battle with one of the Crown Guard that had gone only slightly better than the first, until she'd made a fatal misjudgment trying to shake him. She'd shifted one direction at the same time he torqued the other; her own motion had as much to do with her neck snapping as anything _he'd_ done. He wasn't going to argue with it. Jumping up, he looked around and took stock of the situation. Was gravitating straight to Sven a case of blatant favoritism? Possibly, but someone had to do it.

Wrestling, per se, was not one of the Viking's strongest skills. Glima was wrestling, yes, but decidedly not focused on ground fighting. He could generally at least hold his own sparring with Jace. He was _not_ holding his own with this Drule. But suddenly Jace was there, and rather than trying for any technique he made the pragmatic move and just kicked the Drule in the head.

Slightly immoral. But unquestionably effective. It didn't actually knock the guy out, but it definitely cut into his effectiveness.

The fact that it had _not_ knocked him out, and he was still attempting to put up a fight, just annoyed the medic that much more. "What fucking part of 'leave the Viking alone' was not obvious enough for you, motherfucker?" Grabbing the Drule by the back of his shirt, he yanked with all his might, then spun around and used the leverage to fling him squarely into one of his buddies. That was becoming a bit of a signature move of his anymore.

Smiling at Jace's Jace-ness, Sven rose up and reclaimed his mace—there was a sword he could've taken right next to it, but the thought of willingly picking up a sword when he had any other option was just slightly less attractive than brunch. But before he could even think about rejoining the battle, a shadow flickered off to his side and something crashed down over his head.

He blacked out.

Whirling back around to regroup with the Viking, Jace instead found his friend out cold on the arena floor. "I looked away for five. fucking. seconds!" he hissed, tackling the offending Drule before he could follow up and choking him out with extreme prejudice.

On the other side of the melee Keith and Cam were still going strong, fending off a steadily decreasing number of Drules as the effects of their own strikes built up. They were far from unscathed, though… they were just giving better than they got. It couldn't last.

It didn't.

They were pressing the advantage, a couple of the Crown Guard giving ground, the area around them seemingly clear. Except clearly not so much, because as Keith drew back and took a swing, someone grabbed his sword arm from behind and he felt a sickening _pop_. Screaming as much from surprise as pain—though there was no shortage of pain—he dropped his sword and spun, letting the one who had a hold of him stumble right into an incoming strike that had been meant to take advantage.

"Keith!" Cam took a stab at the one who'd grabbed his arm as well, and between the two strikes she went down. He barely paid attention to that, grabbing his commander's sword and turning to cover him. "You alright?"

"I'll live." He took the sword in his left hand and narrowed his eyes, breathing deeply, forcing the pain aside. "Let's finish this."

If only finishing this would actually _finish_ this. One step at a time.

Cam's eyes widened slightly. "Can you fight well enough with your off hand? Do you need me to cover—"

"—Stop asking questions." They didn't have the time or space for questions. The Drule he'd been trying to focus on before came at them again, and he demonstrated just how well he could fight with his off hand by spinning into a savage slash across his chest. "_Survive_, Cameron."

Nodding, he fended off a blow and fell back into the rhythm of the battle. But he was definitely covering Keith's back from then on.

Daniel circled by them, his own Drule still on his tail, and visibly tiring. A lot. He was kind of impressed she'd kept following him this long, but maybe it was a weird honor thing. Giving up the chase would be weak. Or something.

Whatever the case, he was pretty sure he'd worn her down enough by now, and he skidded to a halt very near where Cam was engaged with one of her friends. The fact that he'd actually stopped seemed to stun her just enough to make her sluggish, and she went for his injured leg. Of course she did. Maybe Daniel wasn't much of a melee fighter, but he'd sure as hell learned to expect _that_.

He slipped that attack easily and circled her, stabbing repeatedly, going numb enough that he didn't even notice that some of his stabs missed and a couple of her counters connected. He was getting better at blocking things out, and he was very determined not to think about how unhealthy that probably was—it beat freezing, and that was what mattered.

As he was finishing her off he heard Cam yelling something at his current opponent in Drakure, and seized on that distraction. "Oooh, you trash talking the blue guys?"

"I'm trying. Told him his mom's so large she could be the moon, I think…"

…Of course he had. "Dude, don't insult moons like that," he sighed, and moved over to offer some backup. Or at least some snark. Though it didn't seem like the time to point out how incredibly _lame_ that insult had been.

Vince was still giving backup, too. Hunk had not really changed tactics the entire battle—he was seriously starting to consider changing his nickname to Clunk, it seemed to be becoming his specialty. Skirting around him, his stabby shadow went after one Drule who looked particularly dazed, but either he'd misjudged or it had all been a ruse. As Vince moved in to stab the Drule, he caught a meaty blue fist in his face and stumbled back with a yelp, losing his spear as he staggered. A second punch sent him to the ground, and he desperately tried to roll away from any followup but his body wasn't moving the way he wanted it to.

"Hey!" Spinning around as he tracked one that was running literal circles around him, Hunk saw what was going on and almost panicked. No way he could break off from the one he was tracking without a knife to his own back, but… eyes narrowing, he lifted his gigantic mace and _threw_ it.

The last thing Vince saw before unconsciousness claimed him was something like a small tree trunk clobbering the Drule who'd downed him, bouncing off his head, and landing on his face as he crumpled.

Lance took note of that and moved in to get Hunk's opponent off of him, only to be thrown to the ground by his own enemy. He was getting good at stabbing people on his way back to his feet—that was not a sentence he was happy about, objectively. But it was useful. Shoving that Drule aside he moved in to provide support; looking around for Jace, he saw him guarding an unconscious Sven and decided to check Vince out himself. The kid was still breathing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Retrieving his thrown gigantomace, Hunk went right back to fending off the Crown Guard. But they were finally running out of Crown Guard to fend. A lot of them were going down from attrition—the one more punch, one more stab, that finally was enough to remove them from the fight. A lot of the 686 was coming closer to that edge themselves… Keith was the closest, dueling one last Drule as best he could. He was capable of fighting with his off hand, but damn, it was weak. Fortunately his opponent wasn't faring a lot better, and he finally managed a disarming blow.

A nice, clean slash to take advantage of the opening would have been his preference. Instead he found himself just pummeling the Drule with the hilt of his sword until they stopped moving.

Flynn and Pidge had dropped back to help cover Vince; Pidge shot Lance a quick nod of gratitude. He was frustrated. He was supposed to be looking out for _Vince_, not his boss—but again, circumstances had dictated otherwise. He took it out on one of the remaining Drules who was trying to flank Hunk, taking him out at the knees and slugging him in the stomach with all of his strength. The Drule dropped, groaning and retching.

At the same time Hunk clobbered one last Crown Guard aside, and Cam cut a straggler down, and suddenly they didn't have anyone left to fight. It always seemed to happen like that… caught up in the battle, the tide of enemies all blurring together, with no real sense of impending victory until suddenly they held the floor.

It had cost them, this time…

Romelle hadn't realized until the Crown Guard fell that she'd been half standing, gripping Lotor's arm in a rush of adrenaline. The battle had been brutal, the Earthlings seeming to spend the entire time on the verge of being crushed. But they'd danced expertly along that edge, and even she could recognize the incredible skill they'd displayed. Not just skill. A sort of desperation as they battled, and as she watched them checking their wounded she realized it wasn't for glory or honor at all.

They fought for nothing but each other, whatever they had to do. And she felt a soft pang at the realization. What exactly had brought them here, she didn't know, but she couldn't stop that sense of familiarity. Of understanding. How little they wanted to be here, but how determined they were not to fail. Because they had something to fight _for_.

The ache in her abdomen and her thighs as she stood reminded her again of her place. Things had been… very aggressive, last night. She shook off the pain, walking to the front of the box—she wouldn't, couldn't, show weakness here. Not in front of Lotor and Zarkon and a hundred thousand cheering subjects who'd come to see displays of strength.

What she could do was offer the Earthlings the slightest hint of respite. And that, she was more determined than ever to do.

The leader was looking up at her again… his eyes icy and determined, sword in his left hand, right arm dangling uselessly at his side. She met his gaze, giving a barely perceptible nod. Slowly, she raised her gaive'llar, feeling the hush that rippled through the arena.

And once more, with finality, she closed the blade.

Keith held the gaze of the princess for just a beat longer than last time. Returning the nod, equally subtle. Wanting—needing—her to know that whatever her reasons, she had the team's gratitude. What was the gratitude of gladiators worth, to a princess? He didn't know. But regardless, he raised his own sword in salute before turning back to the others.

Immediately he was all business again.

"How are they?"

Jace had been doing his rounds while the boss was having his _moment_. He'd had a look at Pidge's shoulder—bad, but no clear internal damage. He'd checked Sven and Vince's vitals as best he could—about four times each. Just to be sure.

_Fuck, we got lucky._ He tried to push it aside. _Answer the question_.

"Unconscious. Don't know what else for sure, but they don't look too bad… I'd put 'em under concussion protocols but we don't fucking have those here." Jace eyed his commander suspiciously; he could see just fine what was going on there. "And you're not looking great either, noodle-arm. I'll deal with you once we're back in the cell."

He snorted. "I'm sure you will… but I'm low priority."

"I will be the judge of _that_." He seemed to agree, though; he was already carefully lifting Sven off the arena floor. "I've got the Viking. Hunk, you get Vince."

Hunk blinked, staring at him blankly for a long moment before turning to follow his instructions. Doc had to be more shaken up than he let on, if he'd really just said… "You know my name?"

The medic's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed in a glare. "Oh, _fuck_ you. Let's get out of here."

* * *

"I gotta figure out a better fighting style than 'be better at running than the other guy'."

"If running keeps you alive, run."

"It's exhausting! I spent the entire fight wearing _one_ bad guy out."

Pidge lifted his head and looked over at the discussion between Daniel and Lance. "Hit more than one of them," he offered helpfully; for some reason Lance glared at him.

Flynn did not glare at him, but did shoot a pointed glance at the blood smeared behind him on the wall from his slashed shoulder blade. "Are you _sure_ that's a good idea?"

"…Shut up, sir."

Daniel wasn't particularly impressed either. "So more than one can chase me around? Sounds wonderful."

"You get the same level of exhaustion but wear more than one of them out, yes."

"Hmm." The gunner considered that; it was actually pretty decent logic. "That might work." Lance glared again.

"Again. If running works, _run_."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Stay alive."

"It's our fucking main objective."

Jace was checking Keith's arm on the other side of the cell, after doing what he could for the others. There really wasn't anything _to_ do for Sven and Vince but lay them out in the recovery position and wait… unless they wanted to trust the Drule equivalent of smelling salts, which he most certainly did not. He'd patched up Pidge's back and the many, _many_ other cuts people had returned with before trying to convince the Drule medics to give him a sling. Apparently slings were not okay, though. So he'd chased them off with a whole lot of cursing and gotten back to work.

They'd both known it was dislocated even before he looked, really, and sure enough. "Okay, boss, you want me to warn you when it's gonna hurt or should I just do it?" In the middle of asking he casually popped the shoulder back into its socket, and Keith squawked in pain.

"Fucking son of a _bitch!"_

Yes, indeed he was. "Aww, boss, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

The commander glared at him, sinking back and panting as the initial surge of pain wore off. "Ugh… thank you, Jace."

A groan from the far wall drew everyone's attention; gray eyes fluttered open and immediately closed again. Jace turned and grinned. "The screams of profanity have awakened the Viking!"

"Language," their navigator grumbled through a pounding headache.

"My language is fucking perfect," Lance snorted.

Even Keith protested, holding his arm close. "I think my language was justified…"

"Yeah, yeah." Jace left him to check Sven over, but glanced back over his shoulder for a moment. "Don't move that arm for a bit. I'd sling it up if we _had one_ but apparently that's not how these fuckers do things… _anyway_, everyone keep it the fuck down. Viking, don't look at the lights."

Sven hummed a vague agreement. Cracking his eyes open for two seconds had been enough to convince him he didn't want to see any light right now.

As Jace checked their navigator over, Lance eyed Keith's arm and gave an apologetic shrug. "I'd offer my shirt for a sling, but it's already down a sleeve."

"I'd offer my hoodie," Daniel volunteered, "but uh… I don't want to." He shot a look at Cam, who was all too obviously wishing he had something to offer, and stuck out his tongue slightly; fanboy glared.

Flynn looked between them, rolled his eyes, and shrugged out of his own jacket. "Here…" He looked up to see his offer was just a little too late. Keith was gingerly easing his arm out of his own shirt sleeve, wincing. "…He's going to kill you, Kogane."

"Who?"

Briefly distracted by Flynn, Lance blinked away and turned to Keith instead. "…For fuck's sake."

"Who the fuck do you think?!" Jace was looking over his shoulder again, and more or less stage whispering because he definitely shouldn't be yelling near Sven right now. It was plenty to get the point across. "What part of 'don't move that arm' didn't you fucking understand?!"

Daniel couldn't help a laugh. "Wow, even _I_ don't disobey the doc."

Glaring at everyone, Keith got his arm all the way out of the sleeve and sighed. "One of you going to help me rig this into a sling or not?"

Hunk went over to help him; Jace was distracted by another groan. "Nnngh…" Vince opened one eye. "I'm still alive and in a gladiator pit, huh?"

"Yes and yes, mechka."

"Great." He tried to sit up, but his head felt like it stayed on the ground anyway; he opted to take the hint. "Ow."

"Okay listen up." Jace was still whispering loudly, but he still managed to make it seem like yelling. They really _couldn't_ get these two into any kind of concussion protocol isolation, so… "Team KO, both of you stay still, don't look into any lights, and try not to use your brains for a couple hours." Pausing, he looked between the two who'd been knocked out and made a face. "…Why the fuck did it have to be _you two,_ I'd have so many jokes."

"I don't know how to not think," Vince protested with a groan.

"Ask the boss, he can help."

"…Been there, done that."

Keith glared again.

"How'd I get knocked out?" Sven asked quietly. The last moments in the arena were a blur.

"Someone new showed up while I was dragging the one guy off you." Jace still sounded personally offended by that, as he was.

"Ahhh. My wrestling needs work."

"We can worry about that once you've rested a bit from the fucking _concussion_."

He wasn't the only one trying to sort out what exactly had happened out there. "How am I not dead?" Vince tried opening his eyes again and again thought better of it. "Did I spark?"

Finishing tying Keith's shirt into a makeshift sling, Hunk retreated to Jace's jacket and their hidden piles of loot. "Didn't see one, little dude."

"Whew… I think."

Flynn watched Hunk checking over the newest additions and frowned slightly. "How's our supply?"

"We're gettin' there." It didn't feel like they'd picked up much this battle, which was odd considering how much time they'd all spent falling down. But then, against enemies who'd been able to press them nonstop, there had only been so much opportunity. They'd managed a little. "This always looks like so much more when we bring it in."

A ripple of grim worry ran through the cell. Daniel was the one to voice what they were all thinking. "What happens if this," he pointed at the salt, "doesn't work?"

"…That'll suck?"

"It'll work." Lance wasn't sure he believed that, but saying so wasn't going to get them much of anywhere. He didn't have any other answer.

"It has to work," Cam agreed.

Daniel started to protest, but then reconsidered. Arguing about it wouldn't get them anywhere either. Except maybe mad and depressed, and really they had enough of that right now as it was. He shut up.

Oddly enough, Pidge offered the closest thing to reassurance. "We'll find a new plan." Even he didn't have a clue as to what kind of new plan. But he was strangely confident they would find one if needed, because when their backs were to the wall, that was what they _did_.

Were they optimal plans? Not generally. Did they work? Yes, and that was what mattered.

"The plan will work," Lance insisted. "It's just taking longer than we expected." _Keep saying that, maybe they'll believe it. Maybe _you'll _believe it_. He caught Flynn's eye for a moment, and the engineer gave the slightest nod before looking away.

Keith nodded too. "We're an Explorer Team. It _will_ work. We've done harder and crazier things than this." He silently pleaded for nobody to ask examples. It wasn't that he didn't believe in his team… just with every new battle, every day they couldn't escape, it felt like they might finally be hitting the limits of what Explorer Team crazy could do.

That thought sent a little shudder down his spine. A shudder Lance noticed and felt strangely relieved by. _At least I'm not the only one lying_.

Hunk had just covered up their stash again when the door opened. Skalor was standing there, and not alone; two slaves entered with dishes and what looked like bundles of padding.

Reflexively, Keith stood, careful of his shoulder. "What's this?"

"Hail, gladiators." Skalor inclined his head respectfully as the slaves set down what they'd brought. "The arena master has ordered you to be given extra rest: you will have two days before your next battle."

"Wow, two whole days."

"How gracious."

Shockingly enough, their guard did not seem to understand sarcasm. He indicated the items as the slaves scurried out of the cell. "Additionally, you are granted new privileges for your victories."

"Oh, we hit the next reward tier?" Hunk grinned; Skalor just looked at him blankly.

Lance's eyes went to the mats. "Oh yeah, thanks. Been meaning to get back into yoga."

"You are welcome. What is yoga?"

A few disbelieving snorts greeted that, not least from Lance himself, who wasn't quite certain how to respond for a moment. This dude had less charisma than Sky Marshal Wade and less grasp of sarcasm than Pidge. Briefly he wondered if this guard, maybe all these guards, might actually be a robot… naahh. That would be silly. "…Warrior stuff."

"Ah! Yes. Take full advantage of these gifts to prepare for your next battle, warriors. You have been granted a rare honor." Bowing his head again, he retreated, leaving the team staring at the door in what might fairly have been called disbelief.

"Oh yeah," Daniel snorted, shaking his head. "Real macho warrior stuff there."

"Rare honor?"

"What rare honor? Pillows?"

"Seems a bit more ominous than pillows."

"I want a pillow."

Vince tried raising his head again; it went slightly better this time. "Did I hear pillow? I could use one."

Pidge had gone over to investigate the padded bundles while the others snarked. They unfolded into thin mats of some kind of soft foam, and did indeed come with pillows of the same substance. "These are… serviceable."

"For what?" Daniel smirked. "Macho warrior yoga?"

"Hey, downward dog is badass, kid." Lance went over to retrieve a mat—having one seemed better than not having one, even if this whole premise was ridiculous.

_Did he just make a sex joke? That better not have been a sex joke._ Suddenly Daniel found himself thinking about what else these mats could possibly have been used for, and he didn't want those thoughts. At all. "Nastiness," he declared with a disgusted look, grabbing one pillow for himself and another for Vince.

"…What?" What the hell was nasty about yoga? He looked over at Flynn. "What did I do this time?"

Flynn didn't know a damn thing about yoga, and frankly his sexual innuendo detection wasn't always what it could've been either. "Maybe he doesn't like dogs?"

"Who doesn't like dogs?"

"…Me?" _Stupid fur_.

Lance eyed him and smirked slightly. "You don't count."

"Hmph."

"I'm right."

"But _fur_."

Daniel looked between them and decided not to say anything. Dogs were fine, but reptiles were better. And saying that might lead to mentioning Bokar, and that would lead to Lance flipping out, and it would be a whole thing, and the mood in the cell was already more than awkward enough.

Rolling his eyes, Jace delivered mats to Vince and Sven, along with a pillow for Sven; Vince had already gratefully accepted the one from Daniel. "I think we just have questions about what you know about dogs with bad asses, caralho… but you know what? I for one don't want the answers."

"How did we end up down this rabbit hole?" Cam murmured; Pidge and Vince both fielded that one at the same time.

"We seem to end up down a lot of rabbit holes."

"Same way we always do."

"Explorer Team," Keith agreed, shaking his head. "Says it all."

"Better down the rabbit hole than some of the other options." Jace started another round of the cell, because fuck it, he was the medic and he'd hover if he wanted to. Pidge's bandages were already soaked with blood, Keith's ill-advised sling needed some adjustment, and Vince needed to relax. Sven actually _was_ relaxing, as much as was really possible in this situation… as he so often did anymore, he found his team's random nonsense oddly comforting. Stopping to sit by the Viking, Jace exhaled slowly and shook his head. "We're coming too fucking close here."

That was for sure. Lance looked in the direction of their stash, remembering what it had looked like before the guard and his rare honors showed up. "Two more fights, you think? Maybe three?"

"Two or three if we can keep the rate up," Hunk agreed. "Didn't get a ton after this one, but at least we brought back the most important stuff, yeah?"

"Can't argue with that."

"Ugh." The prospect of two or three _more_ of these fights was enough to give Daniel a throbbing headache; he tried banging his head against the wall to ease the pain. "This is never ending! And the fights just keep getting harder!" _So much running._

"Porra—fallen angel, we've already got two probable concussions in here, _stop that."_

"Yeah, give the wall a break, kid."

"Daniel's right." Keith was careful not to say so until he'd stopped banging his head against the wall. No sense encouraging that behavior—though if he endorsed it that would guarantee Daniel never did it again. He put that aside. "We were outnumbered and we took too many injuries."

"And it's not likely to _stop_ getting harder, kir sa tye? We have to be ready."

Their gunner shot Pidge a glare. "And how exactly would you suggest we get more ready than we already are?"

"Not banging your head on solid rock is a start." The glare turned into a pout.

"Fine, no more brain abuse. You guys smack my head enough anyway."

Keith decided he was just going to not address any of that. It was safer. "It seems like there must be some sort of… step system? Winners fight winners of a different fight?"

"Like a tournament?"

"Wonder if there's a bracket."

"Yeah, sure. March Sadness."

"It does seem to make sense…" Cam sighed, wishing he had something more useful to say. He could've told them all about Fourth Kingdom press gangs or Seventh Kingdom ransom privateers, but Ninth Kingdom gladiatorial arenas were not a subject that anyone had considered particularly important back at the Academy.

Daniel was back to glaring. "Who gives a shit how they choose who we fight? We keep getting more and more injured, the fights keep getting worse and worse, we're two or three more from getting out of here—"

"—We're trying to figure out the system we're stuck in." Lance walked over to him, though not too close. "To prepare for whatever comes next."

"And if it's only two or three more fights we're closer to the end than the start, yeah? That's gotta be worth somethin'." Hunk shrugged. "I just want a bracket, if we've gotta gladiate we should at least be able to bet on ourselves for the Final Four."

"How does knowing if it's a tournament help us prepare to get our asses kicked?"

"It means Pidge is right, too. They'll only keep getting harder…"

Well _that_ was uplifting.

Flynn looked up, a small frown on his face. Something about this discussion, about the fight they'd just had, the extra time to recover… a realization hit. "It means that all the opposing teams are in the same condition we are."

The others shifted a little bit. "That's not a lie."

"…Tired. Worried. Injuries adding up."

"Those Drules we fought didn't seem all that worried."

"Oh yeah? The badass Crown Guard was off-balance enough to stab each other because some crazy fuck," Jace raised his hand, "tackled the dude between them. That's a lot of things, but it's not peak gladiatorial performance."

Daniel blinked. He didn't have an answer to that point.

"They probably don't think _we're_ worried." Hunk frowned. "To hear Skeletor tell it, we're super badass too."

"…Skeletor?" Lance repeated, eyeing Hunk in confusion.

"It's his name."

"It's not," Sven murmured from his pillow. Lance decided to just set that aside.

"They believe everything they're selling us, kir sa tye?" Pidge shook his head. "That we're great warriors who should be honored to fight in their arena for their approval."

"They don't even get that our team name is a joke," Cam scoffed.

Daniel made a face. "I don't want anybody's approval…" He'd barely gotten the words out when he found himself looking over at Lance. _Don't think about it, don't think about it… oh fuck, I'm thinking about it_. He sighed.

"At least that princess isn't making us kill our opponents. I still wish I knew why." Keith sighed too. He knew they'd already had this discussion, watching the other gladiators, but it felt like there was something there he just… wanted, needed, to understand.

"Maybe she likes us," Jace suggested with a shrug. That sounded familiar.

"Maybe she hates us," Pidge countered; that was enough to get him a glare from Vince, though one he regretted immediately.

"Ow."

"Maybe she flips a coin," Hunk offered. "And uh… what's the line? Fate protects fools, little children, and Explorer Teams?"

"Which has a lot of overlap," Jace pointed out; Sven cracked a small smile. Hunk cracked a bigger one.

"Ain't wrong."

"She's been the only one to judge us, too…" Keith was still caught up on the original question, and Lance snorted.

"Now's really not the time for a crush, boss."

The commander stared at him; he shrugged. Cam grinned slightly. "He's got no chance anyway, she's supposed to marry the crown prince." Now Keith's jaw dropped and he whirled on Cam in shock.

Several of the others giggled.

"Bad fanboy."

"Good fanboy!"

"The _best_ fanboy."

Daniel looked over at Jace, laughing. "Is this how you feel when Sven is an ass?"

"Fuck yeah it is!" The medic gave a huge grin.

Cam shook his head and tried to protest, for all the good it ever did him. "I'm not a fanboy…"

"Dude, some people get all dressed up and wave foam fingers and stuff, at sports, you learn swords and talk up how he's hitting on the princess." Hunk winked. "Embrace the fanboying!"

"Seriously. We've had this conversation like a dozen times, I'm not even gonna bother explaining it again."

Finally mustering a glare, Cam shot back, "And you're not a fanboy of Lance?"

"…Oh no."

"Enough, Cam."

"Oh fuck no you two don't, we've got two _probable concussions_ in this cell."

Ignoring them all, Daniel took a deep breath and plastered his biggest, brightest smile on his face. "No, no. It's okay. I'm not mad." That didn't reassure anyone; Lance raised an eyebrow, and Cam stared at him in confusion—confusion that took on a tinge of resignation as he realized where this was inevitably about to go. Sure enough, still smiling, Daniel continued. "At least I'm not a kiss-ass who got shot trying to flirt."

"…And there it is." Lance shook his head, biting back more laughter.

"…Sandwich murderer," Cam shot back with a sigh.

"You've both got solid points."

Flynn looked between them and shook his head slightly. "Look, they gave us extra time to rest. Shouldn't we maybe… rest?" He looked between Vince and Sven, worried. "Or at least shut up so the injured can rest?" Daniel wasn't listening, as usual.

"Dude, that's not even an insult, I'm proud of that. Toast is way better than his sandwiches."

Jace glared. "Does this _really_ seem like the appropriate place to piss off the medic, kid? Anyway, chief's right. Everyone shut up and grab a bed." He poked the mat nearest him. "They're about like what we had in the infantry, you'll be fine."

All that got him was ganged up on; Daniel and Cam both grinned. "Doesn't matter how pissed you are, you still bandage us up."

"Yeah, Doc is the real angel on this team. When we get out of here we need to get him a halo and a little harp."

"…Please, yes." The medic buried his head under a pillow. "Give me a harp so I can _strangle you with the fucking strings."_

The whole group burst into laughter, which Sven and Vince immediately regretted. And for a few moments, everything felt almost normal.

* * *

Finally home… about as home as a half-ruined castle could get, anyway. There was still the scramble to see exactly what the Drules had done to the place. Some places had actually been fixed up, with the governor claiming it for himself. Many more had not. There was much damage to repair and many possible traps to clear, but for now, Allura had a spot she could hold all to herself and it was more home than the shelter tunnels had ever been. A small room, a threadbare bed, a window facing the north where she could see the Thunder Ridge in the distance.

Closing her eyes, she could see in her mind what was hidden there… Black Lion, lying asleep in his den. It may have been wishing, but she felt a slight huff as she envisioned him, the sound of a sleeping creature being made to wake and perhaps roll over.

Looking first to make sure she was alone, she spoke softly. "Oh, Lion of Storms… I hope that our reclaiming the castle is leading you closer to your reawakening."

A grunt rippled within her mind, like a distant peal of thunder. "I fear, royal cub… it is not."

Closing her eyes while leaning her head against the window, the princess nodded her understanding. "So, best to gather supplies and recover anything of value. Brace for the inevitable strike back from Zarkon."

"Do not lose hope…" The lion sighed heavily. "Perhaps with what has been removed, something will reveal itself. An opening… or what is needed… yet requires a chance to be found."

Allura pondered this. She was painfully aware that they had suffered greatly in reclaiming the castle. Casualties had been high. It couldn't only have been to stall, to go out in one last blaze of glory, had it? No. They still had a chance to survive, and she had to believe they were buying time to make it reality. Nipping her lip in her own frustration, she murmured, "I can only hope that such answers can be found in time."

"Your actions are still sound… let not your youth break… your focus."

The princess sighed as she heard the rumble of Black Lion drifting once more to sleep. Taking a deep breath, she went back to her father's notes. The lion's own words were not much less cryptic than the ancient sources he'd been collecting. But if she could find more, maybe even bring it to the lion, she might find something her father might have overlooked. Again, a pressing need for time that she barely had…

A warning chirp from one of the space mice told of someone approaching her room. Stashing her notes away, she readied herself for a meeting with her council. There would be updates and planning to do, to consolidate their position. Most importantly of all, making sure there would be eyes on the sky for anything. They'd come so far…

They wouldn't fail now.


	42. Honor

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 41_  
Honor

* * *

Whatever the reward structure of the arena, the Drules seemed to have one thing figured out: extra time for rest and recovery could do with including some time outside the _cell_. Skalor had told them he'd actually lobbied for extra time in the rec yard for them—a couple of the team had even managed surly mutters of gratitude. Even that had gotten them glared at by Jace, but it was kind of a halfhearted glare.

This gladiator deal was a lot of things, and _just plain weird_ was near the top of the list.

It was a slightly brighter day out as they stepped into the prison yard, and those who hadn't come the last time looked around with particular interest. "Wow, this is… different."

"Bigger than I expected."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Daniel was looking around for another soccer-ish game to join, though he wasn't really sure he wanted to. His legs still ached from the last fight… he was _so over_ running.

Their medic was giving him his best look of abject disdain. "Yeah, it's not bad for a _prison yard."_

Lance looked around more carefully, taking note of their fellow yard occupants. It mostly looked like gladiators, or at least there were groups clustered together, several with similarly torn and bloody clothing to their own. It also looked like some 'normal' slaves were out and about—or at least, the threadbare clothing and skittish nature of those wandering the yard's outskirts did not scream _gladiator_.

Looking around also, Keith took in the surroundings as quickly as he could. The people, the walls, the guard posts, the cracked portion of wall that Pidge had told them about after their last day out. He didn't see anything that looked immediately useful to their goals, and sighed. Morale and exercise was it, then. "So. We just wander?"

Flynn smirked. "What, you're not going to go all drill sergeant on us?"

"Do you want me to do that? I can."

"It might be an efficient use of—" Pidge was cut off by Hunk elbowing him, and glared but seemed to decide that wasn't a fight he wanted to get into.

Daniel felt safe enough with Hunk in between them to shoot the ninja a glare—and Flynn too while they were at it. "Why would you even give him those ideas?"

"Seriously." Lance shot the boss a wink and a salute. "_No_ orders for push-ups, you got it, sir!" Keith rolled his eyes.

"I can't even do a push-up," Vince muttered, and immediately regretted it when it turned out people actually heard him.

Mostly Sven, who was pretty sure all of his physical checks drifted through his mind at once. "You can't?"

"Barely."

"How did you graduate?"

"I honestly am unsure, sir." Vince was unsure about a _lot_ of things that had led to his ending up here. Push-ups had hardly even been on his radar.

Sven shrugged, accepting that, and Keith glanced over. "We'll have to work on that some more, Vince."

"Yay."

"Dude, I've seen your fucking fitness records." Jace cleared his throat and took on his stuffiest, most official tone. "Subject displays nontraditional form bordering on isometric exercise. Sufficient upper body strength is still demonstrated. Recommend waiving numerical requirement under Capacities Clause section 2.6." He dropped back into his normal voice and glowered a little. "Did you give up halfway through?"

"Probably? I prefer using my brain…" Vince paused, blinking. "Wait, you memorized it?"

"I memorize a lot of bullshit."

"Can you repeat it?" Cam asked, looking between them. "In… like… Common this time?"

Jace smirked. "It means sparky here gave up in the middle of the push-up and just sat there, which is actually harder than just doing the fucking push-up, so they figured it was good enough."

A lot of people stared at Vince, who shrugged. He'd blocked out as much physical training as he could from his memory—he'd just wanted to work with wires!—but it sounded like something he'd do.

"…Sounds about right." Pidge's words echoed his thoughts, and he found himself hoping _that_ wouldn't happen again any time soon. It was weird.

Lance on the other hand looked mildly betrayed. "We could _do_ that?" Daniel snorted.

"Don't worry, little dude. I could hardly do a push-up either." Hunk reached over and ruffled his hair; he stumbled. "Oops."

Sven chuckled, and Lance shook his head. "Yeah, big guy, don't knock him over!"

Wholly uninterested in any discussion of push-ups, Flynn had been keeping an eye on their surroundings. Standing here at the entrance talking about things they didn't even want to do didn't seem like the most productive use of their time. "Just wandering does seem to be legitimate." About half the gladiators and most of the non-combatant slaves seemed to be doing just that.

"Alright, let's wander." Keith nodded. "We can always work on form or technique in a little bit. For now just… relax a little." As if they could really relax here, but everyone understood what was being said.

"Yeah sure." Lance shook his head. "Like a day at the park, but no picnics or dogs chasing frisbees." He found himself walking next to Keith as the group split off, and decided that was fine. As long as the bossman didn't call him anything stupid, like a _mentor_, it would be fine.

"How are you doing, Lance?" Keith spoke quietly. He felt like he wasn't keeping a very good handle on his people during this ordeal… they were all in one cell, he could see everything that was going on, but one on one conversations just weren't much of a thing.

"Just peachy," the pilot muttered, then sighed and backed down from the snark. "Holding in there." He found himself glancing in Daniel's direction and mentally dared Keith to say anything about it.

He did, but nothing he had to get yelled at over. "How's he doing?"

"Not sure. Think he's doing a good job pretending to be alright. Unsure if that's a good thing, but then… so am I." _Aren't we all, really?_

"It probably isn't optimal," Keith admitted, nodding slowly. "But we can't really do anything except keep surviving to escape, and if that means we have to pretend to be okay… then that's what we'll do."

That was a remarkably depressing way to look at it, but there weren't a lot of not-depressing takes on their current predicament. "Yeah. And then we deal with it all, I guess…" That seemed like a recipe for a lot of messiness, actually. "How're _you_ doing, boss?"

Biting his lip, Keith briefly entertained the thought of answering that honestly. Very briefly. The seconds of consideration would have been counted in fractions, and not large ones. But he did consider it. "My shoulder is better, still pretty sore."

"Good, good." Lance eyed his shoulder. "Also not what I meant."

Of course it wasn't. This time Keith did not _consider_ the truth, per se. He cursed that he couldn't actually tell the truth, that he was terrified, that it felt like they were just barely clinging to the edge and racing something they couldn't see to avoid going over…

"…I'm alright. Just trying to keep us all alive and semi-sane."

Lance didn't buy that, and didn't even pretend to buy it. But he did understand it. _We'll deal with it all once we're out of here._ "Yeah. I think we're all doing that."

"I just wish this escape plan were going faster. We have to get out of here." That was hardly news either, but as he looked around the yard he felt his guts clenching with a little extra anxiety.

"We will." Lance was not here for this kind of pessimism. "I—We gotta fucking believe that."

"We _have_ to."

"The plan is good." _We've just gotta get there._ "We're all with you on this, boss."

_But what if… _no, _don't go there, Kogane._ Keith shook his head and tried to chase the thoughts out. It wasn't supposed to be this way. "Yeah, it is good." He forced himself to move on. "You seemed to be doing alright in the last fight. Improving."

Oh, yes, talking _specifically_ about the arena would definitely lessen his fears of what might happen in the arena. _Great idea, Kogane._ But he couldn't really take it back now.

Lance just shrugged; he didn't want to talk about that very much either. "It's all adrenaline and the will to survive."

"Not _exactly_ what I meant, but that's about normal." He actually managed a small grin as he clarified. "You going to take up swordfighting when we get out of this?"

"Fuck no! I never want to touch a sword again."

The look of disgust on Lance's face only made Keith's tentative smile widen. "Well, it's not for everyone, I suppose. But I'm sure if you wanted…"

The pilot just scoffed. "Guns are better. Less messy."

That seemed to leave out a few crucial details. "Depends which side of the gun you're on."

"…Point."

They moved on, debating the merits of their weapons of choice, and for a little while managing not to think too much about _using_ them.

* * *

Flynn was jogging along the outside wall, thankful to at least be able to stretch his legs a bit. The cell was not _cramped_, but there was still only so much ten people in one room could do to keep themselves loose. Shortly into the run he noticed Pidge shadowing him, and stopped; the ninja stopped also. Shaking his head, Flynn motioned him forward. "How's your back?"

"Fine." He sounded intensely annoyed to be reminded of the wound. As he indeed was; it hurt and cut down his range of motion a bit, and the fact that he'd allowed himself to be _hit in the back_ was just embarrassing. "Worry about yourself."

Sigh. "Pidge, we're in a heavily guarded recreation yard. I know you don't think highly of my combat survival skills," _okay so that's actually pretty well justified_, "but I hope I don't have to worry about myself that much here."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm thinking something very disrespectful right now."

Flynn snorted. Was that the most Pidge thing he'd ever heard Pidge say? Maybe not, but it was in the running. "I'll bet you are. Fine, I'll be careful not to trip over any rocks or anything."

He didn't see a single rock in this whole damn prison yard. Easy promise to keep, then.

They'd been jogging in silence for a few more minutes when Pidge spoke up again. "…Sir?"

"Yes?"

"You said I could talk to you about anything, kir sa tye?"

Stopping so abruptly he nearly _did_ fall over—and wouldn't that have been fun—Flynn took a breath and recovered his composure before turning back to face him. He'd kind of figured the ninja had written that offer off. "Sure did."

"And what you meant was that I could talk to you about all the things you keep trying to ask me that I don't want to answer, but you didn't actually say that."

_The hell?_ "I don't believe I specified?" Of course that was precisely what he'd been talking about—whatever personal hell this kid had going on that had made him like, well, like _this_. But it wasn't that he was uninterested or unwilling to talk about anything else. He'd just assumed… "I mean, I wasn't expecting you to engage in small talk but that's more of a _you_ thing. What's on your mind?"

Pidge considered that for a moment then shook his head, already having second thoughts about this. He didn't need to waste Flynn's time with nonsense. And that's what this was, _nonsense_. A little gleam of idle curiosity with no bearing on their mission or their goals. "…It's nothing."

_Oh for…_ Flynn crossed his arms and gave the ninja a _look_. Was he supposed to have said no? "It is certainly not _that_."

Sigh. _Fine_. "What's a frisbee?"

Flynn's arms dropped to his sides. _What_.

"Lance said something about dogs chasing them."

_No. Really. What._

"I thought the human stereotype was that dogs chase cats? I took a lot of zoology electives, but I've never heard of any animal called a frisbee. Are they like other bees?"

Finally, Flynn found his voice. A small, mischievous grin crept over his lips. He should _not_ answer this question like this, and yet… "Very unique wildlife," he said wisely. "They're extremely docile—you basically have to throw them to get them going, but once you do they can fly a good distance."

Frown. "That sounds… like an impractical evolutionary strategy."

"Probably. And then when they land, they'll just sit there and wait until you come get them…"

"But…" Pidge's expression of careful attention had become more and more suspicious as he went on. "…You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

Grin. "Pidge, you invoked 'talk to me about anything' with a _great_ deal of gravity to ask me about presumably esoteric wildlife. I'm taking it seriously, I promise you, but _faex_ you're adorable."

"Jalekya sa kye…"

"No doubt I deserve whatever you just called me." He put a hand on Pidge's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, still looking down at him with a faint grin. "I told the truth about the frisbees. Except they're usually plastic."

…_Plastic. Of course they are._

Pidge elbowed him. Hard. "That does not qualify as _wildlife_, sir." But as he spun away and went back to jogging, Flynn caught something he'd hardly ever seen before.

The ninja, for the briefest of moments, had _laughed_.

* * *

"Do you have everyone's medical files memorized?"

"Maybe."

"What am I allergic to?"

"Brunch. And spoons."

Sven and Jace had wandered their way to the sidelines of a game of… well, something. It looked vaguely like volleyball, except there was no actual net and occasionally someone would tackle an opponent before they could volley. It was interesting to watch—despite having no idea what was going on—and they weren't the only spectators who'd turned up, so it seemed okay.

Looking away from the game, Sven burst into snickers at Jace's response to his challenge; he wasn't allergic to anything, theoretically. Though he liked the sound of this. "I don't think that's in my file, though it explains why I'm always so miserable at them. I'm going to need you to write me a doctor's note when we get back."

Smirk. "I can do that. Matter of fact, I can add that to your records, and don't think I fucking won't."

Sven did not doubt that for a second, and he smiled. "Much appreciated."

"Feels like fucking forever ago that we were on that first run and they didn't even _give_ me your medical records…" Jace sighed heavily. He hated this nostalgia shit. On the other hand, having something to be nostalgic _about_ was a change of pace. "…Y'know, this sucks, but at least we're not in the fucking temple of murder again."

Was that their medic displaying optimism? His own _unique_ brand of optimism, but optimism nonetheless. "You're right." _This is much better than being electrocuted._ At least nobody in the arena had set them on fire. "We bring up that temple far too often, you know. I've aged at least ten years since then."

"Yeah, you can tell you've aged, you grew a prison beard before we were even in prison." Jace sounded amused.

Sven pretended _not_ to be amused, shooting him a glare. "My beard, when properly managed, makes me look _distinguished_."

It had nothing to do with _intending_ to look distinguished, of course. He never had gotten around to picking up a razor.

"That's one of the most _you_ things you've ever said, holy shit."

"…Thank you? Language, please. Vince has started cursing now." His glower became all the more disapproving. "Corrupting me is one thing, leave our youth alone."

Oh. They were going to do this? Of course they were going to do this, why the fuck not. Jace crossed his arms and matched the navigator's pious look with his most infuriating smirk. "The only _youth_ around here who pays attention to me is Daniel, and he doesn't need corrupt—wait!" The smirk turned into a look of mild betrayal. "Vince cursed? I want _details_, Viking. All of them! And it better be real cursing, 'badass' doesn't count, that's not fucking cursing."

They were _so_ doing this. "What are you talking about? Bad-you-know-what most certainly is cursing!"

It was _possible_ he'd phrased it that way just to see if he could break the medic. It worked. Gloriously. "BAD YOU KNOW WHAT?!" Grabbing his shirt, Jace dragged him away from the game—a few of the others watching, already giving them a wide berth, were now also giving them weird looks. "And you didn't understand how Vince could get out of the Academy without push-ups?"

"Push-ups are mandatory, or at least I thought they were. Cursing is not. The only reason you'd need it, and I'd argue it's not truly a need, is to fit in with your peer group." He gave a challenging smirk of his own. "Which is idiotic, as you know."

They'd had this conversation before, or at least one very similar to it. More than once. Sven knew full well Jace didn't swear to fit in with a peer group—quite the opposite. Jace knew full well he wasn't actually going to drag any profanity out of the Viking. But why would it stop either of them?

"_Wrong_, caralho." He started pacing, shaking his head in grumbling indignation. "Profanity serves an important purpose, which is to let the world know how fucking pissed off you are, but! More to the point, badass is _essential_. There is no word that replaces badass. Hardcore doesn't work, because badass is a noun and hardcore is an adjective—don't give me that look, I actually paid attention to that grammatical shit when I learned English!—you don't call someone 'a hardcore'. They are _not_ interchangeable!" He paused a moment. "Which is why it's not real cursing, profanity doesn't have the same effect if it's not fucking optional."

"I _will_ give you that look because it _does_ have replacements." Sven crossed his own arms. "You see, I paid attention to English as well, and it turns out that it has a lot of words to describe things. There are whole _books_ of them! When saying the," he cleared his throat and looked Jace straight in the eye, "_bad you know what_ word, you are essentially just calling a person, place, or thing amazing. And/or distinctly tough. There are plenty of ways to describe that, thus making it optional, and thus by your own definition it counts as real cursing."

They stared each other down for a few moments, waiting to see who would crack first. It was Jace, biting his lip to keep the laughter back, and finally shaking his head. "An example, Viking. Give me six letters that get the same point across. But to be honest I don't have anything to add to this that you haven't heard already… when this shit is over I'm gonna write a fucking manifesto."

"Please do. I'm sure it'd make an exciting read, and probably get you arrested."

Jace gave in and burst into laughter at that. Which Sven couldn't help but be amused by himself… because he'd been dead serious.

* * *

Vince was wandering a little aimlessly, eyes darting nervously back and forth. The others had said the yard was 'safe', there was a code, and all that. And everything going on around him did seem to be pretty friendly. But there was knowing it and there was _feeling_ it, and the last thing he felt here was safe.

It was hard to miss Hunk following him like a very large and cheerful guard dog, and after a minute he gave the other engineer a quizzical look. "Buddy system?"

"Yep!" Grin. "We can not do push-ups together."

Snort. "I didn't even remember that until Doc said it. I just spent all the physical conditioning sessions reminding myself I had to live through them to get back to the interesting stuff."

"Hey, that's fair. I spent 'em being tired." Hunk flexed an arm that was nearly as big around as Vince's waist, then shrugged. "I think the line in my file was 'build not optimized for endurance'? Or that was the kamikaze crush car I built. One of the two."

If there were indeed still things in the galaxy that could surprise Vince after all this, Hunk's Hunk-ness was not among them. "Yeah that sounds about right. I was always so thrilled to be done I forgot about how tired I was… until I sat down and couldn't get back up for an hour."

"Little dude, that is the _most_ legit thing."

The big man's grin hadn't faded, and Vince found himself badly wanting his secret. He suspected it wasn't going to be something that exactly translated, but… "How are you doing it? You know…" He gestured widely. "Hanging."

Hunk stopped to consider that for a minute. "Thinkin' about the killer BBQ party we're gonna have when we get where we're goin', for one thing. Because we are _so_ gonna have the biggest BBQ party ever." No, that definitely wasn't helpful, and he sobered a little as Vince's shoulders slumped. "…I dunno, little dude. We've been through a whole lot of crazy before, and we've always come out the other side. We're an Explorer Team for a reason, yeah?" He clapped him a bit more carefully on the back. "You too."

They kept clinging to that, and Vince kept not feeling very Explorer Team-y. But he was still here. And he'd done things on this mission he'd never dreamed he could do, even if most of them had terrified him… he found himself cracking a tentative smile. "Could we have cornbread at the barb… uh, the BBQ?"

"Heck yeah we can." The tentative smile became a bright grin, and he forged on ahead. "You and the Doc can make some risotto."

"Does that really go at BBQs?" He supposed it had to go _somewhere_, and if it wasn't cooking shows it might as well be a barbecue, but it still seemed a little off-brand for that sort of thing. "I mean, I did enjoy making it."

"Anything can go at a BBQ, little dude. Anyone who tells you there's rules at a BBQ is _wrong_." Pausing, he frowned and quickly amended that opinion. "…Okay, there's gotta be ribs. One rule."

Vince snorted, and it turned into a laugh. "And cornbread."

"And cornbread!"

It seemed crazy to be talking about cornbread and barbecues _here_. But Vince couldn't deny it made him feel better.

* * *

"How's the leg?"

Daniel made a face. Couldn't fanboy see he was limping? …Was he limping? He wasn't actually sure if he was still limping. "It's alright. The stitches have stopped ripping open so I'm assuming that means it's getting better." That much was all true, at least… he supposed he ought to reciprocate the question. Though technically what he was about to ask had fuck-all to do with physical health. "You doin' okay?"

"Are you…" Cam had started to ask the same thing, then chuckled softly as Daniel beat him to it. "I guess so, I mean, considering. Dude, you're in my head."

"Yeah that's what I need, to be inside someone else's head. Mine's bad enough." All he'd really been referring to there was his proud status as a horrible little shit, but he winced as he thought about what _else_ had been in his head lately and decided he regretted the joke.

"…Doing that good, huh?"

"Oh I'm fantastic. Practically shittin' rainbows."

Cam stopped and eyed him, leaning back against the wall they were following. "When did you become a unicorn?"

"I've always been a unicorn, how else to explain my sparkling personality?"

Snort. "At least you still have a sense of humor." Looking up and down the yard, he found his own thoughts trending darker again. He didn't want to doubt the team, and their commander least of all, but the situation did kind of suck.

"…You think this plan is actually gonna work?"

"It has to." That wasn't an answer. "It has to before one of us…"

"Dies? Yeah. Good news though, it probably won't be you." Daniel felt like he and Vince surely had the best odds of leaving the arena with the corpse-clearing teams next time. Maybe outside money on Keith and his hero complex.

Something about that—either his words or just his expression—sent a shiver of foreboding up Cam's spine. "I mean, just, I know we've pulled off some crazy miracles but I can't help worrying about it…"

Oh. He got it now. "I'm probably not the best person to talk to if you're wanting a pep talk. I may be shitting rainbows but I'm not exactly Mr. Sunshine."

Grinning, Cam smacked his arm gently. "Oh, my little angel isn't full of sunshine _and_ rainbows?"

Daniel's head snapped up. "I am _not_ your little angel." Oh fuck no. Not again. Never again. "You are never allowed to call me that again _ever_."

Eyebrows shooting up, Cam took a step back and wondered if he should start running the other direction. Why was he so good at accidentally pissing people off? "Okay. Sorry. Um, dare I ask?"

"I'd _rather_ talk about my _daddy issues_." That may or may not have actually been true.

"You have daddy issues…?" Cam reached up and squeezed his forehead. Daniel didn't talk about his family, which seemed to support that, but… "I'm so confused."

_You're so fucking blonde_. By some miracle Daniel didn't say that; maybe he hadn't learned enough to stop _having_ the thoughts, but he'd gathered enough tact to keep them to himself. At least sometimes. Score one for fanboy's unwitting crash course on patience. "What exactly are you wanting out of this conversation?" he asked instead, eyes narrowing.

_Good question_. "Guess I'm just… trying to distract myself, I don't know." He gave a long sigh, wishing Daniel hadn't brought up family at all. "If babushka knew where we were right now…"

…_Well, fuck. Now I feel bad_. Daniel shook his head in annoyance. He definitely should not feel bad about annoying his roommate—former roommate? _Nah, think positive,_ they'd be stuck in a room again together soon, and they were technically all roommates now anyway—but he should probably feel bad about getting him all worried about what his granny would think of this mess. _Stop being a dick_.

"Okay fine. If it will make you feel better, I will give you a _smidge_ of information on my… _father issues_."

…_Would_ that make him feel better? "You don't have to. I barely even remember my parents—"

"—I don't remember my mom. She died when I was like, three—"

"—Dad vanished when I was like… five? Then Mom disappeared not long after I started school—"

"—and Professor Brennan was _not fucking prepared_ to raise a kid by himself, let's put it that way."

"—and babushka never talked about them, she just sniffled and told me about more famous ancestors."

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, each trying to get a handle on what the other had just said. Then Daniel dug deep for what sympathy he could muster. "…That sucks, man." _Oh yes. The compassion overfloweth. _He was feeling creepy and uncomfortable himself; he didn't like sharing. Not even a smidge. But at least he knew where his parents _were_—both in bumfuck Utah, just one was six feet lower than the other.

"…Yeah." Cam was blushing. He wasn't sure why he'd spilled that. Nor why he'd felt it was so important to get it out _now_. What was the rush? "Um. Sorry, I…"

"What are you sorry for? You apologize too much. I never apologize."

Wasn't that the truth; it actually managed to coax a chuckle from him. "You did good yesterday. In the fight."

"Thanks. I ran. A lot. I didn't actually see you fight much, but I'm assuming you did good too, seeing as you're alive and pretty much uninjured." He snorted. "I was mostly just focused on not dying, Lance has made it very, very clear I'm not allowed to die. I'm pretty sure he tells me some form of 'no dying' at least once every day."

"He likes you."

"Yeah." _But_ why _does he like me?_ "I don't get it, majority of the time I'm just being a smartass at him." _He's weird_.

"Well, I can't speak for him, but…" Cam offered his fist. "I think you're alright."

That was _actually_ one of the nicest things a roommate had ever said about him. Daniel gave his fist a bump. "You're alright too. Most of the time." Frown. "Alright, that's enough _feeling sharing_ for the next ten years or so."

Ten years sounded completely reasonable. "Well, just survive." He bumped his shoulder, too, and winked. "Because I'm totally gonna owe you a swirly when we get out of this."

…_Really?_ Daniel glared. "Do you go from a touchy feely weirdo to a high school bully with inadequacy issues with everyone, or is it just me?"

Shrug. "I'm just teasing you! And I can't help that I'm in touch with my feelings. Is there one you'd prefer?"

"Hmm." He weighed it on his hands. "Sappy stuff that makes me incredibly uncomfortable, high school bully. Sappy, bully. I'm gonna say… neither." Catching sight of Lance and Keith, he took off in that direction. Cam was _always_ on his best behavior around Keith.

* * *

The team was starting to fall back in together as the shadows in the rec yard lengthened. Cam and Daniel were the first to meet back up with Keith and Lance; Lance noticed Daniel was wearing his telltale 'fed up with Cam' face and hid a snicker.

"Cam. Daniel." Keith nodded a solemn welcome to them, as if they'd been gone for weeks rather than half an hour.

"Commander." Daniel looked at Lance. "Non-Commander."

Cam giggled, and Lance shook his head with a grin. "Smartass."

Studying Daniel for a minute, Keith turned to Lance and cracked the slightest of smirks. "I'm right, you know."

Glare. "Oh, shut up."

"You're only right like, three percent of the time." Daniel had only learned so much patience.

"There's times when it does feel that way…"

He filed that away for future use.

"Better ratio than intel," Flynn pointed out, walking up with a somewhat perturbed-looking Pidge in tow.

"That's true."

Sven and Jace were arriving too, and Sven looked almost as agitated as Pidge. "You alright, Sven?"

"So, what the fuck's the plan now?" Lance said at the same time, and found himself the immediate recipient of an icy Viking glare.

"Language."

Smirk. "English or French?"

"Politeness."

"No… don't know that one, sorry."

Walking up to the group beside Hunk, Vince's immediate thought was that maybe he ought to turn around.

Pidge had already turned, and become distracted by a commotion on one of the fields. A group of what looked to be gladiators, some kind of pale yellow-green humanoids, had cornered a small fuzzy slave of some sort and were barking at it in Drakure.

A couple of the others took note, following his gaze, and by the time over if the gladiators shoved the slave into the dirt they had the entire 686's attention.

"They asked for water two minutes ago," Cam translated, making a face. "…I don't know _that_ word but I know it's not suitable for polite company."

_Who are you calling polite company?_ Jace didn't voice the thought, only because he had more immediate concerns. "Didn't they tell us last time there's no fighting in the yard?"

"Yeah, they did." Lance's eyes narrowed as the slave tried to get up and was promptly shoved over again.

"Now they're just swearing at him."

Flynn's expression darkened as well. Actually they were all having that reaction. "Someone correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked, the gladiators are just as much slaves as the… other slaves."

"Accurate, sir." Pidge had murder in his eyes—not _unusual_, exactly, but more so than his standard.

"They're sure not talking like they think so." Cam shook his head slightly. "Should we get involved?"

Jace snorted. "Well if we do, we're not the ones that started the fucking fight."

"They are," Keith agreed, stepping forward. "Leave him alone."

Lance and Daniel moved to help the slave up as Keith stepped between him and the gladiators, glaring. Hunk and Sven moved up to flank him, both with their scariest expressions; the rest of the team stood back just a step or two, but there was no question they were all wound tight enough to snap in an instant if forced.

"Gira'tash kla…" One of the gladiators—who'd been quietly standing by, though he hadn't laid a hand on the slave himself—looked at them nervously, and most of them understood what he'd said. Even those who didn't speak a single other word of Drakure usually picked up quickly enough that _Gira'tash_ meant _Earthling_.

"Are you alright?" Lance asked the fuzzy thing as he and Daniel got it to its feet. It had sharp fangs and strong muscles—the sort of thing he'd have expected could stand up for itself. But based on how timidly it reacted to their help, he suspected it had been pretty thoroughly conditioned not to.

"Th… thank you," it stammered in squeaky Common. "Yes, I'm okay…"

"Good. Go on and get out of here."

As the slave fled, Lance turned to add his own glare to the staredown between gladiators.

"…What's your problem?" the apparent leader of the other group finally scoffed. "They're just slaves. It's their job to do as they're ordered, and they should be _honored_ to serve us."

"We're all in a fucking prison yard, caralho," Jace snorted.

Keith nodded, fixing his gaze fully on the leader as the others bristled. "Last I checked, we're all slaves in here. You're no better than the one you were bullying. If you want water, get it yourself."

"Yeah," Daniel snorted. "We're just slaves used for entertainment instead of domestic work." He'd have preferred domestic work, really. Fetching water for assholes instead of facing death every couple days didn't sound so bad. "Slaves who fight instead of cleaning toilets, I'm totally feeling the honor."

Cam felt like he'd seen these aliens somewhere before, and it finally came to him—Chor Marens. They were no Drule vassal civilization. In fact, as of his last diplomacy class, they'd been in negotiations to join the Alliance. And yet here was this group acting like…

"We're gladiators!" The leader sounded almost _betrayed_. "We're rewarded for our battles—_you_ know that! The legendary Earthlings, of all of us!"

"And the slaves are a great reward," one of the other Chor Marens chuckled nastily. "Get them to do all _sorts_ of things."

"They should be honored to serve us. What _else_ are they going to do with their miserable existences?"

"What part of 'prison yard' is not sinking in?" Flynn asked in a low hiss. By now even Vince was glaring like he was ready to throat punch one of these jackasses.

Lance moved up a little closer, and the Chor Marens across from him backed up slightly. "Now you're the ones asking to hit the floor."

The leader gulped. Hard. "You can't hurt us, there's a code. A _gladiator_ code."

"Oh, now they have a code."

"I don't remember being advised of any code."

"Warrior codes are for warriors," Pidge said derisively. "Not cowards who beat up the helpless." Hunk gave his scariest grunt of agreement, and one of the opposing gladiators yelped.

Keith snorted, still holding his focus on their leader. "If you keep up what you were just doing, we're not going to care if there's a code or not."

If they'd had any further doubts about the reputation they'd apparently built up, the near panic of the other gladiators was all they needed to see. "The guards will—"

"—Come break it up like we're fucking _slaves?"_ Jace suggested, and the Chor Marens immediately shut up.

Daniel snickered. "Ooooh."

"…_You_ should really enjoy the perks while you _can_, freaks." The words could easily have been taken as a threat, but something in the leader's tone made it sound like something else. A warning? Just trying to screw with their heads? Probably that. Whatever it had been, he waved to his compatriots and turned away. "Come on, let's go find some damn water." The Chor Marens trooped off, looking surly and defeated, drawing a few curious looks from other clusters of slaves.

"…Earthlings," Pidge muttered under his breath, and glared as Flynn patted his shoulder.

Lance let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in a harsh sigh, then looked around at his team in sheer disbelief. "What the fuck was that?!"

"High school bullying, enslaved gladiator edition?" Daniel suggested; Cam made a face and shook his head.

"More like gulag hierarchy."

Jace was the one who pinned it down, though. What they'd just seen had pretty much confirmed what he'd been looking out for so sharply. "Welcome to Stockholm. Holy _fuck_."

"…That really happens?" Vince asked, and the medic nodded grimly.

"This arena bullshit is damn near designed for it. It's obviously working on some of them."

"Dude. That's, uh… that's a thing." Hunk frowned as the last traces of yellow-green in the distance. "I could totes be okay with it if they wanted to toss us into the arena with _those_ dudes. Give 'em somethin' to fight that'll actually be able to fight back."

Suddenly Lance went pale. The words had triggered a memory—unwanted, unbidden, and very unpleasant. But he didn't feel like he could keep it to himself either… much more hesitantly than usual, he spoke again. "Or they might toss us in with helpless slaves… heard a rumor or two about that back in the Vanguard."

That got everyone's attention. "What now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Huh?"

Cam felt another shiver run through him. "I've heard about… slave executions. Is that what you're referring to, Lance?"

"Yeah. Throw in some of the civilian slaves just to kill them for shits and giggles. I never put much stock in it, but uh, now we're _in a fucking gladiator prison."_

"Fucking what now." Jace was still trying to sort through it. "Like, the guards just go out and shoot someone? For fucking funsies?"

"No, Doctor. He means the gladiators are sent into battle against the non-fighting slaves. That's the rumor. They won't do it, though."

Now everyone turned to stare at Pidge. Vince shivered and found himself wishing for that coma dream yet again; Cam put a hand on his shoulder.

"…What makes you say that, Pidge?"

"Yeah, elaborate?"

"The Ninth Kingdom isn't like the Fourth," he explained, gesturing back after the long-gone Chor Marens. "The Fourth plays diplomat and then stabs you in the back. The Ninth Kingdom believes their own… delusions."

"Bullshit, Pidge," Flynn offered. "The phrase is 'believes their own bullshit'."

"Yes, that also." He shook his head. "Whatever it is they believe, it's bloodsport they want. Emphasis on sport. One-sided executions are not a fight."

"…That _shouldn't_ make me feel better," Daniel grumbled into the sudden awkward silence.

"Oh, so there _is_ an honor code," Lance snorted. "If you can call it that—"

"—Just because it doesn't make sense to _you_ doesn't mean it isn't a code, sir."

The sudden venom in Pidge's tone made Flynn suspect it wasn't Drule codes he was talking about at this point; he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back slightly. "Take it easy, Pidge." That intervention also served to keep Lance from snarling something back. Or maybe it was just the concerned look on Flynn's face.

Keith just stared at their systems analyst for a long moment, considering the original matter at hand. It rang true, with what they'd seen here. And Pidge had cause to know the Ninth Kingdom better than the rest of them—Balto was right on the Ninth's border, while Earth was literally the entire Interior Expanse away. "Pidge has a solid point. I don't think we need to worry about those rumors."

"That's the plan we're going with?" Jace muttered. "'They won't'? I fucking hope the ninjerk is right, then."

"Is there a plan that would actually do anything if they did?" Sven pointed out quietly; Pidge looked up at him.

"I believe the question is whether to comply or refuse, sir."

"Enough!" Keith frowned. "Dwelling on this does _not_ help us. We should do something else."

The team looked around at each other uncomfortably, then Flynn gestured to a discarded ball laying not too far away. He was trying to think of something they could actually _do_ with it without any other equipment, and his first thought came out before he could stop it. "Kickball?"

"…You wanna play kickball?" Lance echoed, and he shrugged.

"Dude." Hunk grinned. "I _rule_ at kickball. Wonder what would happen if I boot one over the walls?"

Looking up at the towering walls, then back down at their bomb tech, Jace slowly raised an eyebrow. "We wouldn't have a ball anymore."

"…Huh. Yeah, there's that."

"So, teams?" Lance looked around. "Me, the kid, Flynn, Pidge, and Hunk?"

"Oh sure, _that's_ a fair fight."

"Why does everybody else get called by their names and I get 'kid'?" Daniel complained; Pidge gave him a confused look.

"Everybody else gets called by their names?"

"…I have never been informed of any name except 'ninja' to call you, so yeah."

Vince snorted. "Do I have to play? I can keep score."

"No, you have to work out, Mr. Can't-Do-A-Push-Up." Jace glared at him until he acquiesced.

"We might actually get to play this game at some point," Cam murmured to Sven as the group bickered; the navigator just chuckled.

"We may just."

* * *

Most of the team had worn themselves out pretty sufficiently with kickball, and sleep came surprisingly quickly. Most. Not all. Keith was up and pacing in the dark cell, trying not to let his thoughts run too free. Formless fear was eating at him.

Something else was eating at him too—the distinct sense that he was being watched. Finally he turned to see Flynn also standing, leaning back in a corner, eyeing him in a way he didn't particularly care for.

"Kleid?"

The engineer's voice was soft but forceful. "Don't think I didn't notice you dodging that question earlier."

Oh. He shook his head, not wanting to think about that any more than necessary. "That wasn't a dodge. I believe Pidge… it just doesn't sound like something they'd actually do."

"Maybe not." Frown. "But they weren't supposed to give us trouble passing through Calidar, either. That didn't work out overly well."

Keith sighed. He supposed that was a fair point. "We don't have to play along with their game." _Why not? We have been so far_. But he let the words spill out because this was too much, a line they just couldn't cross. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. "If they pit us against people who aren't warriors, surely we can convince them not to fight? We're not their enemies. We could—"

"—All get shot by the thousand Drule soldiers in the stands?" Flynn snapped, uncharacteristically harshly. "Don't, Kogane. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pretend we're going to idealize our way out of this." He gestured to the bloodied gashes in his jacket. "We're fucking _beyond_ ideals here."

The hostility startled Keith, and drew his temper out in return. "Well since clearly you already know the right answer, why are you asking me?"

"I'm doing my job." Flynn's violet eyes narrowed. "_You_ are our commander. Are we completing this mission at any cost? Or are we not? I don't have an answer. It's your decision. But _those_ are the options."

…_There has to be another way._

_What if there isn't? He's right. You have to have an answer… just in case._

He didn't have one. From a coldly logical standpoint, the answer seemed obvious. It wasn't likely any of the other prisoners had escape plans in their final phases, let alone missions to retrieve a superweapon that might change the whole balance of power. But if they had to slaughter innocent people to get there…

"You're my second," he said quietly. "What are your thoughts?"

Now Flynn was quiet for a moment. "…I think we have to face reality." Keith expected to hear the same logic he'd just been going over in his head. But he didn't. "It's not as if they're going to set the winners free. If they put slaves up against us and we don't kill them, the next gladiators will. The blood isn't on our hands."

Well that… was certainly a way of looking at it. "You don't really believe it's that simple."

"No." Flynn lowered his eyes. "But I might be able to sleep at night."

Maybe. Maybe not. But Keith couldn't find a way to argue that point either. All the logic pointed one way… the most basic tenets of humanity pointed another.

"…This isn't how it's supposed to _be_," he said finally, very softly. Nobody else could be allowed to hear him voice such uncertainty. "We're soldiers. We're supposed to serve the Alliance and fight for the freedom of the galaxy. Not… not _this_. What the hell have we been thrown into here? This isn't what we were trained for."

His second's eyes narrowed slightly. "We do what we have to do, Kogane."

"And what's that?"

A pause. Then Flynn smiled weakly, crossing the cell and tapping his shoulder in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm not sure. But who better than us to figure it out?"

* * *

There was something oddly comforting about a gaive'llar slicing through the air. Romelle had noticed that—it was a dangerous weapon, carved from a fang to be a harbinger of death, yet it whistled like soft birdsong as she slashed and blocked. Yet another dichotomy of this world and its culture.

It was the only comfort in the room, considering _why_ the gaive'llar was dancing. The blade skipped off another and she stepped back, falling into a defensive stance, tense and sore with exertion and frustration. Her gaze sharpened, waiting for a counterstrike.

Her opponent chuckled. "Again. You were so close that time."

Lotor always smiled when she came _close_, and his compliments felt so condescending. She didn't drop her guard. "What did I do wrong this time?" Perhaps that had been ill-advised, but she was getting discouraged. No, she'd been discouraged for awhile now.

Of course he didn't pick that up. "Truthfully? Nothing. I've been trained for years by the finest warriors in all the Ninth Kingdom, and I'm stronger and faster than you. Your technique is becoming admirable, to hold your own so soon. Come, try it again."

So calm, so matter-of-fact. So encouraging. So patronizing.

Gods beyond and demons beneath, but she _hated_ him sometimes.

Perhaps her frustration was evident in her next lunge. Perhaps it was just Lotor's own words that made him recognize the problem. This sparring was such a doomed endeavor for his a'kuri in the end. She wasn't a match for him—not physically, not in training or experience. Perhaps… no, he couldn't just _let_ her win, it would dishonor them both. But as he blocked and countered her strikes, he smiled at her quick recoveries. And he made a decision…

Ducking beneath a sweep from his blade, Romelle feinted one way, snapping her weapon at the last second and coming around at his other side. It had been a beautiful, flawless technique, and he still could have reacted fast enough to block it.

Instead, he let it go, and her blade scratched down his forearm.

For a moment they just froze, staring at each other, and then Romelle stepped back in shock. "That… that worked?"

"Quite the ploy." Lotor smiled more broadly, baring his fangs. "I don't believe I taught you that technique."

"No, you didn't." She'd been watching the arena carefully, studying the warriors for more than mere judgment. She'd learned a few things. But this particular move… "It was something I once saw my brother do."

Lotor brightened at the mention of Avok, as he always did. "Excellent!" There _was_ strength in the Polluxian blood. He examined the scratch on his arm; it wasn't bleeding, but it was long and pale and prominent against the blue of his skin, and he had quite possibly never been more proud of his a'kuri before… "Shall we continue?"

Romelle wasn't sure she wanted to continue. Maybe quitting while she was ahead would be better. But then, maybe she should try to expand on this first success while she had it. "I need some water first," she finally hedged. She _was_ thirsty, either way.

"Ah, of course. Kalindra!"

The handmaiden had been waiting in a small slaves' station off the royal gym, ready to provide first aid or any other required assistance. At his yell she appeared with goblets of water, and Romelle managed a smile. "Thank you, Kalindra." She sipped the water slowly; she'd learned her lesson about drinking too fast during a workout.

Lotor nodded his appreciation to her as well, then an idea struck and he smiled. "Kalindra, why don't you go and attend to some other duties? Let my a'kuri and I have some time alone."

…That was _not_ what Romelle had wanted to hear, and she gave him a look of nervous suspicion as he raised his water goblet in salute. Odd, but she returned the toast, hoping this was just going to be something small and innocent.

Of course it wasn't.

"It's exhilarating to face a worthy opponent," he mused as he sipped his own water. True, he'd consciously prevented himself from overpowering her—but that had been in recognition of her genuine tactical victory. "I'm very proud, a'kuri. We should celebrate."

"I'm not certain I'm really that worthy an opponent for you, sincline," she demurred. "But what did you have in mind?"

By way of response, he indicated the scratch, then leaned over and kissed her with a _great_ deal of enthusiasm. Which she hadn't expected or wanted, but acquiesced to—what choice did she have?

That remained her mindset for only another minute or so. Then Lotor drew back just a little, grinning brightly. "Perhaps this is an omen? We could conceive a warrior child here, in honor of your victory."

…Was he saying what she thought he was saying? She looked at him, the eagerness in his eyes, and shivered slightly. Yes, he was _definitely_ saying what she thought he was saying. And as she looked from his eyes to the scratch he was apparently so proud of, she felt something crystallizing inside of her.

"…No, Lotor." She pushed him back an inch or two. "Not here."

He blinked, backing off and looking at her uncomprehendingly, then concern stole over his face. "Have you been injured this session?"

She should've said yes. She would, not too much later, look back at it and curse herself… why hadn't she just said yes? But her cheeks flushed, and her new spark of confidence burned, and she shook her head. "No, I just… I don't want to do that where anyone can just walk in…"

"Ah." He chuckled; she was cute when she got like this. "Nobody's going to walk in on the Crown Prince and his a'kuri. Not even Kalindra can unlock the door while my personal code has it closed."

"I said no! It's not appropriate."

"A'kuri…"

Romelle looked back at him, eyes flashing. _Stand up for yourself. If you are worthy as he says…_ "I refuse to be dishonored in such a way!"

…Suddenly she was a lot less cute. "What."

And just like that his warmth was gone, and she usually might have recoiled. But not today. Today it only redoubled her determination to finally speak, to use this strength she supposedly had, to finally try to retake some fragment of control of her life. "I've sacrificed so much already. All of it for my duty to my planet, this duty my father _forced_ me into. And I've found so many admirable things about you and your people, but… this! Everything!" She gestured expansively, fury in her eyes. "I've been neglected, patronized, dishonored—stripped of _any_ choice about _my own future_—this whole time, and I'm tired of it!"

Silence fell over the gym. Romelle was panting, hardly believing she'd finally let it out, that she'd actually said all of that to his face at last. Lotor couldn't believe it either, but in the end he'd heard only one thing.

"…A'kuri, I have _never_ dishonored you."

"No?" She was in too deep now. "That dress you 'gifted' me to wear before my family at the welcoming feast? Your actions that my brother had to save me from?"

"A test," he answered stiffly. "A _necessary_ test of your strength and that of your people. This was explained—"

"—And the wedding negotiations that I had no say in?"

He looked genuinely offended now. "I apologized for that!"

That was finally enough to break through Romelle's rant—if only a little. It didn't actually improve things; her tone became calmer, but just as bitter. "You did _not_. You said it wouldn't happen again, you never said you were _sorry_. Do you really think that can stop something like _that_ from weighing on my mind?" He was just staring, dumbfounded, and she circled back to where this had begun. "I don't want to have sex." There was a new edge in her voice. "Not here. Not now." _Not ever, if I could get away with it_. "And I should have that right whether I have a _reason_ or not, but if you must know, even you being 'gentler' lately hurts. And I'm tired of that too. I'm tired of having my injuries written off as helping me gain _strength_. I've been strong, stronger than _any_ of you have bothered to recognize. And I've had _enough_."

Lotor was feeling something he'd very rarely felt in his life: overwhelmed. He wasn't sure what to _make_ of this rant his a'kuri had gone on. She'd been holding grudges, holding secrets, and—what did she think _he_ was supposed to do about any of this? It wasn't like he'd asked her to come here. Perhaps that was the thought that made him retreat to her last point first, snarling something he'd been told more than a few times himself. "Do you fear pain from the most sacred of your duties to the kingdom, a'kuri? You dishonor _yourself_."

She'd blushed at the first part; there second brought the edge back. "I do no such thing!"

"You dishonor yourself!" he repeated, drawing himself to his full height as his own temper flared. "Many of us did not _ask_ for our duties. But you—but _we_ have it nonetheless. And after all I've given you in the name of my damnable, unwanted duty, you're going to dare refuse me?"

"Yes!" Romelle tensed. "I've done more than I ever thought possible for this duty. I drew this one line! I've accepted and accepted and accepted, and now you want to be so… unbecoming as to do this in the gym? Because I scratched you? I am a princess, and you're treating me like a _plaything_. Not standing up to it would be the greater dishonor!"

She was still challenging him. She was still _defying_ him. Lotor was flailing, this was not what this was meant to _be_. "You are not a plaything, a'kuri. You have been privileged above any other. Most princesses could only _dream_ of the status you've been given." He gestured widely around the gym. "I was trying to honor your victory, to reward you for…" Something else was falling into place. Her protests… those trances she fell into during sex… and suddenly he went cold, feeling a very personal insult sink in. "…You have been _lying_ to me, haven't you."

"Now you're calling me a liar?" she snapped. Setting aside that he wasn't actually wrong… she was seeing now just where the truth got her. All her lies had been in service to her _duty_, and she wasn't going to accept any scorn for it. "You're dishonoring me _again_."

"You've appreciated nothing!"

"I've appreciated everything." _Everything but the mistreatment you and my father have heaped on me_.

"You aren't acting like it." He gave her a look of more than a little betrayal. How could she do this after he'd been so proud of her, after he'd _allowed_ her a victory? "Fine. Let's go back to your quarters, then. We still have a child we are _duty-bound_ to conceive, and I no longer wish to proceed with this play-fighting."

They were well past _let's go back to your quarters_ as a solution to this problem. Did he really think just leaving the gym was good enough now? Had he not listened to her at all, or had he just not comprehended? It didn't matter. Romelle's mind raced through everything she'd learned, of the Drules, of Lotor, of honor. And she hissed the next words with a confidence she'd never expected to feel.

"A duel. Now."

He stepped back as though she'd slapped him. "…What?"

"A duel," she repeated, flipping out the blade of her gaive'llar. This wasn't exactly how she'd _planned_ to try to follow up on her small victory, but she had been improving. And now she had something to truly fight for… and she saw no other way forward.

"What…" His indignation seemed to have evaporated all at once, replaced by dumbfounded stammering. "What do you think that's meant to accomplish?"

"I'm tired of not being taken seriously," she answered simply, and for the first time a note of that exhaustion slipped into her own voice. "If this is the only way to convince you I am deserving of respect…"

A harsh laugh escaped him. "Princess Romelle, I take you quite seriously. Were it up to _me_, I would have gladly sent you back home the moment you arrived—I'd send you back this very moment, if it meant I could have this _courtship_ nonsense removed from my shoulders. But that choice was never mine! And yet I'd come to care for you, to respect you and your strength. And I promise you, my a'kuri…" He motioned to the scratch on his arm. "This is the best you've done to me in all our sparring, and that was with me allowing it. If you want to be taken more seriously, this is _not_ the way."

The warning didn't exactly fall on deaf ears. Romelle was just well beyond caring. Even if she _couldn't_ lay a blade on him again, at least she'd finally stood up for herself, and it wasn't as though not fighting had spared her injury or pain. "Prince Lotor, from the _moment_ I arrived, I have bowed and scraped and done everything I can do to learn about your people and your culture. And yet you've repeatedly swept me aside, ignored my concerns, and treated me as some _pet_ you're training rather than an equal. You haven't respected me. You still don't. You probably never will." He wasn't doing much to prove himself _capable_ of learning to respect her, at least. "I never wanted to be here—my father had sworn to never force a marriage on his children, and yet, here I am. If you could send me home I'd gladly go. But since this is what we need to deal with…" She gripped her gaive'llar, looked at the sigil carved into it, then raised her head to look him in the eye. "In Kistrial's name, this duel must happen."

Lotor froze. Dead silence fell over the gym; thick, smothering, dreadful silence. The look in his eyes was something she'd never seen before. There was scorn there, and annoyance, and betrayal… but there was a note of something that may almost have been panic, as well.

"…Romelle." She could hear him struggling to keep his voice even. "I _beg_ of you. You don't know what you're doing. What you're invoking. We can forego tonight, fine. Just take back all this… overwrought nonsense, and leave Kistrial's name off your lips."

_Overwrought nonsense?_ She felt just a glimmer of tears trying to well in her eyes. If he hadn't said that, if he hadn't told her to take it all back, she might almost have believed she'd gotten through to him… "I can't. I'm sorry." Maybe she really was sorry. "But my feelings are not nonsense… and I can't withdraw what I've said."

Lotor stared at her for what felt like an eternity, but finally he snapped his own gaive'llar open. "In Kistrial's name." His voice was cold. "To the blood."

"To the blood," she agreed, and lunged.

He fended her off easily, noting the desperation in her strikes, his thoughts still churning. What had he done wrong? Why didn't she understand the honor she'd been given? Why was she insisting on this over some… vague notions of alien propriety?

His father was going to _kill_ him.

No risk of Romelle killing him, anyway. He kept blocking her strikes, making no moves of his own, just waiting for her to understand that she was outmatched. She could still take this back, she could still see sense. Yet it seemed like her attacks were becoming _more_ frenzied, not less. One slash came surprisingly close—no threat, of course, but close. And then she tried the same move she'd used to scratch him before.

This time he didn't let it by.

Snapping his gaive'llar into hers, he sent her blade sailing halfway across the room. Her grip never _had_ been quite right. Before she could even try to lunge after it he seized her shoulder and stabbed deep into her arm. Nowhere that would cause lasting damage—enough to draw plenty of blood, to end this duel with no doubts.

To remind her of her _place_.

Shoving her to the floor, he stood over her, watching as she clutched her arm and panted from the pain. She was aware of him, but wasn't looking at him—couldn't bring herself to look at him. Tears were trying to spring forward again; she fought them back with all her strength. What had she been thinking? How deep he'd cut her was flooding her with a wave of shock and panic. No, he hadn't learned anything from that display…

What had she _done?_

"Your honor is forfeit," he declared coldly, watching her trembling on the floor. "But your duty remains. We will go and have that cut tended to." Leaning over, he picked her up easily and threw her over his shoulder; she cried out and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but it was like she'd been caught in a vise. "And then, we yet have the task of a child before us… and it will be done, whether either of us likes it or _not_."

As he hauled her from the room, her eyes fell on her fallen weapon, the sigil hidden by the gym's harsh lights.

_I only wanted to _stop _being dishonored…_

Was this what the Drules truly believed honor to be? She couldn't believe it—didn't want to believe it. She had come to appreciate so much of their culture, just not their _prince_. And despite herself, despite it all, she found a silent plea running through her mind.

_Kistrial protect me…_

For an instant, before turning the corner and losing sight of it, she saw the blade shimmer in the light.

* * *

Their time was limited.

Either the invaders had not found the entrances to the catacombs, or even the Drules had enough decency not to desecrate the dead. Coran didn't know which it was and frankly didn't care. It was enough that they found the ancient crypts undisturbed as they brought the bodies in. They couldn't just leave Prince Tanner and King Alfor in the shelter tunnels; it was the duty of the Arusians to ensure their royalty was properly interred. Once that was done, it was in the hands of the Golden Ones.

The Silent Exile _certainly_ wouldn't think highly of the sinycka putting their filthy claws on that which had been given over to the gods.

_Not that they're going to have the chance._ Sealing off the catacombs better was part of their contingency plan. The ancestors would be protected, whether the living could save themselves or not.

Allura hadn't come to the entombment. She'd already laid her father and brother to rest once, after all. It was too much, and there were too many other things to focus on. Nanny had tutted about it—it wasn't proper for the princess to be absent for such a thing!—but Coran had backed her. Which was a refreshing change, as often as he'd found himself on the losing end of the princess' stubbornness…

Larmina hadn't come either, and that was no great surprise. Though she bore royal blood, she'd not known either of them well, and wasn't _exactly_ vested with the authority and majesty of the Crown. Coran himself hadn't spent much time with the girl, but she seemed preoccupied with her own tasks. In times like this everyone simply had to do what they could.

It left him to oversee the process… he sighed, closing his eyes as the High Priest spoke the ancient rituals, letting the words wash over him without really hearing. Alfor himself wouldn't have cared about all this ceremony. Not when the planet was still in grave danger, hanging by such a tenuous thread. But then, weren't these things as much for the living as for the dead? He glanced over the volunteers who'd carried the bodies, the elders who had made the pilgrimage to the crypts along with them. He could sense a bit of new calm among them.

That was enough. The Drules may have taken the High King's life, but they wouldn't take his and the prince's afterlives.

"…And may the Golden Blades of the Radiant Warrior strike down those responsible, and condemn them unto the eager grasp of the Exile. Diya poratn!"

That wasn't part of the normal rituals. Coran arched an eyebrow at the high priest, but he couldn't argue with the sentiment. And he echoed it with the others.

"Diya poratn!" _For the Crown._

_For Arus._

As the rest of the burial party began to leave the tomb, Coran stepped up to it. Just for a moment. Brushing his hand over the cold stone, he felt a sense of new calm himself… as if, in the midst of all this uncertainty, they'd at least won one victory. The old tasks and rituals were all victories, now.

"Rest well, old friend."


	43. Glory and Blood

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 42_  
Glory and Blood

* * *

Today's festivities were beginning a little bit later than usual; there were, to be blunt, fewer gladiators to watch fight. But the battles among the strongest would be that much more spectacular. And there was a particular treat on the schedule today…

As Lotor and Romelle arrived to the royal box, Zarkon paused, a frown crossing his face. The princess was dressed as he hadn't seen her in quite some time: the gauzy whisper-thin garments the prince usually preferred for his slaves. Motioning his son over as Romelle quietly took her seat got him a resentful look; he knew where this was going.

"Lotor, what are you doing."

"Today is a special occasion! I thought it was best to have her dressed to reflect the—"

"—I know that not even you are stupid enough to be trying to convince me that formal _slave attire_ is appropriate for your consort at one of the most important gladiatorial battles of the season!"

Lotor sulked. "Father, do you trust me or not?"

"Absolutely not." His eyes narrowed. "You give me little enough reason to."

"I believe my a'kuri is _my_ business!"

…That, unfortunately, was true. By tradition and law it was not Zarkon's right to interfere—much—with how Lotor handled his courtship. Up until now, it had seemed to be going surprisingly well. He'd had the nerve to hope that might last. _Why_, in the name of Kus'da and all his Domains, had he thought that could possibly last?

Sighing, he waved his son away and took his seat. There was nothing he could do about it right now… but clearly he needed to pay more careful attention for awhile.

* * *

From the moment Skalor arrived, everything seemed wrong.

"Gladiators. The time is come."

"…That's weird." Daniel muttered it even before turning to the door, where their guard had bowed deeply in greeting. The others were behind him as usual, heavily armed as usual, but looking somewhere between eager and reverent. "That's weirder."

"What's with the bowing?"

"Uh, can we say no?"

Skalor looked puzzled at their responses, then smiled. "The arena master has deemed you fit for the ultimate honor, and far earlier than most would even be considered. Steel yourselves, great warriors."

"Oh, that can't be good," Cam muttered.

"Great honor my ass," Daniel agreed. Anything the Drules considered an honor was something he was positive he didn't want.

"Uh… Skeletor, isn't it?" The hair on the back of Lance's neck was standing up, and he exchanged nervous looks with Flynn. "Can we get a hint about this great honor?"

The guard just shook his head. "I cannot give you any aid. Come, you will soon learn."

Keith took a deep breath. "Let's get this over with." What choice did they have?

"Never thought achievement would upset me this much," Vince muttered as they filed out of the cell. Sven and Hunk nodded in fervent agreement.

"No kiddin'."

"Boss, any guesses on this?" Lance murmured. He wasn't sure he wanted guesses, exactly, but he needed to fill the silence.

"None." As they entered the armory they could already hear the roars of the crowd from beyond the gate. "Sounds like they're enjoying the thought of it though, whatever it is." His mind was on the slave executions again. Surely they wouldn't…

Most of the team grabbed their usual weapons, or thereabouts—Daniel opted for a long dagger rather than a sword this time, it seemed better for quick strikes. Flynn found a different but similar polearm, one with a little more flex. And Sven finally found an _axe_. He'd have been grinning ear to ear at that small victory, in any other circumstance… but with the creepy feeling that had fallen over them, all he could manage was a brief, satisfied smirk before swallowing back a new flood of nerves.

Jace joined him by the door, muttering something in Portuguese that he probably didn't want translated. "Nothing's going down on my fucking watch," he growled at the Viking's questioning look, and he almost sounded like he believed it.

Sven lightly punched his shoulder. "We'll be okay." He almost sounded like he believed that, too.

Gathering at the gate, the team tried their best to work off the nervous energy, though everything felt more intense. "Are they louder than usual out there?"

"Seems like it."

"We got this."

"Come out alive, right?"

"We've come through so far…"

"Gladiators." They all jumped at the interjection from Skalor, who saluted as the gate began to rise. "Glory and fortune to you."

It seemed like that encouragement could have been a bit more… encouraging. But the gate was lifting and if none of them wanted very badly to move, they wanted even less to stay here where everything felt so damned _creepy_.

Walking out into the arena, they looked at the opposing gate, half expecting to see slaves and half expecting to see maybe a whole horde of Drules. Or maybe the Legend-Killers they'd seen that other time. Or really, just about anything but what they actually saw: _nothing_. The opposing gate was closed.

"Komora…?"

"I'm fine with fighting nothing."

"I increasingly don't like this at all."

The announcer's voice began to boom excitedly over the stadium, and Keith motioned for the others to fall in together. "Cam, what are they saying?"

"We're the final battle of the day." He frowned. "We're still the 'mighty Earthling pirates', obviously. Something about standing undefeated and nearly unscathed—I don't think that's what that word means—I mean, it's not the one I'd _use_? But anyway, no other gladiators can stand before our skill." It felt like _that_ should have been more encouraging too. "Only one possible challenge remains for these greatest of warriors…"

"Never _not-liked_ compliments like this before," Lance said quietly.

Rusty hinges and pulleys screeched, drawing their attention off to the right. There was another door there, quite a bit larger and heavier than the armory gates, and as it rose they could see movement within.

Something charged from the gate. Something huge—it was the size of a large horse, though it skittered on its four legs as if it would be just as comfortable on two. As it broke into the light it rose up, roaring an apparent salute to the royal box; the crowd burst into gasps, cheers, and even a few screams.

"What the _fuck?"_

"You've got to be motherfucking shitting me."

"Holy fuckin' fuzzmuffins…"

Even Vince found a whispered "shit" escaping him, and he really couldn't bring himself to care.

"What—what—what even _is_ that thing?" Lance demanded. It was covered in spikes, spikes everywhere, though the most prominent were a ridge that ran down its back and muscular tail. Beneath the spikes its skin was scaley and dull silver-gray, like iron plates. The overall build was vaguely reptilian, though trying to associate it with any Earth creature seemed a little silly. It was, purely and simply, a _monster_.

The announcer was still talking, and Cam tried to get his wits back enough to translate. "They're calling it some… occult robot beast?"

"Robot? Looks all beast to me."

"A robeast?" Pidge whispered, looking back at the creature with more confusion than fear. Or maybe, for Pidge, the two feelings weren't all that different.

Vince looked at him. "You know what it is?"

"Only rumors about the Ninth using cybernetic monsters… on the _battlefield_. Nothing like _this_."

"This thing has a combat history," Cam announced, then swallowed. "…And it's _not_ encouraging. I'm officially terrified now. Is that okay?"

Lance nodded, his eyes still on the monstrosity. "It's officially okay, Cam."

Nobody said it aloud, but the whole team's thoughts were tracking in a similar direction. They'd been worried about _exactly_ the wrong kind of one-sided fight.

"…At least there's only one of it, yeah?" Hunk clutched his mace a little tighter, and his tone wasn't exactly full of confidence. Vince still nodded; he was all for going with that. Before anyone could respond verbally, though, the announcer had called for them to begin.

_Well, hell_.

"Die in glory?" Cam muttered; the announcer's parting line had been a little different than usual. "Fuck that."

"Die in…" Daniel shook his head. "I don't wanna die at all!"

"There will be _no dying_," Lance snapped, then turned to their commander. "Keith, game plan?"

For the first time in an arena combat, their enemy did _not_ charge them. The robeast had dropped back to all fours, crawling forward a few steps and growling a challenge. It started to circle, hissing and snarling, its eyes roving over each of them in turn.

Was it sizing them up, the way they were it? Was this thing _intelligent_, too?

"Giant donut dude's right," Jace said quietly, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else. "There's only one of it." There'd only been one Galra that time, too, but he'd bet they would at least be able to _hit_ this thing better. Though he was wishing he'd grabbed an actual weapon now… he'd barely even had the thought when Lance passed him a spare knife, and he nodded a silent thanks.

Keith nodded, too. Hunk's point was a good one, and perhaps the only advantage they had. "Let's see what this thing has. We swarm it, wear it down as best we can, find any weaknesses and exploit them." A simple strategy, but those were often the best.

"Wear _that_ down?" Vince repeated, though it wasn't as though he had any better ideas.

Pidge frowned. "Isn't there some human platitude about how the bigger they are, the harder they fall?"

"Y'know," Hunk gave him a little bit of a pout, "some of us don't like that expression."

"It's bigger than you."

He said nothing more, moving up beside Keith, who'd started advancing. Slowly—gauging the monster's reaction. It stopped circling and drew up, hissing louder, lashing its tail. They could hear the crowd volume increasing in anticipation. That, oddly, offered a sick sort of encouragement. If they were so eager, did they think the gladiators had a chance?

_Did_ they have a chance?

"Fan out," Keith ordered.

"Fan out," Daniel mimicked under his breath, more to make himself feel better than out of any objection to the order. The team spread out just a bit, enough to not present a clustered target to the robeast, starting to move faster as the charge took form.

It countered the charge, driving in directly at Keith in the center of the line, and all at once the tentative standoff dissolved into chaos.

"Move it!"

Flynn broke left, while Lance broke right. Both of them took jabs as they passed, and both were rewarded with sharp vibrations running up their arms as their blades screeched along metallic scales. "Faex."

"Is that its skin or is it armor?"

"Yes, sir," Pidge volunteered, throwing a knife at what looked like an exposed armor seam. It struck clean, lodging between the plates, but didn't seem to cause the robeast any actual distress.

Keith had taken the initial brunt of the monster's attack as the others split up to surround it, fending off strikes from its clawed fists with his sword as best he could. Blocking directly was useless—it was too damn _strong_, he could feel it even as he deflected and dodged. And he wasn't really doing a great job of keeping its attention. Or more to the point, keeping its attention was only so much _help_. Anyone else who took a shot was still greeted with a slash from one of its claws, or the tail, and even the blows that landed largely skittered off harmlessly. Cam had managed to cut off a spine, but the thing didn't even seem to notice. Plenty more where that came from.

"It's got to have a weak spot somewhere! Find it!"

Lance took a stab—literally—and got his sword stuck in the robeast's armored hide. Yanking with all his might, he managed to get it free and dodge the counterstrike; hopefully he'd at least loosened something. "All we're doing is poking it and pissing it off!"

"Fuck that, man, it's pissing _me_ off." Jace dropped into a roll and slashed at one of the monster's kneecaps, aiming for a seam and feeling the armor plate shudder. It didn't dislodge, though, and before he could try to force the breach the robeast kicked him away.

Hunk's eyes narrowed. Blades were only doing so much, clearly. _Let's see how it likes this._ Breaking into a run, he came around the monster's back as it slashed in the other direction. "Hey, big-ass beastie, meet big-ass mace!" Leaping to get every last bit of momentum he could, he _clunked_ the beast right on the base of the tail.

Immediately it lashed out, several spines tearing long cuts into his arm, but the roar it gave was definitely one of pain.

"That's a start—"

As if to punish the presumption of even a moment's optimism, the monster drew its limbs in, dropping into a crouch and wrapping its tail around itself. Dozens of the spines that covered its body seemed to extend, and Keith yelled without fully knowing what he expected to happen.

"Duck!"

An instant later, spikes flew _everywhere_.

"Mijtairra…!"

"Dang it!"

"Holy fucking shit!"

Even with the instinctive warning, hardly anyone made it through the flurry wholly unscathed. Most were grazes, at least—Lance had been winged along the side of the head, Flynn in the ribs, a few cases of torn clothing. That was nothing new by now.

New was the nearly foot-long spine now embedded in Hunk's left shoulder. He reached for it, then remembered first aid and lowered his hand. _Don't remove stabs if you don't have to, they'll just bleed everywhere and nobody needs that_. Especially not in the middle of, well, _this_.

"Regroup!" Keith ordered, jumping up and running at the robeast again. But then the robeast, too, jumped.

_High_.

"What the fuck?" Lance demanded, skidding to a halt as the massive creature vaulted into the air. A second wave of spikes erupted, this time raining down over the arena floor.

"You fucking sure grouping should be a thing?" Jace demanded, rolling out of the way and just barely managing not to be skewered. Next to him, Sven got clipped in the arm and hissed something that probably wasn't profanity.

Getting back on his own feet, Lance's eyes immediately went to Daniel, making sure he hadn't wound up with any spines sticking out of him. He got a slightly reassuring wave; it would've been more reassuring if it hadn't been given _through_ a large hole in his hoodie. Around him the others were recovering with varying degrees of quickness, watching the robeast land by the far wall of the arena and snarl a new challenge.

Keith's eyes narrowed. "We've got to come up with something better to take that thing down."

"How?" Lance pointed out. "It's made out of metal and shoots fucking spike fireworks!"

Cam took a step towards the monster, feeling ice run down his spine. Keith was right, they needed a better plan. Lance was also right, the thing had shown nothing in the way of weakness… and it was starting to lope forward, spines bristling. It seemed designed specifically to prevent them from having time to _think…_

"…I'll distract it," he said softly, tightening his grip on his sword. "Buy us some time."

Every single jaw around him dropped. "What."

"What?"

"You'll what?!" Daniel's yell drowned the others out. "This is not the time for dumbassery!"

Cam looked back at him and shook his head slightly. "I owe you one, remember? I'm paying it." He turned his attention to Keith. This was it. This was what he could do for his team, to live up to the legacy he'd been charged with and the commander he'd so desperately wanted to learn from. To prove he wasn't just some fanboy wannabe. He had _learned_. "Duty and honor… right, sir? Wish me luck."

"Cameron, no!"

For the first time, Cam outright ignored an order from Keith. And he sprinted forward.

"You don't owe me shit!" Daniel yelled after him, trying to follow; Lance grabbed him. Hunk tried to run forward too, only to have Pidge of all people shove him back—he'd been off-balance enough from running with a giant mace and a spike in his shoulder that even the ninja could bring him to a halt.

Keith had started to move up too, with Flynn on his heels, but Pidge hadn't stopped with Hunk. "Sir, we have to do as he said!" There was a tinge of ferocity in his voice that might have been adjacent to panic. "We can't fight it like this, if we're going to help him we have to _use_ this time he's buying us!"

"Let me go!" Daniel was snarling at Lance, trying to pull free. When the hell had he gotten so strong?

"No. Listen to the ninja." Lance couldn't even bring himself to speak the rest. _'Cause the ninja's not wrong._

Staring down at Pidge, for a split second, Keith froze. It felt like he was being ripped apart—how was he here, how was he having to make this decision? _No. Trust Cam's training, you've taught him everything you could. Trust your team._ "…You're right." Closing his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, he forced himself to _think_.

Flynn had stopped, but his eyes were still on Cam, who'd reached the monster by now. He was dancing around it, striking and dodging, not seeming to do any real damage but putting on a remarkable display of swordsmanship nonetheless. There were gasps in the crowd, penetrating even the fog of the battle. But the robeast only needed one blow—how long could he hold out? "We can't let it focus on any one of us for too long," he said slowly, feeling his way. "And we can't group up."

The hair on the back of Lance's neck was standing up again. "Flynn's right."

"Then we what?" Jace had Sven's viselike grip on his arm, or else he'd have been right on Cam's tail as well. "Fucking split up? Against _that?"_

"…Hit and run," Pidge said softly. "It can punish us if we stay together, and it's more mobile than we are."

Keith nodded. "Split into teams. Don't give it anywhere clear to land. Random attacks. We take it down piece by piece if we have to."

"Beat it at its own game."

"It's our best plan."

"There's still only one of it. Let's do it."

Cam was still holding his own against the monster, to his own surprise and the apparent delight of the crowd. A dozen spines littered the ground in a trail from where he'd first engaged; cutting them off really didn't seem to have bothered the beast at all, but the moral victory made him feel better. He'd taken a few grazings in return, of course. Droplets of blood had accompanied the trail of spines. But he was doing it, he was holding out, and he was gaining hope with every slash and dodge…

Suddenly the robeast screeched and lunged for him, a completely different tactic than anything it had done yet. He had a feeling of weightlessness—flying through the air, slamming hard to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as a focused flurry of spikes sailed above. He heard cursing from behind him and twisted, struggling to get a view of what was happening.

The team had started to break out of their huddle, and it seemed that had gotten the robeast's attention. Its first volley of spikes—how many of the damn things did it have?—had forced them back together, and he could see it gearing up for a second, and half the team was on the ground from dodging, and he could see immediately what was going to happen…

Unless…

Gathering every bit of strength he had left, dropping his sword, he pushed himself off the arena floor. "Hey… you stupid… son of a bitch…" Whirling around, eyes blazing, he pulled himself up straight. "You weren't _done with me_ yet!"

As he screamed it, the next barrage of spikes slammed into his chest. And for a moment—just for a moment—Cam knew he'd been victorious.

* * *

For a moment—just for a moment—the whole arena seemed to freeze.

"No."

"Cevete…"

"Shit!"

It was all they had time for. Then the robeast sprang into the air again, as if emboldened by its success. As the next wave of spines rained down they scattered, and this time with a _purpose_.

Lance yanked Daniel out of the path of the spikes, swearing as his own arms took several stings. "Hit and run," he growled, more to focus on the words than anything. He could feel Daniel shaking—could see the rage in his eyes, no longer remotely conflicted about killing—and he felt it churning in his own chest. This thing was going to die, no matter what the hell it took. They charged.

Keith was already there, trading blows and snarling some particularly vile curses in Japanese. As they moved in on the monster he ducked away—it tried to spin on the new threats, and managed to get a couple of swats in, but they were nearly superficial in comparison. Lance went straight for the spot his sword had stuck in before, giving it another hard jab, while Daniel poured all his momentum into a stab that slipped right into a seam in the armor.

"Zalet take you," Pidge whispered as he drew himself back up from dodging the spikes. He wasn't entirely certain whether he was saying it to Cam or the robeast—that particular invocation could be either a blessing or a curse—and he wasn't stopping to think about it as he drew back and threw a knife. Flynn joined him, still gripping his spear so tight he could feel the splinters in his palms. Much as he wanted to run in immediately as well, they had to stick to the plan.

Cam had _died_ for the plan. They owed him that, at the very least.

Still staring at the body, Vince felt a cold fist of shock clenching in his stomach. He couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened, but there was no _time_ to try to sort it out. So he moved to try to support Hunk, who gave him a nod. "I've gotcha covered." Big-ass mace was harder to use with a spike in his shoulder, for sure, but he was getting by the best he could.

Sven and Jace cut in as Lance and Daniel got clear, chipping away at more armor. Sven had gone deadly cold; Jace was radiating searing fury. They split up as they retreated, much as the pair before them had. _Keep moving, keep mixing it up. Don't let this thing focus._

Now it was Flynn and Pidge's turn, with the robeast's back to them. Both drove in at where Hunk had hit earlier—several of the armor plates over the base of its tail looked to have been partially crushed by that first hammer blow. Flynn stabbed at the top of the damaged area, his spear slipping through to pierce deep; it whirled with a roar and whipped around to strike him in return, but he was already gone. Pidge followed up by driving a knife in lower and leaving it there. Hopefully it would at least slow that tail _down_ some.

It was as much abuse as the monster was willing to take. With Hunk and Vince breaking in, it jumped again, forcing the team to scatter against a new flurry of spikes—was it easier this time? Was the thing running out of spines, or were they just getting better at dodging as the battle wore on?

"Oh, hell."

"Mother of…"

Definitely not running out of spines. As the second wave came down the beast landed in what _had_ been a free patch of arena floor. Now, though, Keith and Sven were there to greet it. It picked Keith as its primary target, lashing at Sven with its tail at the same time. The commander feinted, giving ground; the navigator took a swat in the arm but retaliated with an axe to the monster's hip, chipping a new armor plate away.

Despite its inability to get clear, the robeast seemed to be adapting quickly—it was retreating to try to keep them all in sight, firing a couple more focused spike volleys, though they weren't giving it time to concentrate much on those. Even Vince had gotten a couple of solid jabs in. But as the monster adjusted to their new tactics it was fending them off more easily, and they had little choice but to fade if it deflected.

What were they accomplishing, even? Wearing themselves out? Prolonging the inevitable? Even vengeful adrenaline could only get them so far…

As the others continued trading off, Pidge and Daniel exchanged nods across the arena. They _were_ the hit and run specialists here. Maybe what this fight needed was a little extra chaos from the good guys.

Falling out of the team's rhythm they dropped into an attack pattern of their own, Pidge circling the battlefield to the left, Daniel mirroring him to the right. The others were still trading blows; Keith had just bounced off as they came in range and both broke into sprints.

Arriving a few seconds ahead of their gunner, Pidge veered and stabbed into the robeast's ribs. He didn't hit the armor seam he'd been aiming for as cleanly as he hoped, but managed to leave the knife stuck in again; this thing was starting to look like a pincushion in more ways than one. It snapped its tail at the ninja in return, firing a short spike burst that scattered over the ground just behind him.

That had _not_ been the counter move Daniel had expected, and by the time he realized the monster was out of position he couldn't really adjust his own attack. So he committed. A piece of armor on its other side, just beneath its arm, hung at a slightly _off_ angle. Eyes narrowed, he lunged and stabbed—the metallic plate dislodged entirely, clattering to the ground.

He'd been set to hit the thing more from behind. But its stopping to fire after Pidge had messed that all up, putting it in perfect position to counter. This time it was _not_ a few superficial slashes. Roaring in anger it slammed its arm down on Daniel's, then threw the annoying little human across the arena.

Screaming in pain, he tried to catch himself as he tumbled across the floor. What he caught was a good look at his arm, the blood, the bone sticking out… _oh, that's…_

A wave of shock and nausea hit him, and for a minute his surroundings just blurred into nothing.

"Daniel!"

Lance started to rush for him, panic surging, only to have Jace raise an arm and cut him off. "I've got him. You keep that thing busy somewhere else." He darted forward, not entirely sure what he was going to be able to do—in the middle of a damn _gladiatorial arena_, and all—but fuck if he was going to just stand by and watch another of the kids die.

_We're all gonna die here._

He shook it off. No time.

Daniel was still breathing, though obviously stunned. His wrist was bent at an angle wrists didn't properly bend at, and he could see bone poking through the blood, but it looked like the damage was limited to the limb. Good, that was something. Jace ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt. He couldn't deal with it _properly_ right now, but at least he could stop the bleeding until—

"Shit!"

Spikes whistled overhead. Their compromised position had not escaped the robeast's attention. He heard the impact, even felt it in the ground, as the monster landed at his back.

_Porra._

There was a moment of perfect clarity, where the whole world seemed to be moving in slow motion. He could have gotten up. He could've run. He could've left a patient—a _teammate_—there in the dirt.

Fuck that.

"Brace yourself, kid," he growled, leaning over him. "This is gonna suck." Up ahead he could see the others reacting to the threat, Sven and Hunk charging back to try to intervene. Maybe they'd make it in time. Maybe…

A shadow fell over them.

_No time._

Jace gritted his teeth, bracing, and a sharp pain ripped its way down his spine.

For a second, it stopped hurting. Then it stopped mattering.

* * *

Hunk had been the closest.

He didn't stop as the robeast slammed its fists down. Until he was informed otherwise he just had to assume they were both still alive—as unlikely as that seemed. Jumping up, he damn near _tackled_ the monster, barreling into its chest as it reared back for an insurance blow. It was pretty much the only place this awful thing wasn't covered in spikes, though he'd still just thrown himself at the rough equivalent of an iron wall and it still hurt like _hell_. Didn't matter. He'd driven it back a few steps. Before it could recover he regained his feet and took a massive swing with his mace, forcing it back further.

The spike in his shoulder dislodged, and blood began to pour from the wound, but the monster's attention was now _thoroughly_ redirected. Keith raced in to relieve him, snarling in rage, slashing at any damaged bit of armor he could see.

Both Lance and Sven had tried to run in and help the wounded, but Lance was driven back by a flurry of spikes. He cursed, but saw Sven get there and grab Daniel's hoodie, pulling them both well clear of the beast. He had a glimmer of hope…

Then he saw the look on Sven's face, and that hope gave way to a new surge of fury. He charged to pick up where Keith had left off, and this time he punched straight through with a stab that drew both sparks and blood.

"Daniel." He was alive. Sven could tell he was alive because of how bad he was shaking, gasping for breath, eyes wide and unfocused but far from dead. "Daniel listen to me, you have to get up. You have to keep moving and stay out of the way." Jace… Jace was another story, but he couldn't think about that or he would be useless. Right now he just had to keep this kid alive, to be sure the sacrifice wasn't wasted. And Daniel wasn't responding, so Sven grabbed his good arm and dragged him up off the floor. "You understand? Stay back and keep moving!"

Daniel understood, he just couldn't seem to form a response. It felt like he was moving through wet concrete, overwhelmed by pain and panic. _Stay back. Keep moving. Stay alive_. Finally he managed a nod.

Satisfied with that, Sven took off towards the robeast again, twirling his axe with determined fury in his eyes.

Recovery wasn't happening very quickly for others, either. Vince felt sick, and only the fear of staying still for too long was saving him from retching. Keith was covered in cuts by now, but he could barely even feel them. They were losing too many. _One_ had been too many. Flynn had gone numb in a whole different sense, temporarily blind to anything but the monster, falling into a singular focus to avoid thinking of anything else. Lance scrambled back with a slice in his stomach, cursing under his breath, catching sight of Daniel standing and cursing even more at the relief that rushed through him.

Too early for any of _that_.

Pidge had ended up isolated on one side of the field, and as the others re-engaged he let the last of his throwing knives fly. He'd been going for the eyes, but the robeast didn't cooperate; it turned to toss Sven aside and the knife rang off its armored cheek. _Salys sa kye_. Looking around he caught sight of a knife he'd thrown earlier and ran to get it. Much as he wanted to go stab this thing up close and personal, _repeatedly_, they still had to fight with some semblance of strategy too.

What they were really fighting with was anger. Vengeance. This monster was built for _fear_—splitting them up, keeping them off balance, eliminating their advantage from numbers and exploiting any momentary weakness. But now fury was beginning to overwhelm that fear. They hadn't lost _all_ sense of caution, but their attacks were coming faster, crashing relentlessly over the robeast as it fought back with its own increasing desperation.

And when this monster got desperate, it moved.

An eruption of spikes heralded another jump, and Pidge saw the shadow cross over him as he sidestepped. He was the only obstacle on this side of the field. Determined to punish the beast for thinking that made him the safest target, he crouched and sprang, ripping a chunk of armor from its chest and leaving that knife in too. As the beast swung its tail to counter, he kicked off hard, trying more to get clear than cause further damage.

Not fast enough. Not quite. The spiked tail slashed him across the back, leaving several new cuts and tearing the bandages from the deep slash over his shoulder blade. He went down hard, sensed it moving to follow up, and threw himself into a roll to get some distance.

Bad idea. Or at the least, _suboptimal_ idea. It took all he had not to scream as salt and sawdust drove into the exposed wound, and he stumbled clumsily back to his feet. It was still behind him, he'd gotten some separation, but his injury was slowing him down.

The ninja's predicament broke through Flynn's tunnel vision. He'd never seen Pidge move so gracelessly, and the robeast was gaining on him fast. It lunged for him, just barely missing, its fist slamming into the dirt in his heels.

_No you fucking don't._ Eyes narrowing, Flynn charged in, raising his spear with both hands to block the next strike rather than trying to land a stab. All he needed was a moment…

The weapon _shattered_. And the monster's blow continued as if it hadn't been impeded at all, the massive spiked fist slamming squarely into his chest.

"Agh!"

Hearing the yell, Pidge whirled to see Flynn spun to the ground, slivers of the broken spear surrounding him and blood gushing from his chest.

"Flynn!"

He was struggling to rise, fighting for breath. Broken ribs. Several. He could feel the motion in his chest, the weakness as he scrambled for purchase in the dirt. Looking up he saw Pidge, momentarily frozen.

Their eyes locked.

Flynn nodded once. Accepting.

Pidge sprinted forward. Refusing.

The shattered fragments of Flynn's spear were strewn over a large patch of the arena floor, bits of polished wood glinting in the light. Pidge crouched without breaking his stride, picking up the two closest to him, vaulting into the air as the monster raised its arm for another blow.

They both struck at the same moment. The beast's arm fell, driving Flynn into the dirt, drawing a ragged gasp and another explosion of blood. Pidge hit the apex of his jump and snapped his wrist, the slivers of wood flying true and piercing squarely into the monster's eyes.

Dropping to the ground, he barely noticed the beast rearing back and howling in pain. All he could see was Flynn, silent and motionless.

"Flynn!" Pidge knelt next to him, trying to ignore the blood, the stillness. Denying the reality. The monster was flailing blindly, they couldn't stay here, _Flynn_ couldn't stay here. "We have to move!" Still no response. He grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to drag him clear, an endeavor that was as hopeless as it was illogical.

It had been a mistake. He couldn't ignore that the wrist he was tugging on didn't have a pulse.

_Mijtairra…_

Pidge dropped his arm and looked up, going as silent and cold as the body beside him. It was the monster that had blood in its eyes, but Pidge's whole world had gone red.

* * *

Halfway to being in range to intervene, Lance felt his legs simply cease to work. There was no mistaking it. Not with that much blood. Not with the look of venom on Pidge's face as the robeast flailed. He went to his knees, dropping his knife, forgetting for a moment how to even breathe. Instead of air he felt rage swelling in his lungs, rage he knew all too well, filling his veins with cold fury and driving him back to his feet. The knife had clattered away somewhere; he grabbed one of the spikes from the dirt instead, it looked sharper anyway.

_No more_.

Keith had been behind the monster; he hadn't been able to see precisely what had happened. But he felt the new ripple of shock that ran through the team, saw the spray of blood, and saw Pidge launching himself at the beast in a wild fury. He knew.

Blinded and reeling, the monster still seemed able to sense the presence of its enemies. Before Pidge could hit it jumped again, not even taking the time to cover itself with a barrage of spines, vaulting to the other side of the arena and landing with a roar of defiance.

Vince was there. He spun on the robeast as it lumbered towards him—blind and wounded but still a huge spiny monstrosity that could eviscerate him in a single blow if he let it. And he could have panicked. Maybe he should have panicked.

As his guts twisted in sorrow and horror, something else was taking hold.

"Vince, _down!"_ Hunk was the closest, again. He was pointedly refusing to accept what had just happened—anything that had happened here—but he saw what was about to happen and _hell no_, this thing wasn't taking Vince too. He sprinted to intervene, trailing blood, but he wasn't going to be fast enough.

It didn't matter.

—_The light was welling up, he could feel it inside of him, and as he dropped beneath the monster's flailing claws a lifetime of confusion __crystallized__ into a single moment of certainty—_

Vince dropped his spear. The robeast was close, so close, it was going to trip over him, until he stood up inside of its guard and reached his hands out.

—_Iron beneath his fingertips, sparks beneath the monster's skin, he could feel the currents inside him and between them and he could see Cam's last encouraging grin before his eyes in his mind—_

Hunk skidded to a halt as white light erupted between Vince and the monster, damn near dropping his mace. The beast shrieked in pain and what might even have been fear, rearing back.

—_And he knew what to do, and everything was surging, and he could hear Jace cursing about not being able to make sense of it all, and it all made sense and he couldn't even tell him, and a new wave of energy arced forth—_

Sven and Pidge had both been breaking in, but they froze too as the light flared. The robeast was making odd hissing and popping sounds, trying to retreat but seemingly pinned in place by the blinding electricity that had sunk deep into its skin.

—_And if he could just find a little more strength, if he could just burn a little deeper into this beast, he could maybe repay Flynn for the patience he'd shown with the sparks, except Flynn was gone too, and a sob tore free of his throat as a final inferno erupted—_

"Holy shit." Lance had stopped by Daniel, who was just watching wide-eyed, cradling his shattered arm and not fully processing what was happening. Not that what was happening was anything that _could_ be processed.

—_And it was over, and he collapsed again, gasping for breath as sparks danced in his blood, and he fell into an exhausted fog, hoping against hope it had been enough—_

Keith stared in disbelief as the robeast fell back, screeching in pain, smoke curling from gaps between its scorched armor plates. Immediately it was scrambling back to its feet, slamming Vince aside, attempting a new spike barrage. But several of the spines crumbled to ash, and the others flew only a short distance before clattering uselessly to the arena floor.

He had no idea what the hell had just happened, but he knew they couldn't waste it. They _wouldn't_ waste it.

"ATTACK IT! GO!"

Lance didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted forward, sighting in on a patch of the robeast's exposed skin, the place Daniel had earlier torn the armor from. Daniel himself wasn't going anywhere; a weaponless Pidge moved up to cover him. They watched as the pilot cut in at a sharp angle, dodging a sluggish blow and driving the spine he was holding deep into the monster's flesh.

_No fucking more!_

Sven had come in from the other side, sighting in on the same weak spot as Lance, and his teammate's strike cleared the way. The robeast seemed to sense him coming as well, trying to lash out against him with its tail. That blow was sluggish too—eyes flashing, Sven brought up his arm and _blocked_ it. Pain shot through his forearm, and he was going to have a bad bruise, but it was nothing compared to the strength the monster had shown earlier. It wasn't enough to stop him.

Leaping up and twisting around for extra leverage, he brought his axe down squarely on the spike Lance had embedded in the beast's side. It drove in deeper, and he heard what might have been a small internal explosion. Then the axe split the spike entirely and cut deep into its skin, ripping a hole that belched smoke and ozone.

Now it reared back in pure desperation, lashing out in every direction with its weakened limbs. And Keith charged in, eyes ablaze, tossing one sword aside and gripping the other with all his strength. The robeast loomed over him, screaming. _Good_. He jumped, landing on one armored kneecap, leaping up again with all his strength as the robeast gave its last howl.

Its last howl, because Keith slammed his sword into its open mouth, driving the blade up. Through the roof of its mouth. Through the brain, drawing a sharp crackle of electrical shorts as it ripped through the cybernetic synapses. Through even the skull, piercing an armor seam, the tip of the sword emerging into the light.

Leaving the blade there, Keith kicked off and landed hard on the arena floor. And suddenly, everything was deathly silent.

* * *

The beast seemed to take a very long time to fall.

Romelle was clutching Lotor's arm. She didn't _want_ to be clutching his arm, but he was there and she was terrified and her reflexes had betrayed her—and he seemed too shocked himself to even throw her off. Only a few moments ago she'd been certain she was going to watch the Earthlings all die. A strange irony for those she favored, given her own situation. And yet… suddenly the monster was collapsing, its huge form sinking almost gracefully to the floor of the arena. A few small electrical fires were visible through gaps in its armor, and a low mechanical whine echoed over them in the silence.

"They…"

"They actually did it."

"They defeated the Demonspine…!"

She heard the whispers around her, and within the crowd. The volume was rising. Her senses were coming back—she yanked her hands away from Lotor quickly, though he still didn't seem to have paid it any mind. The same spell that had fallen over the crowd seemed to have struck him, in fact; a few in the royal box were starting to stand, as were great swaths of the spectators beyond.

"Glory to the victors!" someone yelled—was it the announcer? Maybe the arena master? She wasn't certain. It had sounded more spontaneous than anything, but suddenly the crowd was seizing on it, the chant starting to spread through the arena. "Glory to the victors! Glory to the victors!"

The chants began to penetrate the fog the team was gripped in as well, though they had no idea what was being said and couldn't possibly have cared less. Keith had slowly crawled to his feet, looking around over the battlefield. _Flynn, Jace… Cam…_ each body was like a new punch to the guts, but it was Cam his eyes finally settled on. He'd gone forward so willingly. For honor. For duty. For the _team…_ and the team hadn't been able to save him. He dropped to his knees beside the body, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Cam…" His voice was thick with tears he knew he couldn't indulge. "I'm sorry…"

Sven couldn't look. He knew already, why would he look? Yet he kept glancing at Jace's body despite himself, and the tears kept trying to force their way through. Pidge had gone back to Flynn as if to see if he was really still dead, as if there were any coming _back _from that. The cut on his back still hurt like hell, but it barely made it through the ice.

Not all the survivors were doing that much better. Hunk ignored the hole in his own shoulder in favor of running to Vince's side; he was breathing, but everything still seemed foggy as he stared at his wounded teammate. It slowly dawned on him that he was seeing blood. "You need…" He fell silent as he realized what he'd been about to say. He needed a doctor. There wasn't a doctor.

Lance had taken only one step towards Flynn before a small whimper of pain distracted him. Daniel. The kid was visibly fighting back sobs, and no question part of that was his injury, but the struggle to keep it together was increasing along with the volume of the crowd.

If there was anything the seven of them were all feeling as one, it was the desire to take those chants and shove them down the throats of every single Drule present. But they couldn't do that. They could hardly even move.

And then the gate was open, and Skalor was rushing towards them, shouting in excited Drakure. He'd probably never know how close he came to getting several pointy objects to the chest—it was only the sight of the medics behind him that kept Lance from lunging, and only Hunk grabbing his arm as he approached that stopped Pidge from doing the same.

Keith hadn't left Cam's side, and wouldn't until he was forced. But he lifted his head to glare up at the royal box. Nobody had come forward to judge the defeated. There was no need; the robeast was demonstrably _dead_. But as he kept his gaze focused there, King Zarkon himself stood. He approached the front of the box slowly, looking down over the victorious Earthlings, and raised his gaive'llar in a salute.

Watching them, Romelle stared at the leader, the one who'd paid her honor as she spared them the burden of executions. He did not show Zarkon any such respect. Why in the darkest hells would he? She couldn't catch his eye, and she wasn't sure what she could have offered even if she had. But a tear was trying to come to her eye regardless.

Zarkon kept his weapon raised, the crowd's chanting reaching a near fever pitch before he spoke. "Friends, subjects, and warriors, remember this day! We have all borne witness to a show of strength few are brave enough to even imagine. The blood of an occult beast stains the arena floor! To your feet! Honor the victors!"

What parts of the crowd hadn't already been on their feet obeyed in a moment, still chanting. Romelle felt herself pulled roughly from her seat, and leaned forward to look at the Earthlings better. They didn't look honored. They looked wounded, sick, sorrowful… and most of all, _furious_. But it felt like she was the only one who was seeing it. Or was she just the only one who cared?

"Gladiators, eternal fame and glory are yours. Go now. Take your well-earned rest. Know that future warriors will hear tales of this day for all time!"

The crowd continued chanting until the guards and the medics had, with some resistance, escorted the victorious gladiators from the floor. And Romelle found herself feeling violently ill all over again.

* * *

In another circumstance, Keith might have pitied the medics.

They were only doing their job. Their duty. And they seemed dedicated to it, treating the gladiators as patients rather than slaves, administering painkillers that they certainly could have just skipped as they worked on the team's wounds. How much of that diligence was typical, and how much was because they were now _honored slayers of an occult beast_, they didn't know. Jace had never let the Drule medics work on them before.

_Jace…_

That was part of the reason the medics were working under a blistering collection of death glares. Part of why they'd been offered nothing but snarls as they tried to offer congratulations. Part of why they were clearly nervous, occasionally glancing longingly back at the door as they worked. And exactly one-third of why Keith didn't feel pity for them at all.

Even with the painkillers, Daniel was in nothing less than agony. He'd broken a lot of bones in his life, but he'd never had one where the bone actually poked out of the skin to say hi. What was it called… a compound fracture? They'd always sounded vaguely cool and badass.

This was not terribly badass and it definitely wasn't cool. It just hurt like fuck. As two of the medics worked on setting the bone, he bit harder and harder on his lip to keep from crying out. A few tears were leaking from his eyes anyway; if he tried really hard, he could tell himself they were only from the pain.

Lance was circling as the medics worked, glaring daggers and reminding himself punching one of them wouldn't help anything. Sven was alternating between scowling at the medic across from him—this one was patching Hunk's shoulder—and glancing over at Jace's jacket in the corner, still covering their escape supplies.

Escape. It felt almost quaint to think about escape right now.

Pidge had already been checked out, the wound on his back cleaned and re-bandaged. With an enormous amount of effort, he'd managed not to thank that medic by drawing his hidden shard knife and _murdering her_. He'd whispered the Baltan death mantras instead. Again. They hadn't made him feel any better any of the half-dozen times he'd tried it. Now he was just sitting by Vince in a vaguely protective posture; at no point had the order to look after him been rescinded, and that order was what he had to cling to right now.

The other engineer was staring blankly at his hands. It was gone now… that moment of perfect understanding when he'd unleashed the sparks and the light. Why? He was left hovering between trying to figure it out, and scolding himself for even thinking of it. It wasn't their biggest problem right now. But if only he knew how to harness whatever he'd done out there, maybe they wouldn't have…

Shaking his head violently, he forced that train of thought aside.

The medic working on Hunk finished his work, stitching up the wound and placing a bandage. "Thanks, blue dude," he muttered tonelessly; Lance shot him a _look_, and he shrugged. Which, under the circumstances, he really shouldn't have done. "Ow."

He got it. He should be angry. Angry at everything. But actually _displaying_ anger took a level of investment he just didn't have right now. And maybe more to the point, if he let himself be angry, he had to accept what it was he was angry about… and he sure as hell wasn't there yet.

Daniel had just been trying to watch Lance; angry pacing was way better than whatever the medics were doing to his arm. But when they jostled him a little too much applying a new painkiller, he'd had it. "Will you please just hurry the fuck up?!"

Whether this group of medics understood Common wasn't clear, but the tone didn't leave a whole lot of room for interpretation. They jumped and redoubled whatever they were doing, and within a few more minutes they were leaving—really, _fleeing_—the cell.

Sighing, Lance stopped pacing and sat beside Daniel, wishing he had it in himself to offer an encouraging smile. But he didn't, and he couldn't find words, and finally as the kid leaned against him he just put an arm around him. _Just focus on Daniel. Focus on Daniel, not… not…_

He'd been focused on Daniel this whole time. He hadn't even entertained the thought of losing _Flynn_.

With the medics gone, Sven reached over and picked up Jace's jacket, then just stared at it. The rough camo fabric, the red crosses on the armbands, the—

"—Sir," Pidge said quietly, "don't move that. More guards might come."

Guards. Right. Their breakout stuff. Right. He understood the logic, but right now he just couldn't deal with logic. "Pidge…" His own voice was ragged. "Please fuck off."

The ninja's eyes narrowed, then widened, and he opened his mouth and shut it again before simply scooting over a little, between the door and their collection of wood and salt. "…Yessir."

"Thank you." Sven immediately wanted to apologize, but that took a level of energy he didn't have right now. So did acknowledging any of the stunned glances from the others. So he just went back to staring at the jacket, in some vague hope of accepting what had just happened.

Pulling off his own jacket—which had a lot of holes these days, but was still heavy leather—Lance covered the supplies up, then returned to Daniel. And everything was silent again.

Keith felt like he should say something, but what? All he could even say to himself was recriminations. Reminders that everyone had lost good friends, but they'd all been _his_ responsibility. His people. His damn second… his team's medic… his self-appointed _protege_, for God's sake. _He was so young. Hell, they were all… stop it!_ This wasn't helping anything, but he couldn't tear himself away from the thoughts.

Until the door opened again.

"Hail, gladiators!" Skalor sounded too damn happy as he bowed. Even _reverent_. A slave had come with him, carrying a tray full of shining gold goblets; they scurried into the room, set it down, and scurried back out just as quickly from the oppressive mood within. "I bring greetings and congratulations in the name of Lord Zarkon himself, and a gift. The finest Tyrusian blood wine, with his compliments."

Five people glared at him. Daniel didn't glare; he turned and buried his face against Lance instead, he didn't ever want to see another damn Drule if he could help it. Vince didn't glare; he was staring sullenly at the goblets, trying to figure out if he'd actually just heard the words _blood wine_ and trying not to acknowledge the fact that there were ten goblets on the tray.

It was Hunk who found his voice first. "Skeletor, read the room."

"He can fuck his compliments," Lance agreed. Keith spat something similar in Japanese—English was hard right now—and got a snort from Hunk. Pidge grumbled in Baltan and got a snort from no one, but that was okay, _he_ knew what he'd called him. Sven did not have the energy to snarl in Norwegian _or_ English, so he just redoubled his glare.

As he usually did when the team's reactions to being 'honored' did not line up with his expectations, Skalor just looked confused. Then he brushed it aside. "Your triumph will inspire warriors for years to come, gladiators. Tomorrow, there shall be a grand feast to honor you properly… the night is yours to rest and heal." He indicated the goblets. "Toast your fallen, who bravely faced the most glorious death any human might hope for, and revel in your victory. Blood and glory to you!" Bowing once more, he departed.

"Fucking revel?" Lance repeated, jumping up; Daniel gave him a resentful look for moving, and Hunk jumped up and grabbed him before he could do anything unfortunate. Probably warranted.

Sven still didn't have it in him to speak or even move; he was shaking from some new mix of grief and rage. That left nobody to grab Keith, who pushed angrily off the wall and grabbed one of the goblets, glaring at the deep red-violet liquid within. It smelled sweet and sharp and sickening. With a snarl of fury, he flung it at the wall with all his might.

Vince gave a startled gasp as the goblet smashed into the wall and clattered to the floor; Pidge tentatively tapped his arm. "It's okay." Nothing was okay, but—

"—No, _look."_ He pointed. "The goblet dented the wall."

A sudden hush fell over the team, something different than the empty silence they'd been wallowing in up until now. All eyes turned to the wall, the dark stain from the wine… and the small chip in the stone where the goblet had impacted.

"Wait. They what?" Hunk crossed over and picked up one of the other goblets, pitching the wine down the waste chute, then retrieved the one Keith had thrown. Looking them over he shook his head in bewilderment. "This ain't even scratched. Doesn't make sense. Gold's heavy, but it's soft…" Trailing off, he looked at the chip in the wall again. It really wasn't very much. But it was _something_.

Pidge shifted. "My people treat obsidian into a weaponizable form. The Drules may have a similar tempering process for gold, or an alloy, kir sa tye?"

"Yeah, they could…"

Lance was staring at the goblets. They were large and heavy and some crazy metal and _Flynn would love this_ and no, he couldn't think about… "Are they really that stupid?"

Considering that for a moment, Hunk smashed the goblet in his good hand as hard as he could against the wall. It didn't warp or dent, even a little bit. Which was more than could be said for the wall; a new stone chip clattered to the floor. "I think they _are_, bro."

Vince stared at the new depression in the wall. "Guess so."

"They're not stupid." Pidge shook his head. "They believe their own… bullshit. They think we're all like those other gladiators out in the prison yard…"

"Stockholm syndrome," Hunk said quietly. Not because the others actually needed it spelled out for them again—just because Jace would've said it, if he'd been there.

It was all only slowly sinking in for Keith. Digging in through the grief, through the overwhelming feeling of failure. They'd lost three too many, but the rest of his team was alive, and _they_ were counting on him too. The other three had died to keep them _alive_. To get them to this point. _Don't let their sacrifices be in vain, Kogane._ He swallowed hard—he couldn't even think his own damn last name without hearing it in Flynn's voice. "Okay. So how do we… weaponize… a bunch of cups?"

Vince looked from Keith to the wall and back, and just pointed at the chips in the stone. It seemed clear enough to _him_. Sven found his voice again, his tone as cold as his eyes. "Hit someone really hard in the head with them."

"Blunt," Pidge agreed. "But effective."

"We just need a chance…" Hunk considered what else Skalor had said. "So there's gonna be a feast tomorrow, yeah?"

"They can choke on it," Lance spat.

"I think that's what he's suggesting."

"Escape in transit?"

Looking back at Daniel, who'd gone back to fucking _hiding_ against him—though he had shifted enough to keep one eye on the wall assault—Lance felt a whole new wave of righteous fury. And he clung to that, because it beat the alternative. _Focus on Daniel. Just keep focusing on Daniel_. "I'm for it."

"We can take the bomb stuff with us. Might be useful somewhere else." What they'd been planning to do after getting out of the cell _had_ always been a little more up in the air. They had to use whatever they could.

"If they're bringing us this," Sven glared at the goblets, "they _have_ to think we've bought in. They're letting their guard down. This might be our best chance." _It might be our only chance._

"Who would run from such an honor?" Pidge agreed softly, clenching his fists. _Even if they expect us to run, what does it matter anymore?_

That was _not_ the proper attitude, and he kept it to himself.

Keith looked at the others. Vince found himself nodding; it all made sense. Hunk nodded too, and Daniel gave a thumbs-up with his good hand. Returning their nods, the commander slowly exhaled.

"We have to do this. They'd _want_ us to do this." He could see Cam charging in, to buy them time, to make sure they could _win_. _They didn't die for us to just wither away here!_

"They'd want us to fight." Lance caught a glimpse of Flynn's face in the back of his mind, those sharp eyes narrowed in determination. He looked over at Daniel. "Survive."

Clutching Jace's jacket tight, Sven nodded. "We have to."

"Then we will. We're an Explorer Team," Keith said quietly, his voice heavy with anger and grief, sweeping his gaze over the group. "We're a _fucking_ Explorer Team. We owe them. And we're leaving tomorrow."

* * *

The night air may have been cool, but it was also humid. Heavy fog was rolling across the land, making Allura's sleep uneasy. The damp air clung to her skin, making the fabric of her nightgown sticky in places. Muttering a wish for a breeze to blow through the ruins of the once grand Castle of Lions, she rolled over to try once more to get some much needed sleep.

It had been a couple of days since she could truly feel free of the caves. The militia and the space mice had investigated the castle thoroughly, clearing any traps or surveillance that might remain. Whatever shape the structure was in… it was completely in Arusian hands.

But the days were hard. Most of the castle was unstable, leaving only a few areas capable of housing anyone. Much less capable of supporting expeditions to recover anything of value. She did try to have her mice friends recover some items she knew to exist, but most of what she hoped to recover was information. Her father had kept his resources protected, and most of them couldn't be gathered. So her focus had been largely on shifting materials to the tunnels while keeping an eye out for the potential return of the Drules. The castle was nowhere near functional, in any capacity… while she did have some portable power, she was not ready to risk using it without being sure there was no risk of detection. Thankfully, there was still a large stock of candles and other means to get by.

The humidity, though… that was just something she still had to adjust to.

A slight breeze finally drifted through the hallways, causing her to smile softly as she drifted into a dream. Stars twinkled about her as she floated in the void. A tilt of her head, and she noticed great wings were unfolding from her back. Reddish in color, she could feel their strength with each movement they made. With a grin, she rushed forward to see how fast she could go. Looking about she could see almost all of Arus from up high, the moons just peeking out from the edge of her vision.

It was a glorious feeling of freedom, until something just out of view started to become clearer…

Flying closer she could see something falling towards the ground, burning a trail through the sky as it streaked towards the desert lands. Feeling drawn to see what it was, she followed the smoky trail back down to the sands where she found a strange formation in the ground. Almost in the formation of a five pointed star, were five different energies radiating out from the center of the impact. Something like thick black smoke was billowing from one point, so she landed across from it to see the others.

To her left, she saw ice formations, spiraling high from the central area. To her right, large rocks and chucks of earth had been thrust into the air. Making her way towards the center, she saw fire burning alongside the ice… and only fire, with no apparent fuel source, only the intense light and heat pouring off of it. Reminding herself that this surreal sight was a dreamscape, she looked to the other side of the rocks to see vines and roots, some thorns… all manner of plants covering the earth, swaying in the wind.

It was at the moment when her foot touched the center of the formation that her head snapped to look at the smoke. Or what she'd thought was smoke, but it was dawning on her that this was something could feel it… trying to pinpoint what it could be, she noted the shape, rolling and seething like a fast-moving storm. The darkness of the clouds… how they thickened and piled on themselves, rising from the earth.

Something was moving within the smoky clouds, and she felt a shiver run through her. It was moving towards her. A shadowy form taking the shape of a man, and as he moved closer, jagged sparks flickered off and around him. Her feet moved against her will, drawing her closer, until he was close enough to make out the deep electric-blue of his eyes. She couldn't make out any other features, and yet she was struck by a certainty that she was waiting for him, whoever or whatever he was…

A whispered "You…" was all she could muster, any other words she might hope to speak tangled up in a sudden well of emotion.

His voice was deep, yet indistinct, seeming to waver just out of her grasp. "We're coming."

Allura woke to a sharp crack of thunder off in the distance. Her heart beating a mile a minute, gasping for breath, she sat up to make sense of it all. Facing towards Black's lair, she opened her mouth to call out to him. To ask what she'd seen.

And she felt it.

She could feel every one of them. Their presence, their power. She could feel it stirring, shifting, gathering… and most of all, their eyes were open. As if laying in wait for that one last nudge before waking up.


	44. Exodus

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 43_  
Exodus

* * *

Romelle was brushing her hair when Lotor arrived, looming behind her in her mirror. She didn't acknowledge him. Partly out of fear, and partly out of spite… the way he'd been treating her since the duel, she could hardly be blamed for waiting until she was spoken to, either way.

"You have a task to complete today," he finally announced without so much as a greeting. "The Earthlings must be prepared for the celebratory feast. You will go and help to bathe them."

Romelle's eyes widened, though she didn't turn from the mirror. "What?"

His smirk only broadened. "What? They've spent their victories becoming covered in blood and filth. They must be cleansed before they can be properly honored… and sacrificed."

"Sacrificed?!" she repeated in disbelief, rounding on him. "What do you mean _sacrificed?_ That's barbaric!"

"Did you expect them to be left alive? To be offered to the gods is the greatest reward for creatures of their station… unless Father's witch claims them to create new beasts, of course." He narrowed his eyes, studying the shock and horror on her face. "What does it matter to you? Unless I was wrong… you don't disfavor them at all, do you? Quite the opposite."

She managed a scowl. "And what is it to _you_ if I do? You were one of the first to cheer their victory."

Glaring, he stepped forward and slapped her—lightly. Just enough to drag his nails over her cheek in an unspoken threat. "Mind your place, _Romelle_. And you'll watch your mouth during the festivities."

"…Of course." She knew when she couldn't push it any further, and shrank back from him.

"Excellent. You can consider the bathing a gift to your champions, then, if it makes you feel better." He really didn't care if it made her feel better, and from the way she flinched he very much doubted it. "Perhaps you can manage _this_ duty without disappointing me."

A spark ran up Romelle's spine, and her eyes narrowed. "Sincline—"

"—You will address me _properly_."

Glaring at him, she fell silent. She wasn't going to address him as anything, if that was how it was going to be. Turning away from him again, she went back to brushing her hair out. At least that was one hint of normalcy in all this… one ritual she could cling to.

Of course, he promptly grabbed the brush from her hand. "My Lord," she said quietly, "don't you wish for _me_ to be presentable? There might be questions otherwise."

"…Fine, take it." He shoved the brush back into her hands. "And take your gaive'llar with you. You'll need it at the feast." Snort. "As little use as it is in your hands." If it weren't for his father making it clear he was keeping an annoyingly close eye on him now, he wouldn't have bothered… at least he could explain the bathing order away easily enough. She _had_ favored the Earthlings, after all. It was her honor to attend to the mighty slayers of an occult beast.

The only honor she had _left_.

His dark musings were cut off by the arrival of the honor guard, and he led her over to them. "Sergeant Skalor, I trust you will treat my a'kuri with all due respect and diligence."

"Of course, my Lord." He bowed deeply to both of them. "We are honored by your trust."

Lotor chuckled. "You were entrusted with the greatest of gladiators, I have the utmost faith in your abilities. If you have the time, perhaps give her a tour of the slave block? I've not yet had the chance to show her the other side of the arena. But she wanted so much to give our victorious Earthlings her blessing." An extra insult, and he smirked as she flinched. "Now begone with you."

Watching them go, he shook his head in annoyance. What he wouldn't _give_ to be relieved of this damn burden of courtship.

* * *

_This is it_.

The team had arrayed themselves in the cell with calculated haphazardness as they awaited their escorts. Nobody had really given them a _time_, of course—even when they'd been fighting, Skalor's arrivals had never felt wholly consistent. The only way to judge time had been when they were fed, and apparently they weren't getting their usual rations before this feast. So they'd just slept, to the extent anyone could, and assumed when they woke up that it was time to get ready to go.

Everyone was wound pretty tight.

"Feels like watching a kettle boil," Vince whispered into the oppressive silence. He was clutching a goblet with both hands, wondering if he could actually throw it well enough to do damage or if he'd have to just bonk people.

Hunk, who was double-fisting goblets with the full intention of bonking people, glanced over at him. "Well we were _gonna_ be doin' something like that…" He had their collection of salt and wood in his vest pockets. They'd need to be on the lookout for water if they meant to set off a bomb; as far as he knew, nobody had ever tried dropping molten salt into fine Tyrusian blood wine.

Sven did not have a goblet. He had the second knife Pidge had smuggled in, and was twirling it in what was becoming a nervous habit. He'd been absently _trying_ to twirl a goblet earlier, which he was pretty sure was what had gotten the ninja's attention. Jace's jacket was tied around his waist, and the slight stomach ache from _that_ had nothing to do with how tight it was tied.

Pidge himself was standing by the door with his shard knife drawn, coiled like a spring ready to snap. He was—for at least the hundredth time—cursing his chameleon suit's damage, though it was more than just that first cut on the _Bolt_ preventing him from using stealth by now. Old-fashioned sneaking in the shadows it was.

Both Lance and Daniel were shifting impatiently, nerves tight and near fraying. Lance was impatiently shifting a goblet back and forth between his hands, fighting down the urge to start doing something sillier. Like grabbing a couple more of the damn things and juggling them. It would be something to _do_. He was already getting scowled at by Daniel, who had one gripped in his good hand and certainly couldn't juggle anything between them. Snarking wasn't really an option since they had to stay quiet and aware. So all he could really do to shake the nervous energy was bounce on the balls of his feet and sulk.

Sitting on the bench and doing his best to look relaxed, Keith watched the door and waited. They were going today, no matter what. Somehow. But they could still assess the situation and claim the perfect moment…

He heard footsteps, and tensed. The others perked up. No matter what was about to happen, it had to be an improvement on sitting here and waiting and _thinking…_

The door opened. Skalor was standing there, though he looked a bit different than usual. His armor, Keith realized. It was less sleek and streamlined, adorned with the fringe and skull motifs common to Drule ceremonial garb. Rising to his feet, he noted the two guards flanking their guide; they had the same ceremonial armor on. But more importantly, they had ceremonial weapons.

_Swords_.

It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral as Skalor bowed. "Hail, gladiators! Are you prepared to celebrate your triumph?"

"Yeah. Sure." His tone was cool and clipped. Stepping forward, he casually picked up the goblet he'd had next to him while studying the guards more closely. They did have guns—what looked like simple laser pistols holstered at their hips. But only their swords were drawn, and over Skalor's shoulder he only saw two others in the corridor.

After all their theorizing and hoping, it was still stunning to realize how right they'd been. How utterly arrogant these bastards really were. And for the briefest moment, he felt a hint of a smile on his lips.

It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Excellent." Skalor straightened, giving a much more genuine smile. "We will take you to the showers first, so that you may be made presentable for the feast. Come."

They couldn't help but exchange a few regretful looks; cleaning up actually sounded very attractive. But they had to get the hell out of this prison, showers could wait a little longer. As Skalor turned, Keith swept his gaze over the others and nodded.

"Alright. Let's go then."

All the tension snapped in an instant.

Pidge dropped and tackled the guard on Skalor's left mid-turn, cutting her knees out from under her and slashing her throat open. Sven hit the guard on his right at the same time, stabbing into his collarbone and then grabbing a spare goblet to crack over his head.

Whirling around with a startled cry, Skalor was greeted by Hunk's dual wielded goblets. One to the face, one to the chest; he went down gasping. For good measure he followed up with another goblet punch to the gut, then drew back with a slightly regretful wince. "Sorry, Skeletor. You were kinda cool, for a slave driver."

He could definitely hear Jace yelling _knock that Stockholm shit off_ in the back of his mind.

Lance snorted. "We have the power now." Crouching, he jumped over the guard Pidge had brought down. The one behind her had attempted to get his sword up, but the attack had been too quick—he found his blade smacked aside by a heavy golden cup, and then his face clobbered by the same. A second punch separated him from consciousness. Whether it had actually killed him, Lance wasn't sure. He damn well hoped so.

With both fists wrapped around the handle of his own goblet, Keith lunged over Sven's victim and smashed the final guard across the chest. He spun her around and smashed her head against the wall, then landed another goblet punch to finish the job. Completing the spin, he readied himself to lunge again if the corridor wasn't empty, and was vaguely aware that a silence seemed to have fallen over his teammates. Had it? The attack couldn't have been more than half a minute, maybe time was just crawling…

Then he finished the turn and saw just what they were staring at.

"Uh…"

"What the fuck?"

What the fuck, _indeed_…

* * *

Romelle was dazed. One moment she'd been following the honor guard. The next… for all the battles she'd watched in the arena, she'd never seen such swift and coordinated violence so _close_. Shrinking back a step, she tried to blink it off and fully grasp what was happening.

They looked about as surprised as she was, if not more. Struggling for Common—hers was passable, though not great, and it had probably atrophied while she was here—she whispered the first thing she could settle on. Perhaps also the most inane. "What… are you doing?"

Nobody answered her immediately. Then the black-haired one with the injured arm half-whispered, "Do we punch her too?"

"Uh, can we not?" the huge one asked in a surprisingly warm voice.

"We won't punch you," the one in the battered leather jacket assured her at the same time, though he followed it up with an uncertain look at their leader.

The wounded one shrugged with his good shoulder. "I was just making sure!"

"I'll do it if it becomes necessary," the smallest one muttered disdainfully; the big one hit him with his elbow, and Romelle winced.

Looking over his team, Keith sighed slowly, then turned back to the princess. She looked different… no, _she_ looked about the same, except significantly more miserable. But the skimpy outfit she was wearing looked more fit for a slave than a princess. "Princess… Romelle? Why are you here?"

"…Unbecoming reasons," she said softly, which was exactly what he hadn't wanted to hear.

"Sick fuckers," Lance growled; Sven nodded in emphatic agreement.

She didn't disagree. "Are you… trying to escape?"

"We are. Is that a problem for you?"

Pidge was shifting in agitation. "Sir, we can't just stand around here _talking_. Should we tie her up?" That even got him a glare from Vince, who'd finally decided it seemed safe to emerge from the cell. "Or take her with us? A hostage could help—"

"—No, please, you don't need to do that!" Her eyes were wide. "I'll go with you willingly, just please get me out of this place!" The words had come out before she'd fully thought about them. But staring at the escaping gladiators, Romelle found that sense of familiarity surging up again. They just wanted out of here. _She_ just wanted out of here, she _had_ to get out of here. This was her chance… "I can help you!"

Before Pidge could even say anything, Hunk elbowed him again, and was rewarded with a deeply resentful look. _Only Flynn is allowed to…_ he cut the thought off when he realized it was in present tense. No. No time for any of that.

Lance caught his breath and looked back at Keith, who was studying the princess grimly. They really _couldn't_ stay here. Every second put their whole plan in further jeopardy. "…Grab the weapons," he ordered the others quietly, kneeling to relieve the one he'd attacked of her sword and pistol. "Princess, how can you help us, exactly?"

"I can get you to a ship." That was what they needed, surely. She knew how to get to the hangar and had the authorization to get through the security doors, neither of which the Earthlings seemed likely to have already. What had their plan been? Maybe just the same desperation? It didn't matter.

"…Wait, you can what?"

"A ship? That sounds great." Lance had looted the other guns, tossing one to Daniel and one to Vince. "You can shoot one-handed, right kid?"

"Hell yeah." Catching the gun with his good hand, Daniel shot him a little salute with it. He had _zero_ conflicts about killing Drules right now.

Catching the other gun, Vince had a moment of being slightly more conflicted. Did he really want this? Then the arena surged back into his mind, the bodies… he set his jaw grimly and tightened his grip. Yeah, he did.

Gathering up the other swords, Keith looked at the princess again. Could they trust her? Maybe the better question was, could they afford not to? She'd seemed to favor them… and her being sent to them now, wearing _that_, surely seemed like a dishonor in itself. _Unbecoming reasons_. There wasn't time to wonder at the details now, either. "…Fine. We'll take you with us. Let's move before any more show up." Motioning to the others, they started down the corridor.

Lance had slung Skalor's gun over his back, holding the other at the ready. The weight of the spare weapon was more than just physical. Flynn should be here right next to him, armed and ready… he tried to force it down and resolved to shoot whoever they ran across with a little extra enthusiasm.

At the head of the pack Keith had all his senses on the highest alert. As a ruthlessly practical matter, Jace's loss was the most immediate detriment. Flynn's marksmanship and Cam's translation ability would have helped their escape, for damn certain, but a proper medic was a significant force multiplier. First aid training wasn't going to cut it. They would have to be vastly more careful, yet also more aggressive and more fearless, if they were going to get out of here without further injury that they might not be equipped to deal with.

"Heads on a swivel, people," he ordered quietly. "Princess, do you know where the guard posts are?"

She nodded, gesturing back up the way they'd come, then down the hallway to their left. "Each end of the corridor. To seal it off in case of an escape." That was something she'd learned less than twenty minutes ago, and using Lotor's last little insult to their benefit gave her a thrill of triumph. Though the answer, at least from his expression, wasn't good.

"Everyone pick up the pace. We don't need a pitched fight here."

"Hey, hang on." Hunk looked at his pockets. "Skeletor mentioned showers, yeah? Princess, you know where those are? Or if they're on the way to this ship?"

Romelle hesitated a moment, thinking it over. There had been several corridors… one that led up to the rest of the castle proper, the others to various elements of the slave block. "They're off the upcoming intersection. The showers were… the first hall to the right. To get to the castle and the hangar we need to take the large turn on the left, just past there."

"We do not have time for showers," Pidge said irritably; Vince shot him a look.

"But _water_ would be helpful." The ninja's eyes widened slightly at that, and he shut up.

Keith didn't really like this conversation track either, but he also understood where it was going. Or at least he thought he did. "Any detour we take has to be quick. Every second gives them time to sound the alarm."

"No, we _want_ 'em to sound the alarm." Hunk suddenly sounded more animated than he, or actually any of them, had since the arena. "Cuz if I'm followin' this layout right, if we did somethin' crazy like, say, blow the showers up for funsies, everyone would come runnin' that way and _not_ after us. Yeah?"

Romelle was staring at him in disbelief. Actually several of them were staring at him, but mostly with something more like _that's our Hunk_ than _who the hell is this lunatic_.

"…He's right, sir." Pidge's agreement was so begrudging as to sound painful, but it was agreement nonetheless. "A distraction would be worthwhile."

"Wish we could blow up more than just the showers," Daniel grumbled, then made a face. That had sounded uncomfortably like Lance talking about the Galra.

Not that Lance's opinion of the Drules was much higher than his opinion of the Galra right now. "I'm all for taking down as many as we fucking can."

Keith decided it was safest to just ignore that, though he shared the sentiment. "Can you do it quickly, Hunk?"

"If you guys can shoot some salt for me instead of waitin' on a fire, we can do it in like, a minute."

"Game for that." Lance waved his stolen laser, and Keith exhaled. They had to go, but he completely saw the argument…

"Alright. Let's do it."

"Sweet. Lead on, Princess lady!"

Though Romelle wasn't at all sure what to make of her new companions, she wasn't really in any position to question their plan. They _had_ gotten this far. "Alright. This way." Reaching the main intersection, she led them down the short hallway to the showers. Or what passed as showers for slaves, anyway. It was a large, dingy room with bloodied floors and hints of mold around several large tubs—not wholly _surprising_, perhaps, but gross all the same.

"…Eww." Hunk was dumping the salt into one of his goblets. "This place for sure needs a fixer-upper."

"Maybe it'll get one after you blow it up."

"Maybe blowing it up _is_ the fixer-upper."

"Damn it," Sven murmured. "I really want a shower." Though even if they'd had time to shower _here_, he was pretty sure he'd immediately need a second one.

"Maybe the ship will have something," Lance suggested, watching as Hunk flipped on the water for the central tub. "Ready for melting?"

"So ready." Holding out the goblet, he watched as their pilot squeezed the trigger, emerald laser light washing over the salt and reflecting from the gold to cast a startling light show over the room. It almost covered how disgusting the place was…

Almost.

Vince watched, fascinated, and felt slightly calmer for the exactly five seconds it took before the thought _Flynn would love this_ attempted to barge into his head. Lance was having similar thoughts, while Daniel was doing his best to have no thoughts at all. He could still imagine Cam's wide eyes. Pidge wasn't watching the salt; he was watching Romelle. Maybe they didn't have much choice but to trust her right now, but it didn't mean he had to let her out of his sight. Right now she just looked mystified and more than a bit nervous… the light show _was_ kind of eerie. Keith was likewise not watching the salt, instead taking up a position at the entrance, just in case.

"That's good," Hunk announced after about thirty seconds. The tub was full, the salt was white-hot and bubbling. Matter of fact, the laser had superheated it better than they ever could have gotten it with fire… which, if he remembered his molten salt bomb dynamics, meant they were probably going to get a _way_ bigger boom than they'd been anticipating under the old plan. "So, everyone should totes back off right about now."

Even for those who _hadn't_ been around for his previous demolition work, there was something in their bomb tech's sudden confidence that allowed for no questioning his instructions. When Hunk said back off, the team _backed off_. Keith grabbed Romelle's arm when she didn't move fast enough for his tastes, and the others fell back to the entrance along with them.

Stretching his arm out, Hunk dropped the goblet full of salt into the water.

_KABOOM_.

Hot water, steam, and fragments of the water tub sprayed everywhere; he'd spun around as the goblet fell and took the scorching shockwave on his back. It _hurt_, but he'd had way worse. Glancing over his shoulder as it faded, he saw some flash-heated mold smoldering, and chucked the handful of wood chips and sawdust in that direction. The only thing better than an explosion was an explosion _and a fire_. Then he charged for the entryway. "Book it, my peeps!"

"Holy fuck, science!" Lance yelped, and they _booked it._

"Science _is_ pretty awesome."

"Fuck yeah it is."

Sprinting from the showers as alarms started to screech, they charged back into the intersection and took the second left. This corridor expanded into a large ramp that ended in a massive, reinforced door; Romelle moved up to the control console with confidence. Then she paused. "There are two guards on the other side. Just… stay close to me and pretend you're guarding me, I can handle it." _I hope_. A plan was coming together in her mind, though she had no doubt the Earthlings could take down two more guards easily. It just didn't seem the most prudent course of action…

They looked a little skeptical, but maybe they were thinking the same thing. Their leader nodded. "Alright."

Nodding back, she typed a code into the console.

The team startled just a little bit at what came next. A small hatchway opened, revealing something starkly _different_. Still dark stone walls and no windows, but there was a roll of plush golden carpet running down the corridor, and various torches and amorphous paintings lined the walls… for the first time, the castle looked like the sort of place royalty might actually _live_. It was weird.

There were, indeed, two guards on station, and they'd both immediately swung around and were now looking intensely confused. One spoke in Drakure; Romelle answered quickly. Whatever their response, she didn't like it, and none of them needed to speak the language to recognize the sudden change in her bearing. Whatever she snapped next was cold and haughty, and with startled salutes both turned and ran down the ramp to the slave block.

The sigh of relief she gave as they left was so powerful Keith thought she might actually fall over, and he reached out to steady her. "Come on." As they got moving again, he couldn't help the curiosity. "What did you tell them?"

"That there was an incident at the showers, and the champion gladiators were escorting me away from danger, and I was _certain_ they weren't questioning Prince Lotor's soon to be Prime Consort…" She blushed and shuddered a bit at those words.

_Huh_. Hunk raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

"Alright, Princess." Lance grinned, and it wasn't a nice grin either. "Get me to a ship."

"Right. This way." It was all she could do to keep up with them as they broke into a run. "These corridors aren't heavily patrolled… the hangar has security."

"Got it."

It felt bizarre to be running through the ornate hallways. Daniel was pretty over running in any case; he liked his adrenaline, but this wasn't the kind of adrenaline he liked. "How far is it?"

"Not far. They keep the ships close to the slave block… for when they bring new prisoners in."

"That's fucking fair," Lance admitted. Not great, on the whole, but definitely worked for them at this moment. She led them around a corner into a new hallway, this one reinforced with metal, and a security checkpoint that they definitely weren't going to bypass as easily as the last.

Not as peacefully, anyway.

A single guard barely had the chance to register their arrival before he went down with multiple lasers to the chest. Romelle gave a little cry, but shook it off; she'd committed to being part of this. She held little ill will against the rank and file of the castle, but… maybe they would be _honored_ to die at the hands of the great gladiators.

Before opening the first gate, she slipped her gaive'llar out of its sheath and flipped the blade open. Just in case. Then they were through the checkpoint and on to the second, where the guard was dispatched with similar haste. "It's through here. I don't know what kind of ship you'll want, but…"

Everyone looked at Lance, who smirked in acknowledgment. "I do. Just get us in."

"Alright." Taking a deep breath, she typed in her entry code as the others braced themselves.

It was remarkably anticlimactic when the door opened, really. Nothing _happened_. There were workers milling about the huge open space in front of them, working on several bulky ships made of dark metal that were lined up off to the left. Something smaller and sleeker lay to their right side, while a whole capital ship—only a frigate, it looked similar to the Andura they'd fought off at Calidar, but still—dominated much of the floor between them.

Lance's eyes lit up as he caught sight of the small ship to the right. "That's a _Cor'velon_," he announced with a wicked smirk. "Scout class. Hit it." The _Cor'velon_ had been one of the banes of the whole damn Andromeda Vanguard during his last gig, and the thought of getting to fly one was exciting enough to loosen the knot in his stomach for a few seconds.

"Good choice," Pidge murmured approvingly; Daniel nodded in agreement. He had no idea what a _Cor'velon_ was, but the little quad-winged thing looked fast and badass and that was good enough for him.

Well, anything that could get them _out_ of here was good enough for him, but bonus points if they did it in style.

"Let's go." As they ran for it, someone yelled behind them—the security forces had finally noticed a pack of slaves trying to make for one of their ships, and lasers flashed by their sides. Then there was another alarm, and a whole _lot_ of yelling started up, followed by footsteps echoing through the cavernous hangar.

"…Oh, guess we're not at _that_ reward tier yet."

"Jalekya…"

"Lance, Hunk, go get it warmed up!" Keith gave Romelle a slight shove towards the ship as well; she startled but followed. "Daniel, Vince, firing with me. We've got to slow them down."

"Already on it, bossman." Daniel sighted in as best he could, only to have his first couple of attempted headshots go wide. He _could_ shoot one-handed, sure, but his right was his injured arm and he wasn't left handed. Maybe he should try being a little less ambitious… lowering his aim, he got the next guard he saw straight through the chest. Much better.

Grumbling a little—he wanted to shoot Drules too—Lance nonetheless ran for the ship. _Priorities_. Having been given no orders, Sven followed, already plotting out possible destinations in his head. Korrinoth was pretty deep into the Ninth Kingdom's territory; any plan they came up with wouldn't be quick. But he would have them. Oh, he would have them.

Pidge hadn't been given any orders either, and was stopped from asking for them as a guard came around a stack of supply crates right in front of him. Immediately he sprang and tackled him, slitting his throat and grabbing his rifle—Pidge himself wasn't going to do anything with that, but having it seemed better than _not_ having it. Then he followed the others heading for the ship, keeping his eyes open for any more surprises. One Drule appeared around the _Cor'velon's_ ramp; Sven aced him for that target with a grapple and a knife to the spine.

Tossing the gun up the boarding ramp as his teammates scrambled up, Pidge took up a position to guard the entrance. Keith, Daniel, and Vince were falling back more slowly, weaving back and forth and matching incoming laser fire with equal intensity.

The ship's entry corridor was cramped. So cramped Hunk found himself feeling a little claustrophobic as they made their way to the bridge, Romelle in tow. "Cozy."

"It's got good speed," Lance countered.

"Wasn't complainin', bro."

"Just saying." Finding the helm, Lance made a face. "Uh, problem. Console's locked." The console was, quite literally, locked up; apparently Drule security measures included sheet metal over the controls.

"Lemme see." Hunk came up expecting to have to attempt to hack something—sure he'd passed that class, but he kind of doubted the basic level would be enough. They might have to go get Pidge. What he found instead was a whole lot more up his alley. "Problem? No problem." Pulling out the blasting cap he'd smuggled in, the one they had _not_ needed to use to set a bunch of wood chips on fire after all, he lined it up with the delicate console lock and hit the trigger.

There was a tiny boom, and Lance couldn't help a snort as the lock fell away. "Nice." Pushing the metal aside he brought the console to life, and to his relief was greeted with a screen that was mostly images. He'd studied Drule piloting interfaces before, of course; he could get them off the ground. But being able to actually read the damn screen instead of just knowing what to do with it would have made him feel better. "Okay, Fl…" Choking on the name, he cursed savagely under his breath. "Someone's gotta go check the engines."

Hunk winced. "Yeah, I'll grab…" He trailed off too. Not from the same mistake Lance had made. With Flynn gone, he had to go grab the next most senior person in the engine bay, obviously. He was only now realizing who exactly that _was_. "…I'll get 'em."

"Yeah. Good call."

Looking between them as Hunk headed off the bridge, Sven couldn't help a grimace. This was all such a _mess_. And there was nothing they could do for it but run… shaking that thought off, he looked around for the navigation console. He knew the theory of Drule faster-than-light travel, too, but had only ever experienced it on the way here… when they'd been _drugged_. He wondered if jumpgates would make him sick the way rifts did, looked at the jacket around his waist, and sighed.

Though she didn't know them, Romelle had seen the final battle just fine. She could imagine what was going on beneath those abrupt stops and wounded looks. And all she could do was stand back against the wall, out of the way, and hope this worked…

The group holding the ramp had been falling back slowly, not wanting to give the guards a chance to storm the ship if they could help it. That decision was not going to stay in their hands much longer. Halfway up the ramp, gunning down a couple too-brave guards who'd broken cover, they were suddenly greeted with a veritable _flood_ of Drules rushing into the hangar.

One easy enough guess as to where they'd come from. "Uh, I think they figured out what happened with the showers."

"Get onboard!" Keith ordered, taking a few potshots to give the new guards something to think about before turning and following the others up the ramp. They couldn't risk a pitched engagement with so many enemies. They'd just have to hope the others had the ship ready to go…

He'd barely completed the thought when the _Cor'velon's_ engines roared to life. The hatch slammed shut behind them, rattling a little as lasers hit and briefly warped the metal, and Keith decided he didn't want to take any more of that than necessary.

"Everyone's in!"

"Get us off the ground, Lance!"

"Alright…" Their pilot hit a few more switches and hoped the Drules hadn't changed anything major on their ships since the Academy. "Better strap in, people."

Nobody was really any better off than he was, not that that made him feel any more comfortable with the situation. Everyone here had an _academic_ understanding of the Alliance's primary enemy and how their stuff worked. Nobody, so far as Lance knew, had actually tried to put it into practice. All that was left was to Explorer Team this shit up.

Slamming the throttles up as far as they'd go, he brought the _Cor'velon_ to life, and the ship surged forward in a roar of sapphire flame.

"Uh." Hunk was staring in confusion at the engine shafts as they trailed huge gouts of blue-hot plasma behind them. _Are they supposed to do that?_ He'd studied a lot of Drule tech too, but this wasn't even his _field_. He could do Drule bombs; he could do Alliance engines. Drule engines were one degree too far.

As Pidge and Vince came scrambling into the bay he looked up at them helplessly. "Don't suppose either of you did a secondary engine specialization back at the Academy?"

Vince looked back at the hatches and winced. "Uh…" Engines were pretty electricity-adjacent, even on ships where they weren't the primary power plant. He knew some things. "How hard can it be?"

"Why would you ask that out loud, mechka?" Pidge had found what should have been the main systems console, though there he ran into another problem. "Salys sa kye, I can't _read_ this." A lot of the ship's interfaces appeared to be image-heavy, but the vital stats were still just a wall of Drakure.

On the bridge, Lance was more worried about literal walls. The hangar doors were closing and there was no way they'd get there in time to slip through. Sprinting onto the bridge with Daniel on his heels, Keith saw it too, and turned to yell back to the engine bay. "Klei—" _Fuck._ "—Hunk, give us everything you've got back there!"

"We're doin' our best!"

Their best wasn't going to be good enough. Sven strapped in at his console, because this seemed likely to go horribly wrong even faster than they'd expected. Daniel felt his fingers twitching; glancing around he immediately identified _two_ gunnery stations, and was more than a little disappointed he wouldn't be able to run them both at once.

His commander wasn't even sure about one. "Daniel, you can't shoot like that, can you?"

"You underestimate me, bossman." Smirking, he plopped into the starboard gunner's seat and gave the control stick an experimental twist. "I've got mad skills."

Dropping into the other station, Keith looked back at him and nodded. "Just be careful. We don't need…" No, that warning was no use to anyone. He had to trust his team.

Pausing a moment, Daniel swallowed back the snarky response that wanted to come out. "Got it." Eyeing a vacant station that was almost certainly the communications console, he found his fingers twitching again. He wanted something to _shoot_.

The hangar doors slammed shut with a resounding clang, the _Cor'velon_ still barreling towards them at full speed. Without even thinking about it he dropped his crosshairs over the door and opened fire with… well, whatever this thing had.

What it had was half a dozen heavy lasers that speared out across the door, splashing molten metal everywhere and gouging deep glowing holes. Then the ship shuddered, spitting a trail of heavy projectiles, ripping through the weakened spots and carving a welcome gash of daylight.

"Holy shit, did I mention we're on a _combat_ ship?" Lance smirked and aimed them at the hole. Maybe he couldn't read half of what was on his screen right now, but he was _feeling_ the ship's movement, acting on a mix of training and instinct. She handled like a damn fighter. And as they tore through a few weakened shreds of metal onto the tarmac outside, things might even have been looking up.

Hopefully the lever he had his left hand on was _actually_ for the takeoff thrusters. They'd find out soon.

As he aimed them for a set of bright white markings that looked like a takeoff beacon, the comms crackled. Angry Drakure poured through the bridge; Lance spat equally angry Common right back. "Fuck off, dick!"

"Cam—" Keith cut himself off and swore again. They'd been through so much it was automatic, until suddenly it stabbed hard. Damn his _instincts_. And damn the complication, for that matter. "We don't have anyone who can speak that."

That was not accurate, but those same combat instincts had not adjusted to their new companion. "They're telling you to power down," Romelle said softly from the corner of the bridge she was all but hiding in. "Or be destroyed."

"They already fucking did that, lady." Lance lined up with the launch point and took a deep breath. "We're leaving!" Yanking the presumed thruster lever back, he sent up a quick plea to whatever god might be bored enough to be listening.

Like some kind of leaping predator, the _Cor'velon_ sprang into the air.

Romelle gasped and ran to the empty seat on the bridge, strapping herself in and trying not to think about the last time she'd been on a ship. With Lotor. And she'd thought things had been hard _then_, honored and respected, just without choice… if she could have warned herself about where she'd be now… _no_. This didn't help anything.

"So one of the reasons I chose this bird is, she's maneuverable as fuck. So _hang on."_ Lance wrenched them around as fighters began launching around them, and Daniel opened up with the starboard lasers. Keith tried to do the same at the port side console, but much like Hunk this wasn't his field; he couldn't quite puzzle out the controls, and there wasn't exactly time to ask Daniel for help.

_Trust your team_. He strapped in and held on, hating this feeling of helplessness, but without a sliver of doubt. They could do this. They _would_ do this.

There wasn't any choice.

Darting between the fighters, pushing the _Cor'velon_ to its limits, Lance pushed them towards the edge of the atmosphere. What he couldn't outfly, Daniel brought down in a hail of light and iron. There were larger ships starting to scramble behind them, but it wasn't going to be fast enough; the bright sky was beginning to give way to darkness and distant stars.

"Sven, how soon can we jump?"

They were not going to be 'jumping'. Sven couldn't make heads or tails of the jumpgate interface, given everything had nice neat text labels that he couldn't read. In other circumstances he would have answered Keith's question with an overview of Drule unpathed FTL travel, complete with proper terminology options, of which there were several. At the moment, none of that felt important at all. What was important was that he'd figured out the math to get them the hell _out_ of here, and as Keith was asking the question he was already locking the numbers in.

"Right now."

"Kl—_Hunk_, are we set?"

Exchanging shrugs with Vince, Hunk ran his gaze along the engine control panels. One of the panels was different, not least because it didn't seem to be attached to an actual _engine_. Vince had been pretty certain it belonged to the piercer drive that allowed a Drule ship into extradimensional space; as they broke free of Korrinoth's atmosphere it had started to flash a ready icon. "It ain't sayin' no, boss."

Good enough. "Go for it, Lance."

"Going for it!" Pulling a sharp turn and doubling back to shake the last of the fighters, watching one disintegrate from a laser blast just off their wing, Lance flipped off the planet at their backs and triggered the piercer drive.

A shuddering roar washed over the ship, and everything around them but the darkness vanished.

Keith took a very long few breaths, waiting for something else to happen. He wasn't sure what, precisely, it just felt like something else _had_ to go wrong. Based on the silence that had fallen across the bridge, he was nowhere near the only one thinking it. But slowly it became apparent that they were safe… for now.

"Okay." His voice came out startlingly ragged as the adrenaline began to fade. "Status report."

"We're in the Drule equivalent of hyperspace. Think the Alliance calls it the metaspatial plane, or some shit."

"Engines are all, uh… purple? I think that's good. They've all got the okay symbol on the consoles."

"They sound alright, I think."

"No alarms."

None of that was exactly encouraging as to their long-term prospects with this ship, but it would do for the moment. "Alright. Anyone hurt?"

"I'm just as injured as I was before we ditched," Daniel volunteered.

Lance shot him a worried look. "I'm fucking peachy."

"I've still got a hole in my shoulder," Hunk offered, though he sounded less than concerned about the fact. There were way bigger things concerning him here.

"Alright." Keith closed his eyes and realized he hadn't even spared a thought for a rather important question… "Sven, where are we headed?"

"No real destination." Their navigator leaned back and grimaced. "We're aiming towards the Seventh Kingdom."

That got him a couple of startled looks. "The Seventh…?"

"Yes. It's the closest border to Korrinoth; I assumed our primary objective was to get the hell out of the Ninth."

There was a moment's pause. Nearly imperceptible. Lance was waiting for Jace to have thoughts on exactly what Sven had just said. But Jace wasn't going to have any damned thoughts… he clenched his fists. "Definitely the fucking primary objective."

"The Ninth won't follow us into the Seventh." Pidge appeared in the hatchway. "Not immediately, anyway. They don't like owing favors."

Keith nodded. 'Friendly' may not be precisely the word for the Seventh, but being there would be a damn sight better than being here. "Okay. We'll figure things out… which brings me to the next question. Issues with the ship?" He imagined that was why their systems analyst had come up to visit.

"I can't read the status consoles," he confirmed immediately.

"I'm having the same issue," Sven agreed. "We won't be able to use the jumpgate network if I can't read what the maps are telling me, and without it this will be a long trip."

"Yeah." Lance made a face. "I'd feel better if I weren't flying off of just instinct and the bits I remember from theoretical sims."

All of that was fair. But their comms officer was gone… closing his eyes for a moment, Keith quietly came to an acceptance of their only option. Turning to their new companion, he was pretty sure she saw what was coming too. "Princess…" He didn't even fully understand why she was helping them, but that was going to have to wait. "We may have a long trip ahead of us, and it looks like we're going to need more of your help."

Looking around the bridge, Romelle felt a small shiver run through her that had nothing to do with her threadbare clothes. She didn't even know their names. _They have no reason to trust me, nor I them… except that we don't have a choice. None of us have a choice._

No. That was wrong. She _had_ had a choice, and it was why she was here now. The sooner she could accept that, the better it would be.

Slowly, she nodded in response to his unspoken question. "Then you'll have it."

"Alright." Keith shivered too. He didn't want to say what came next, but denying the fact wasn't going to do anything. They were going to have no choice but to keep relying on each other, so… "…Welcome to the team."

* * *

The tomb was simple. Nothing that would scream, "Here lies Arus' finest High King, Alfor Raimon". No gold or jewel-encrusted casket… yet for a tomb so humble, it might well hold Arus' greatest treasure. Its salvation.

Allura rested a hand on the stone of the tomb, thinking about what lay within. Not her father's body; she couldn't dwell on that any longer, not now. But the pendant she'd left with him, the one he now wore in his eternal rest. The one she had not been meant to open. Yet even being near it, she could feel hints of whatever it was she'd sensed that day she'd tried. The beat of great crimson wings, the rumble of Black Lion's presence. It seemed sharper since her dream, or was she imagining it?

Was it only Black she felt?

She'd been young when her father had first revealed the truth of the lions to her. Not only the Lion of Storms. He'd taken her to see each of them as they slept, piercing the shrouds that protected them. Because she, too, was meant to be a protector. Her sacred task was to be a guard to them as they slept. But now… it was her planet that needed to be protected, and every passing moment increased her frustration. Arus needed the lions. Why couldn't she wake them?

Bidding her father safe rest, she tore herself away from the tomb and headed back to the castle. Black Lion's presence still lingered beside her. Sensing she had a chance to catch him awake, she decided it was time to go check on the secret tunnels in the castle depths. She'd not been able to check what condition they were in yet… it hadn't been a priority, and yet it was the highest priority. When the time came they would need those tunnels.

Making sure Coran covered for her while she 'vanished' for the time it would take, she slipped through the many secret doors leading to the underground hub.

The secret room led not just to Black Lion, but all five. It had been years since she traveled most of those paths, but she remembered them so clearly… Red Lion's, with glowing windows filled with lava. Green Lion's, with roots covering just about every inch of the glass. Yellow Lion's, the tunnel cutting through endless rocks and sand. And Blue Lion's, showing the beautiful waters and the glow of the light through the lake.

All those paths had seemed warm compared to Black's as it wound through the dark stone of the mountains. There were times when listening to the tales of the lions, she would think Black seemed cold and harsh… which would match his pathway. But now that she had heard his voice, she felt a new side to him, powerful and firm but kind. Reaching the end of the path, she smiled softly, hopeful that today he would speak.

A soft grumble touched her mind as she approached the huge lion; she managed a light chuckle, stroking the side of his great metal jaw. "I hope this means we can have at least a small talk today, oh Lion of Storms."

"For a short time… but I cannot promise you anything more, Daughter of Arus." He gave a low huff, as if still trapped in slumber.

That was something, at least, and she wasn't going to waste it. "I've sought more of my father's work that could be of help, but most of the information has been lost."

"Then new areas must be sought." He gave a low, frustrated growl. "The answer is somewhere."

"I did have…" Allura paused a moment, tapping her lips as she searched for the right words. "…a strange dream. A star that fell to Arus with five elements within it. And a man, but he spoke as if there was more than just him." She could hear it again as she spoke of the dream, seeing the form in the dark clouds. "He said… _we're coming_. It felt like it meant something."

"I cannot say," the great lion muttered.

That wasn't what she'd hoped to hear. "I was so sure it might mean something… maybe shake loose a memory. Are you sure such a dream has no importance? Nothing at all?" Her voice had become a pleading, almost panicked cry.

"Daughter of Arus…" His voice suddenly boomed through her like a thunderclap. "I know how much we are needed."

Startled by her behavior, Allura took a deep breath as she collected herself. "I… I apologize."

A gentle purr came from the great lion as she wiped some tears from her face. "Be strong, royal cub… for I, even in my slumber, am near you. Should I sense that which I need to awaken, I will let you know. This I promise."

"I pray… I pray such a time… will come soon." Allura managed to say before another wave of tears threatened to overtake her. Another rumbling purr washed over her as she felt the great lion of storms descend back into sleep. While she wanted to yell at him to stay awake, she knew to do so was a waste of energy. The fact that he spoke at all should be enough. Still, tears slipped through and made their way down her face.

Resting her damp cheek against his, she raised her head to the den's ceiling, imagining the lightning and the stars beyond. "To whoever hears me, please… whatever it is that the Lions need to awaken… please bring it here to our poor world. Help us… help us all." Begging to the emptiness of space ached; but then, their doom had come from above. Would salvation come from there as well? Had the lions slept for so long because whatever they needed, somehow, didn't rest on Arus at all?

A thought occurred to her then. No… no, it couldn't be possible. Could it? If it was, did it matter? There was nothing she could do to act on the thought.

_Pollux…?_

She wasn't sure how long she listened to the winds blow through the tunnels of Black's secret den, but soon enough it was time to return to her people. She still had duties to carry out. She could only hope that as the Lion of Storms had promised, he would tell her if she was close to that which he needed. That it would come soon…

Taking one last look at the sleeping lion, she closed her eyes and imagined him flying. _One day, I _will _see this reality. _With that, she turned back, heading back down the tunnel and deep beneath Arus' soil.


	45. Harm's Wake

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 44_  
Harm's Wake

* * *

The stolen _Cor'velon_ was much smaller than the _Bolt_, and the tense silence on the bridge only seemed to make it smaller still. Sven sighed, trying to turn his attention away from the others. He wasn't sure how he was feeling, or even how he was supposed to be feeling, and he didn't intend to focus on _feelings_ either way. He had math to do. And a navigation console to… well, attempt to use. Watching the jagged characters of Drakure pop up and disappear on his monitor as they flew nailed in how difficult this would actually be, without help.

They may _have_ help, at least…

Lance was eyeing Daniel wanting to ask if he was holding up, but he knew the answer, so what was the point? What good would he be if he got the answer, anyway? _He_ sure as hell wasn't. So Daniel just stared at his console, trying to will away the pain in his arm; so far he was doing the opposite. He couldn't tell if the pain was actually increasing or if that was just because he couldn't stop focusing on it. There wasn't currently anything to shoot, and the only other option for distraction was their… what was she, even? Guest? Runaway princess? Hostage? Fellow escapee? Whatever the hell she was, she was practically naked, and even Daniel knew it'd be rude to stare.

Pidge had remained on the bridge after they entered metaspace; as people started looking back to their own jobs, he turned to head back towards the engines. Fewer people he didn't want to talk to there, anyway. But before he could get away, Keith spoke up.

"Pidge, hold on." Pidge stopped walking but didn't turn around or sit. Just stood with his back to everyone. Keith shrugged at that; at least he'd stayed. They really needed to talk about their plan here. "Everyone to the bridge, please." His eyes kept moving from Romelle to his crew, and he began pacing in what little space he had, waiting for Hunk and Vince to join the rest of them.

"There's barely enough room to fit us all in here," Daniel complained. "There's definitely not enough room for you to start pacing."

"He's not wrong, boss," Lance agreed; the second opinion was enough to make Keith pause.

"I know, I just… it helps me." He tried toning it down a little. Easier said than done.

Vince reached the bridge right before Hunk. He wasn't looking forward to whatever meeting they were about to have, though he supposed it had to be done. Hunk stopped in the corridor, not even bothering to properly enter the bridge. It was more than cramped enough without him.

"Alright." Keith sighed heavily and looked over his team. What he still had of it. "We may be off Korrinoth, but we're not out of the woods yet. We need to get situated, make a plan… and adapt to new circumstances." Eyes all slid to Romelle at that; she blushed at the attention and rubbed her arms. It was already chilly on the bridge, and she was wearing next to nothing. Attention only made her feel colder and far more vulnerable.

Not that any of them were focused on her clothes, or lack thereof. They needed answers. Nobody had really slowed down enough to figure out what they actually _thought_ of her presence; it was just that in the moment, leaving her simply hadn't been an option.

They could all agree on that much. Probably. The rest, well…

"Why is she helping us," Pidge asked flatly, finally turning around. Hunk elbowed him; the ninja hissed something extremely vulgar in Baltan at him for his trouble. _You don't have that right_.

Romelle shivered a bit more at his icy tone, drawing a look from Sven. The polite thing, and his first instinct, was to offer her his coat, but… what he had tied around his waist was not _his_ coat. The thought of giving someone else Jace's jacket—seeing someone else _wearing_ Jace's jacket—was like a gut punch. Still, she was obviously very uncomfortable in her _outfit_—if it could be called that. And if he couldn't ease his own mind, he could at least ease things for someone else… he wordlessly offered the jacket over to her.

Lance shot him a look, but it faded quickly. Because he could immediately envision Jace doing the same thing—though probably with a few gratuitous expletives' worth of insistence she take it.

Romelle startled at the offered clothing and accepted it gratefully. Anything to cover herself a bit. "Thank you." After pulling it on, she looked towards where Pidge was standing. He was hostile, but his question was fair. "I… I couldn't stay there." She bit her lip and pulled the jacket tighter around herself. "I fell out of favor."

Lance scowled; he had an idea of what that meant, but he didn't want to think about it at all. His sidekick, unfortunately, had a tendency to speak before his brain could catch up with his common sense.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't think we want to know." Vince's quiet warning was accompanied by Lance's signature _shut up_ look. Daniel gave his equally often-employed _what did I do?_ look in response.

Romelle answered his question, anyway. They may as well at least know the basics. "I was forced into a courtship against my will, and was constantly being disrespected. And then… I lost an honor duel over that disrespect." She looked down at the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, and her hand paused over the wound Lotor had left.

Lance snorted. "Honor… sure, like they know what that means."

"I'm shocked," Hunk muttered under his breath, "_shocked_ to hear that Drules aren't very good at courtship." The joke was a lot easier than thinking about what _constantly disrespected_ might mean.

Keith didn't want to dwell on that either. "Well, I suppose we should begin by thanking you."

"For what?" she asked, puzzled.

"For helping us escape, obviously. But also… for not making us kill. In the arena."

Blushing, Romelle remembered those moments in the arena as if they'd been years ago rather than days. She had read them correctly after all. "You—you're welcome," she finally murmured. "And thank you for bringing me with you."

"We couldn't leave you there." That much was clear, though the other half that went with it was more complicated. It was still too early to fully trust her… they simply didn't know enough. But there wasn't a particularly tactful way to say so.

Sven bought him a little more time to figure it out, clearing his throat and addressing what seemed like an important bit of logistics. And manners. "I suppose now that we've escaped captivity and stolen a ship together, we should introduce ourselves." His viewpoint on cursing may have shifted—ever so slightly—due to recent events, but he'd be damned if he lost all sense of civility. "I'm Sven."

Keith glanced at him and nodded his appreciation for the initiative. "I'm Keith, the commander."

"Pleasure to meet you, Sven. Keith." Romelle couldn't recall hearing Earthling names before, and repeated them to try to commit them to memory.

"I'm Lance. Kid, introduce yourself."

Daniel eyed him. Was _Lance_ enforcing manners now? Fuck. "I don't know how I feel about this new bossy energy of yours," he muttered, which earned him a shrug. "I'm Daniel."

"Hello, Lance and Daniel," Romelle echoed softly.

Hunk looked between Daniel and Lance and _almost_ managed a smile. "Everyone calls me Hunk." He gave Vince a small nudge, though it hadn't really been necessary.

"Um… I'm Vince. It's nice to meet you."

"Vince, Hunk." She nodded to them too. If she had her Common slang correct, at least the name _Hunk_ certainly seemed apt. "A pleasure."

That left one; Hunk looked at the ninja and whispered, "I'll elbow you again." Pidge started to snarl back, but cut himself off. _Flynn wouldn't approve… _"…Pidge," he muttered finally. That was all the relevant information; it was all the introduction she was going to get.

Romelle shivered a little at the venom in his voice. "Hello, Pidge."

"Don't mind him, he's kinda wound tight." Hunk assured her and then whispered under his breath. "Constantly."

She nodded slowly. "Considering what you all went through, it is understandable." She could hardly blame them for still being wary, anyway; that was mutual.

Lance shifted uncomfortably. Something about the way she'd said that… what they _went through_. It was much too nice, too… clinical.

As silence started to take hold on the bridge again, Keith decided it was time to move forward. Keeping busy was best—for their own mental states, and for their chances of actually getting through this. "Well, since we've all introduced ourselves. Princess, you were able to understand spoken Drakure. Can you read it?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good. Then you can help us decipher what instruments are what."

"That would be great," Vince agreed. Knowing what was what down in the engines would be very helpful; he'd been about ready to start pulling panels off to see how they were wired in hopes of figuring out what they _did_.

"Yes, that would be wonderful." Sven eyed the console in front of him. As much as he complained—and rightly so—about computer-created routes, doing unpathed routing entirely by hand would take an obscenely long time. And the jumpgate network was still completely out if he couldn't read the maps.

They needed the jumpgates, and Keith knew it too. "So, priorities. I think the top two would be navigation and in the engine bay."

"Can we trust her to do that?" Pidge asked quietly, but not too quietly_; _Romelle blushed and looked at the floor. Hunk shot him a warning look that was roundly ignored, and Lance grimaced. _Awkward_.

"Don't have much of a choice do we, Pidge?" Sven wasn't a fan of their limited options either, but it was what it was. The team needed a route, and they needed it soon. And he, frankly, needed math.

"She's helped so far," Vince agreed.

"So did Bokar," Pidge retorted.

"Bokar was an ass," Lance said immediately. "She's… well she's not making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, whatever that means." He hoped that that made sense; he'd been right about Bokar, that had to count for something. Eyeing Daniel, he saw the kid's mouth open and shut, and then a proud smile flickered briefly over his lips before he fought it down. Proud, because he'd realized all the reasons _not_ to say _Bokar was prettier_, and actually managed not to say it.

Keith held up a hand for silence. He was okay with the ninja playing devil's advocate here, as long as it didn't get carried away, but the others weren't wrong about either Romelle or their situation in general. "Your concern is valid, Pidge. But we don't have a choice, and this is what we're going to do."

Rather less diplomatically, Hunk reached over and slapped a hand over the ninja's mouth.

It was Romelle who actually defused the matter, though, turning to address Pidge in the most confident voice she could gather. "I understand. You have no reason to trust me, nor I you."

Shoving Hunk's hand aside, Pidge nodded in acceptance. The second part of that sentence had earned her a little bit of respect. It would have to be enough.

"That is true." Keith agreed.

"But you have to understand. None of us could stay there—"

"Hell yeah we couldn't." Hunk agreed.

"But we didn't get out soon enough," Lance said under his breath.

"—I needed to find a way out. The dishonor was too much. But you… you have no idea what they would have done to you." Her firm voice was starting to waver slightly as it all sank in. How close they'd all been to their fates. Hers a prison, and theirs…

_Oh no, don't start crying._ Daniel's ability to react correctly to people crying was extremely minimal.

"It could get worse?" Vince asked.

Sven was afraid to ask, yet the question somehow came out anyway. "What would they have done?"

"…Really, bro?" Hunk muttered; he just shrugged.

_Couldn't have been worse than… _Lance swallowed, he didn't want to think about that, it was still too hard to deal with right now. Instead he found himself looking at Daniel. _At least he's alive_.

Romelle shook her head and regained her composure. "You were too dangerous to be left alive. You _must_ realize that. After the feast, you were meant to be sacrificed… either that, or granted the 'honor' of becoming one of those beasts."

"What the fuck?!"

"And that's gonna be a _holy fuckin' fuzzmuffins_ from me."

"How gracious of them…"

"Ow!" The startled reactions were cut off by Daniel's yell of pain; he'd been investigating a beep on his console when Romelle was speaking. But hearing that they were possibly meant to be turned into robeast had required a dramatic and fast whip around to gawk at her. Which had resulted in his arm smashing against his console. Which _hurt._

"Whoa, kid be careful." Lance hurried over to him, checking out his arm the best he could. "This place have pain meds?"

Romelle looked around the bridge and found a compartment marked as medical; a fairly standard medkit was inside. Checking through the supplies, she pulled out the painkillers and handed them to Lance.

"Shit-fuck! Why do people always say 'be careful' _after_ you've—"

"You're very lucky to have your brother here looking out for you, Daniel." Romelle said softly, looking between him and Lance and closing her eyes for a moment. She missed her own brothers.

"—What?" Her words made Lance pause, staring at Daniel, images flashing though his mind that weren't Daniel at all. _Drew… shit… _he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. "Uh. Thanks." He took the pain killers and shoved them into Daniel's good hand, trying to shake himself free.

_It's fucking true, isn't it?_

Hunk had started to snicker, but cut it off at Lance's expression. He was probably the only person on this bridge—well, kind of on this bridge—who had a real idea what had just happened, and he caught their pilot's eye to offer a sympathetic nod.

"Yeah, thanks," Daniel said in Lance and Romelle's general direction. He hadn't really caught Lance's reaction; he was still mulling over the word _brother_ himself. He'd never had any siblings, but it felt like it fit. It definitely felt more right than _mentor_ ever had.

"Did I say something wrong?" Romelle _had_ noticed Lance's expression, and immediately Daniel looked to him as well, just in time to catch him forcing the reaction down. Had she said something wrong? He didn't know how he'd feel if Lance said yes… but thankfully, he just shook his head.

"Excuse me, Princess." Sven interrupted, indicating his monitors. "Would you mind translating these markers here?" It seemed like a change of subject would probably be best right now. Nodding a little too eagerly, Romelle moved towards him and began to explain the monitors as best she could.

Lance watched as Daniel took the painkillers, and managed a smile. "Be more careful, alright?"

"I'm always careful." The kid smirked.

"And now I'm more worried!"

"That's your constant state."

"Is not…" Lance protested, and Daniel just laughed.

Pidge snorted; he was ready for this to be over with. "Sir, are we finished? I have consoles to watch."

"You can't even read 'em," Hunk pointed out.

Vince nodded. "We'll need to ask the princess to translate once she finishes with Sven."

Scowling, Pidge turned and walked off without waiting for permission; he'd had enough of all of these people. Hunk and Vince simultaneously sighed.

Keith watched him go, then gave Hunk a grim nod. "I'll send her back to the bay once she finishes translating up here. Hunk… you're going to have your hands full. We all will. If you need anything…"

"…I know, boss. I can handle it" Hunk sighed again. "I think I can handle it." It wasn't only the ninja he was talking about. Him in charge of engineering, at all? _Really_. It was still too ridiculous to feel real. "If I can't, you'll be the first to know, promise."

"All right, I'm holding you to that. Dismissed."

Sven had done his best to keep Romelle occupied with questions during the ninja drama. And it had been quite productive; there were some technical terms she didn't know, but between the two of them they had been able to figure things out with context. She was already uncomfortable, no need to make it worse. Though if she were going to be with them for any length of time, maybe it was better for her to get accustomed to ninja drama. It was frequent enough. Along with pilot-and-gunner drama, which also occurred quite frequently. One of their team members also had bouts of magical sparking, which was always pretty dramatic. Not to mention the standard-issue Explorer Team drama that happened on a nearly daily basis…

_This poor woman._

"I think that covers everything." He offered an encouraging smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said softly, fumbling a moment for his name. "Sven."

"Hey, Princess?" Lance waved for her attention before she could lapse back into her own thoughts "I've got a pretty good idea what's going on with my console here, but could you come clarify some things for me?"

"Of course." Leaving Sven's station, she moved to the helm and took a breath. Everything had changed… one thing remained.

_Be strong_.

* * *

By the time Romelle went back to the engine bay, Sven had devised a route. And more than a route, a _plan_. "Alright, think I have it."

Immediately he had everyone's eager attention. He was the only person on the bridge who'd been keeping his focus somewhere at all healthy; Lance was doing his damnedest to think about anything but Flynn, which wasn't working. A distraction would be wonderful. Daniel was more or less managing not to think at all because the painkillers were making him a bit foggy, but having something to potentially snark at would help even more.

Though it was hard to snark at escape plans… but it was hella better than dwelling on the amount of blood staining his hoodie, most of which wasn't his, most of which had in fact been Jace's, and it was drying out and crusty and gross and could they _please_ just start talking about the jumpgates already…

"Okay, Sven." Keith crossed his arms and struggled not to pace. "What are we looking at?"

"Here's where we're inbound to." He brought up a map and pointed to a planet whose name he couldn't actually read, but he knew how to pronounce the letters from Romelle. "Torose. It's a second-level jumpgate hub. Five destinations. One of them is Va'lemos, a border world near Alliance space. One is Acroth, a border world near the Seventh Kingdom. The other three go deeper into the Ninth."

"Well those don't help us."

"What, we're not taking the whole guided tour around this hellhole kingdom?"

Ignoring them, Sven nodded to Keith, who was frowning at the map. "The jumpgate architecture will log our passing, so even if we don't run into any forces at the entrance, they'll know we were here very quickly."

"And we have to assume they have this ship's identification broadcasting all over the kingdom."

"Yes." The navigator got a small, grim smirk. "However, they'll have no way of knowing which path we took until we exit. That's why Torose. They'll see their Alliance fugitives entered here…"

"…And they'll line up everything in the area to vaporize us the moment we come out at Va'lemos," Lance completed, starting to see where this was going.

"Exactly. While we take the gate to Acroth and slip into the Seventh Kingdom before they know what's happened." It wouldn't exactly be an escape to safety, but it would be much better than staying in the Ninth for a second longer than necessary… or getting vaporized at the Alliance border.

"Okay. Get us set up for it, then."

"Yes sir."

As they were planning things out, Romelle had been helping to translate the screens in the engine bay. She found the bay terribly uncomfortable, filled with heat and an ambient red glow that bathed the whole space… still she clutched the jacket Sven had given her closer. She'd rather be hot than feel so exposed. Especially if Pidge was going to keep being so _surly_ around her.

The other two were being nice, at least. "Thank you, Princess," Vince said with a warm smile as she finished going over one of the engine panels. He'd thanked her already. A few times. It just felt like it ought to be repeated, given the reception she was getting from their ninja.

"You're welcome, Vince." She smiled back, then trailed off for a moment. _Princess_. It sounded like a joke here. Princess of what? A kingdom she was fleeing, a planet she had no idea when she'd be able to return to? On this ship she was just a translator. Being called _princess_ only reminded her of everything she'd just left behind. "And… you can call me Romelle."

Vince nodded, feeling heat creep over his ears and the back of his neck. He'd never met an actual princess before.

Nor had Hunk, though it wasn't stopping him from being himself. "Yeah, thanks for the help." He flashed her a broad grin and a thumbs-up before turning back to his own newly-translated console… and shooting Pidge another brief _shape up_ look. As best he was capable, anyway. Flynn would have been able to get the ninja to knock it off, but Hunk's ninja-wrangling skills were… well… okay, they just weren't.

Pidge was not actually even intentionally glaring at Romelle right now. He was just glaring. Because he, too, was thinking about Flynn, and how that _idiot_ had _died for him_ instead of watching his _own damn back_ like Pidge had _told him to…_

"Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"You've helped us out a lot…" Vince looked around the dimness of the engine bay, trying to find anything they might have missed. "If anything beeps angrily we'll let you know?"

"I think we're good right now," Hunk agreed, eyeing her. It didn't take much to catch her discomfort. "If you wanna get out of here for now go ahead. I mean, I know the rest of this ship's no picnic either but engine bays are especially not-comfy."

"Thank you…" She hesitated. Hunk had been called up to get her when she'd finished on the bridge, but he wasn't moving. "Um, do I… need an escort?"

Pidge snorted. "Pretty sure the critical stations are all covered."

"Oh." She tried to just nod. "I… I suppose you're right."

Sighing, Hunk shot Pidge another useless _chill out_ look. "Don't mind him." It was probably the dozenth time he'd said that.

"I'm sure it is justified," she said quietly, and Vince made a face; he wasn't. Pidge shot her an even more blistering glare—he had not asked for and didn't need her approval—before turning back to his console. The one she'd translated for him. The one he'd probably have to call her back to if anything went wrong. This was _not optimal_.

As Romelle turned to go, Hunk took note of a few readings and turned to bellow down the main corridor. "Yo! Bridgies! We got a plan yet? You said we were huntin' a jumpgate!"

She winced at the yell and turned back around, confused. She'd absolutely read off the label for a jumpgate lock light. And it was absolutely blinking. "That flashing light there means they've set a course," she explained softly, only to get three very confused looks—even Pidge suddenly looked more lost than angry.

"Uh… wait. I know you said there's a jumpgate indicator, but… what flashing light?" Hunk turned to the panel she was pointing at and shook his head slightly. Nothing appeared to be flashing.

"This red one… can you not see it?" Romelle approached and touched the indicator.

"I mean, I see a light bulb thing, but it ain't lit up? Sure ain't blinking…" Hunk looked at the other two. Pidge had gotten his scowl back, while Vince just looked more confused than ever.

Odd. "It's a bit difficult to see beneath the engine lights, but—"

"Engine lights?" Vince repeated, and she felt herself getting even more off balance.

"Is that not what they're called?" Spacecraft were hardly her specialty. "That glow from the engine shafts…" Blank looks, again. "Are you… are you saying you can't see it? That red light all through…?"

"…Wait. Red again?" Vince looked from the engine shafts to the console and back to her. "It's all red?"

"Yes…"

"Infrared." His eyes lit up, then he seemed to forcibly fight it down. Just as well—she couldn't quite help but shy back from that much focus. "You can see infrared! That's… totally _cool."_

"Of course she can," Pidge snorted; Vince glared and wished he had some idea of what to say that wouldn't end with a knife in his face. Metaphorically or literally.

Hunk shook his head. "Ninja, shush. That's _awesome_, dude. Uh, dudette… dude-ess? Anyway, that's awesome!"

At least it seemed to be making them happy, Romelle supposed, though she was still a bit lost. "What is… infrared?"

"It's light outside the visible spectrum. Which is different for different races but there's a pretty consistent baseline. Looks like you're outside that baseline. It's totally cool, promise." Vince was surprised at how quickly he was speaking, but it felt important to get across that this was something awesome and not something that deserved a ninja glare. _Way better than sparks, too_.

Blushing, Romelle was about to turn away again when another light blinked. This one the others could clearly see too, because they all suddenly became much more businesslike.

It was just as well Romelle could see infrared, because Sven had been too distracted by math to hear Hunk's question, let alone answer it. Drule unpathed travel was tricky; unlike leaving hyperspace, where you just had to be sure your destination was clear, leaving metaspace required actual _calculations_.

He did like calculations.

The stolen _Cor'velon_ slipped back into real space without fanfare. Keith was at the second gunnery console again, having gotten some quick instruction on how to actually _use_ it, and frowned as the target radar began painting contacts. "Okay. I'm showing two stationary contacts out there, must be the gate and the station."

They could see the jumpgate in the distance—an enormous pulsing swirl of spacetime, as if someone had grasped the fabric of the void and simply ripped it open. Threads of energy bled out around it. Beneath it was a metallic disc-like structure, dotted with turrets, and beneath that the lights of the control station.

"Yeah, that's a gate," Lance confirmed unnecessarily, then glanced down at his own radar—the _Cor'velon_ had a small readout at each station, which was nice. What it was displaying between them and the gate was not so nice. "And… that's a carrier."

_Why do we always find the fucking carriers?_

"Fuck."

"Agreed."

"Fucking agree with the fuck."

Keith started to say something but was interrupted by a beep from the communications console; he crossed over to have a look. "We're getting some kind of automated incoming transmission. Gate information?"

"Looks like." Numbers were scrolling across Lance's screen, and glancing over at Sven's he saw the same thing.

"Monitoring a data channel from the gate, yes," Pidge reported, grumbling something highly uncomplimentary in Baltan. Even knowing what they said, these Drule user interfaces were horribly illogical. He could see data flowing into the ship, but not what any of that data _was_—like some weird spatial display devoid of all context. It was ridiculous.

Romelle had just made it back to the bridge when the comms crackled, and a rather conversational bit of Drakure came across the speakers. Looking back at her, Keith stepped away from the communications console and nodded. "Could use some help, Princess."

Watching her take the comms, Daniel felt a wrenching in his guts and decided to turn back to his own station. He didn't want to think about how that was Cam's spot, any more than he wanted to think about the blood he was wearing.

"They're asking us to identify ourselves," Romelle translated quietly; Lance snorted.

"How do we say _fuck you?"_

"How about _go die?"_ Daniel suggested.

"So they don't know it's us yet." Keith's eyes narrowed as the carrier started moving towards them. "But it won't be long. We need through that gate. Move it, Lance."

Nodding, their pilot pushed the _Cor'velon_ forward. "Gonna be tricky when things heat up. We need a dead stop to enter the gate."

"Uh." Hunk spoke up for the first time; he hadn't felt qualified to add much to the discussion so far. This he was qualified for. "Phrasing, bro?"

Privately, Sven agreed with Hunk, though there was no point in saying it out loud right now. "Anyone have any suggestions on how to actually do this?"

"Take as many of them down as we can?" Lance was trying to guide them in a shallow arc around the carrier as the comms crackled again; the voice was less conversational this time.

"They're saying they won't ask again," Romelle said as Keith turned to her.

Wonderful. "We can't engage. Not with a Drule carrier. No chance we'd survive." The _Cor'velon_ was closer to the _Firecrown_ than the _Bolt_, and to be sure, the _Firecrown_ had survived a couple of carrier encounters. But those had been against obsolete Alliance ships, not active duty Drule vessels… and they'd actually known how to use the ship they were flying.

"Well we can't just sit around and let them kill us, either."

"This ship can't hold out long against fighters," Pidge reported calmly, "never mind the carrier itself getting involved."

Hunk glanced over at him. "Can we get the shields up?"

"Drule ships don't have shields," the ninja answered flatly.

Oh. "So… no, then."

Alarms started to scream through the ship. Weapons locks, and the carrier ahead of them launching fighters. Whether it had identified them or simply grown tired of waiting for an answer, they were out of time.

Without even waiting for an order, Daniel opened up with everything his console had. Why had they even been discussing this, anyway? Of course they had to shoot. Of course they had to fight. Of course they had to kill as many of these blue bastards as they possibly could.

Keith didn't bother to scold him. "Up to you and me, Daniel." He returned to the second gunnery station as Romelle strapped herself in at the comms. "Fancy flying, Lance."

Snort. "Like you really have to tell me." He'd already pushed the sleek _Cor'velon_ into a rapid burst of acceleration, charging straight at the oncoming fighters and forcing several to scatter. "I'll outfly them, you just take down as many as you can, kid."

He hadn't bothered to give that same instruction to Keith, because he already knew what Keith was going to say. He was not disproven. "No. Just keep them at bay long enough for us to get through. We can't get into a pitched battle."

Smirking angrily, Daniel spared a couple of lasers on the carrier itself as he took down a fleeing fighter. "That's the plan, Lance." He ignored Keith's nonsense. He could kill Drules if he wanted to kill Drules.

Though the first wave of fighters had scattered, the next flights were showing a lot more discipline about putting themselves between the _Cor'velon_ and the jumpgate and staying there. Ramming really wasn't an option; the enemy could give a whole lot more than they had. Lance did his best to weave and dart through gaps; Keith was focusing his fire on trying to clear a path, with limited success. Daniel was just shooting whichever target was handy.

As the ship rocked from a couple of impacts, Hunk turned to Pidge with a grimace. "Do we have point defense, at least?"

"Oh we have that." He'd brought that screen up, even, and was waiting for it to do something useful. Anything useful. The problem was, Drule design philosophy didn't like missiles nearly as much as the Alliance. "Won't stop their _lasers_, but we have it."

"Great. Beats nothin', probably." Vince nodded in agreement, though he wasn't sure either of them were convinced.

Punching a hole through one fighter screen, Keith flinched as return fire rocked the bridge. "Move it, Lance."

"I'm fucking moving it!" Bringing them into a roll he privately referred to as _fancy flying maneuver thirteen_, he shot between the burning hulks of two fighters. Shooting them down didn't always actually get them out of the _way_.

It would be better, in Keith's opinion, if they had more firepower aimed at the ones they actually needed gone. "Daniel, focus! We need to clear a path, not just engage whatever the hell!"

Biting down the reflexive _fuck off_, Daniel just kept shooting at whatever got close. "He supposed to just wave at the rest of them?" Lance asked when the kid said nothing, wrenching them halfway out of the carrier's firing line.

"Sir, if we just let them swarm us we die." Pidge was trying to find something in the systems console that would help, but he couldn't even sort out how to manually activate the point defenses as a distraction.

Growling in frustration but acknowledging their points, Keith channeled his energy into offense instead. The _Cor'velon_'s heavy lasers reduced a pair of fighters to slag, molten metal splattering their hull as they shot through the gap.

"We're close." The jumpgate was filling their viewscreen, and Lance aimed for the heart of the swirling mass. He'd never actually flown into one, but getting as deep as possible seemed safer than trying to stop on the edges. "Fire on whichever of the fuckers look at us funny once we're in, there is no _way_ they won't try to blow us up when we decelerate."

"No problem," Daniel smirked, though it was actually turning into something of a problem. His aim was sluggish, and he was missing more often than he was hitting… the painkillers may have done their job, his arm didn't hurt anymore, but _fuck_ he was foggy.

"Can we destroy the station behind us?" Lance's eyes narrowed as they entered the gate area. "Take more of these bastards out?"

"That probably isn't viable," Sven said quietly. His main job in these situations was pretty much to do nothing; he kind of had a love/hate relationship with that fact. But he was probably the person here who best knew how heavily fortified a jumpgate station was. Studies on what happened to ships within a gate if one side of the gate collapsed were also, well… _limited_.

"We can at least try—"

"—Uh, my dudes—and lady dude—I can't totally tell what this alarm back here is sayin' but I'm pretty sure we've got a hole!"

Scrambling to bring up some readout that would give them better information, Pidge found the hull integrity map and breathed a sigh of relief. "Primary armor breach. Secondary layer minor breach. Inner hull is holding."

"Oh, all the fuzzmuffins," Vince whispered, swallowing hard.

Lance gritted his teeth, tracking the strongest area of energy within the jumpgate. He couldn't really pull evasive maneuvers like this, but he was trying. "Hold on a bit longer, guys. Take them out."

"We need to get _out_ of here," Keith growled, swatting down a fighter with the _Cor'velon's_ chain cannon. Two lasers splashed over their hull in response; it wasn't a fair trade. "Just slow us down."

"We're not finished!" Wrenching them into a tight turn, Lance managed to evade a couple of shots from the carrier; one of them hit a fighter and ripped it in half. "We're not fucking done with them!"

Keith's eyes narrowed. He understood. He really did. But…

_We do what we have to do_.

"We will _not_ die here out of spite, Lance." They hadn't escaped Korrinoth just to go down in a blaze of rage. They couldn't have. "We won't waste their lives! Go NOW!"

Eyes widening, Lance slammed the ship into full reverse. The engines shrieked as sapphire plasma shot through the forward channels, arresting the _Cor'velon's_ considerable momentum and leaving them, for a split second, a sitting duck in the center of the jumpgate.

As a dozen lasers converged on the stationary ship, a new alarm howled. Not a damage notification. The jumpgate lock light went a solid, brilliant red, though nobody in the engine bay could see it.

With a sharp _yank_, the ship vanished into metaspace.

* * *

Lotor had been summoned to the throne room. Not invited, as was typical, as was his right and often responsibility as Crown Prince. _Summoned_. Like a _servant_. Worse, like a _slave_. Occasionally he did feel like a slave to this diplomatic nonsense, but his father was… less than sympathetic to such complaints.

There was no question what complaints he would have inflicted on him today…

In the chaos that had filled the castle as the gladiators had escaped, he'd quite lost track of his a'kuri. It had barely even crossed his mind that he'd sent her to bathe them until much later, when two of the guards reported she'd passed them by with the gladiators as her 'escort'. And then it had all made sense.

By Kistrial, what a _mess_.

Stepping into the throne room he found it hadn't even been cleared. King Zarkon was sitting in his throne with his usual favored servants at his side, sipping from a goblet, golden eyes narrowing slightly at his son's arrival. He didn't speak; that, according to throne room protocol, would have been a grave insult. The liege was meant to be addressed, not to open the conversation.

At least he was still granted that little bit of respect, Lotor supposed. "You required my presence, Father?"

"Ah, yes. I certainly did." Zarkon glowered. "There are a great many things I have required of you lately, it's good to see you actually fulfill one."

"You summoned me here for this? You could lecture me anywhere."

His father gave a long, exasperated sigh. "Lotor, you are my son—may I be forgiven—and one day you will be King, may the gods help our empire." He took a long drink of his wine that was, in Lotor's opinion, more theatrical than it had needed to be. "I gave you a simple task. Court the princess of an obscure backwater world desperate to appease us. Explain to me precisely how you managed to fail at this!"

"Me?" Lotor protested. "Why don't you ask the guards who were bringing her and the Earthlings to the feast?"

"Because they are _dead_, or nearly thus," Zarkon retorted, throwing the goblet at him; he jumped back, watching the blood wine vanish into the thick red carpet. "Ah, at least you still have your reflexes, if not your wits. Why weren't _you_ accompanying her? Arriving alone was a breach of protocol, and even you know it."

Kicking the goblet away was also a breach of protocol—then again, no more so than throwing it had been. Lotor watched it skitter along the floor. "She forfeited her honor, Father!"

"…What."

"She challenged me to a duel!" He looked up and scowled. "Invoking the name of Kistrial! What was I to do?"

Zarkon stared at him silently, motioning for one of the servants to bring him more wine. Lotor tensed, half expecting him to throw this one too. But his father drank the entire thing in one long swallow, then slammed the empty goblet down on the arm of his throne. "You explain to your valued consort what our customs are, why invoking the goddess of honor is a bad idea, and you _refuse_."

"And what of _my_ honor?"

"Your destined Prime Consort just abandoned the kingdom on the arm of Earthling slaves! What honor do you think you've retained, exactly?"

Recoiling as though he'd been slapped, Lotor struggled for a counter argument. It wasn't coming easily. "…I will recover her, Father—"

"—You will do as you're told, and right now that will have nothing to do with her whatsoever. I have other warriors searching for the gladiators. _Competent_ warriors." Zarkon leaned back in the throne and crossed his arms. "Your punishment will be dealing with the diplomatic fallout with Pollux."

…Oh. Wonderful. Sighing, he bowed his head and glared at the discarded goblet. Arguing further would accomplish nothing, and he knew it. "Yes, Father."

* * *

Retaking the castle had resulted in a lot of new duties; it hadn't changed any of the old ones. The refugees still needed food… what little the Drules had brought in with them was of high quality, if questionable substance. But there wasn't _much_ of it. They'd been giving it to the injured.

Among the injured was still Hanso, and Larmina would very much have liked him to be a little less injured. A _lot_ less injured. She wasn't very good at worrying about people, and was throwing herself into other duties to stop thinking about how the last person she'd worried about during this invasion had _died…_

Hunting would take her mind off it. Hopefully. So she was out in the forest, the black and white banewolves by her sides, wondering if they were going to bring her to another deer or something that she wouldn't be able to drag back to the castle. That could be fun.

Very little was out in the forest today, though… maybe it was the incoming rain. She could smell the storm on the wind and had been hoping to at least find _something_ useful to bring back before it got here. Maybe it was just this part of the forest. She didn't recognize it; she'd kind of just been following the banewolves, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever gone this deep into the forest before. Sprouts were peeking out of the ground, tiny dazzling flowers that glittered like gems in the filtered light, a roar that must have been the river in the distance…

And a growl. That growl.

"That's…" She looked at her companions, both of whom had drawn up to sharp attention. "Do you two hear that?"

The white one yipped, and the black one snuffled softly, pushing her forward.

Did she want to go forward?

"…Okay, I'll trust you," she whispered, moving ahead. The growl came again, feeling stronger, resonating within her chest… she didn't like it, yet she didn't want it to leave her. "Any chance you can tell me… um… I know you can't. Maybe a little hint, at least?"

Neither responded, but something appeared from the shadows ahead of them. A third, gray banewolf—it might have been the one that had helped retake the castle. It had the same markings. But before she could even ask, its presence drew her attention to something else.

_What the…?_

There was a mass of darkness in the distance. Something physical, something huge. Her first instinct was that it must be a cliff or a mountain, but looking up, the forest didn't seem to rise. Confused, but trusting the banewolves, she tried to move closer…

Searing heat shot through her cheeks, radiating through her skull and down her spine. She cried out and stumbled, as much from surprise as pain; the black banewolf yipped worriedly, turning back to her.

"It's okay," she reassured it through gritted teeth. "Sorry, just… startled a moment." Shaking it off, she moved forward again. The wolves moved closer, almost protectively, as a soft wind picked up.

_"Daughter of the Forest…"_

Larmina froze. The voice was a distant echo of a whisper, hidden somewhere deep within the winds. Had she imagined it? She couldn't have.

"Who's there?" she whispered, tensing and stepping forward again.

_"Daughter of the Forest…"_

New pain erupted. She staggered back with a scream, blinded by golden flashes across her vision, feeling like her face and chest were being torn at by knives. The banewolves were yipping and howling in concern, and she felt strong fangs sinking into her shoulder, piercing the skin but at least yanking her _back_ from whatever in the five hells had just happened…

She wasn't sure how long it took for the pain to fade. But she came back to her full senses on the outskirts of the forest, with the gray banewolf licking her punctured shoulder.

"What was that?" she demanded, drawing a couple of startled yips. "What the hells just—attacked me?"

The white banewolf padded in front of her and whined softly, and she heard it again. The growl they'd been following, the whisper on the winds, seeming to have combined into one.

_"We are not… yet… ready."_

"…Ready for what?" she whispered despite herself, staring into the trees. But there was no answer.


	46. Try to Breathe

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 45_  
Try to Breathe

* * *

For the first few seconds after entering the jumpgate, everything was silent. Then Lance broke the stillness with a long sigh, rolling his shoulders; that had been some damn tense flying. Again.

"Alright. Everyone report to the bridge." Keith forced himself not to pace this time. Calling them all up here wasn't necessary, and there really wasn't room, but… it felt _wrong_ not to gather the team right now. He gave the trio from the engine bay time to arrive and get situated before speaking again. "How's everyone holding up?"

Everyone immediately gave him annoyed looks.

"…I meant with the learning curve of the ship," he clarified. That was not entirely the truth. Better to pretend it had been than try to force the issue of anything else, though.

"Damage from the fight at the jumpgate is significant," Pidge reported quietly.

Lance smirked. "I think I was flying her beautifully, as usual."

"We're on course." Sven had not really needed to specify that, given they were in a jumpgate, but it made him feel better.

"Wishing I could see infrared," Vince muttered, "but alright."

Hunk and Daniel just shrugged. The engines were firing and the shooty-station could shoot; there wasn't much new to report.

Keith studied them, decided it was the best he was going to get, and sighed. "Alright." He kept saying that, and things were anything but alright. But it felt steadying, and right now they needed any illusion of steadiness they could get. "We're buying ourselves some time, but the Ninth won't give up on chasing us, and when we exit the jumpgate they'll be able to pick up our trail. We need options for our next move. Ideas?"

_Kill them all_. That was too unrealistic for even Lance to voice, but hell if he didn't want it. "None you'd like."

Keith eyed him. _I probably wouldn't._

"We need to hope our theory with this jumpgate is correct. Another battle like that and we _will_ have trouble." Pidge's voice was even more emotionless than usual; Vince looked at him and tried to decide if he envied that or not. "Though if we aren't aiming for a jumpgate we can return to metaspace much more quickly, kir sa tye?"

"Yes," Sven confirmed. "I'll have the calculations ready when we exit."

Their commander nodded. "Good. In the long term, though… they're going to be looking for this ship, and we already almost have a hole in the hull. I'm thinking we need something more anonymous. And less fragile."

Blank looks greeted him. "So we need to get another ship?" Lance finally echoed, trying to be sure he'd heard correctly. That sounded only slightly more attainable than killing all the Drules.

"I think we should, yes. It would be safer."

"Dudes, I've barely figured out the bay on _this_ one," Hunk protested, though without a lot of conviction—and even less when Pidge turned to glare at him. "But eh, whatever we gotta do, yeah?"

"So what are we saying here, exactly?" Lance asked, crossing his arms. "We're going to pop out in the Seventh and go to the Drule used car lot?"

Pidge frowned even more. "Should we have a Drule ship at all, if we're heading into Alliance territory?" It was not the _official_ policy of the Alliance to shoot first and ask questions later, but some localities were more aggressive than others.

"That is a concern," Keith acknowledged, "but we may have to take what we can get." The _how_ was still the larger issue, but maybe if they came up with a where they could also find a how. "Sven, any planets on the border near our exit point?"

"There are lots of planets near our exit point." He probably meant useful planets, but that wasn't what he'd said. "I'm unaware of any being a 'used car lot'. We have Chrakoth, Zaw, Doreq, Aliet…"

Lance perked up. "Well fuck, we _can_ go to a used car lot. Doreq is a trade post."

"Yeah?" Hunk brightened too, then hesitated. "Wait, cars ain't gonna help us. Except to be fun." That got a couple of snickers, as well as a confused look from Romelle, who had absolutely no idea what a _used car lot_ even was but didn't feel it was the appropriate time to ask.

"Ca…" Keith winced and looked away. "Dammit. Okay, what else do we know about Doreq, anyone?"

"All I know is it's one of their free trade hubs—they'll let in any merchant who wants to sell stuff. Even the Alliance, if you can get there in one piece." Lance had always wanted to do a free trade run into the Seventh. Not like _this_, though. "They've got all sorts of things… maybe ships? Maybe even non-Drule ships."

Technically, he knew damn well there would be plenty of non-Drule ships at Doreq. Acquiring one was the trick, and the boss wasn't gonna like it.

"The Seventh is known to be friendly to independent traders," Pidge agreed, nodding slowly. "Comparatively speaking."

"If by 'independent traders' you mean smugglers and pirates," Romelle murmured. She'd heard rumors. Many rumors.

Lance shrugged. "Well yeah, it's probably Mos Eisley, but…" A pause. "That'll mean nothing to any of you but Hunk, but anyway."

"We just _left_ a wretched hive of scum and villainy, bro."

"Fucking yeah."

Daniel looked indignantly between them. "You two aren't the only ones who watched Star Wars!"

"…Sorry, kid."

The princess was looking bewildered again. Keith stepped in to rescue her. "The Seventh is known to be pretty scrupulous about having legitimate dealings. It's doubtful they support pirates on any large scale."

Sven nodded. "I've heard they support both legitimate and illegitimate traders, but not pirates."

"Which doesn't stop pirates from existing in their territory," Pidge pointed out. It had been something of an idle observation; there was no sense in getting complacent. But it got some looks from the others as the obvious possibility sank in.

It was the one Lance had already been thinking of. "Maybe _we_ should play pirate again?"

Keith opened his mouth, then shut it. Somehow, he felt like he'd known that was coming… of course he had. This was still an Explorer Team. This was still _his_ Explorer Team. "Really?"

"We are in a very Ninth Kingdom-y ship," Hunk pointed out, looking around the bridge. "It could work."

"We can use that, but there is the language barrier…" Not even their ninja was quite callous enough to say _we don't have a comms officer anymore_ in so many words. Flynn would not approve.

That was rapidly becoming a mantra.

Lance eyed Daniel; there was a bit too much _not_ talking about Cam going on right now. The kid actually looked more irritated than sad… maybe that was easier.

Keith had looked to Romelle. _Gods, when did command get so hard?_ If they were going to do this—and of course they were going to do this, they were going to do whatever it took—there was only one choice. "Princess, can we rely on your help again?"

Blushing, Romelle nodded. Like them, she really only had one choice. "Of course… but I must ask one thing." The decision she'd made back in the engine bay was only solidifying. "Please, stop calling me Princess."

He stared at her for a few moments, but who was he to argue with it? "We can do that. Anything else?"

Nobody raised any concerns; Hunk gave a huge grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Maybe halfway there. "We've got a pirate not-really-princess, it really is Star Wars!"

"It sure is," Lance laughed.

Romelle blushed harder and smiled shyly at Hunk; she had very little idea what he was talking about, but he seemed to be trying to help. Pidge was much less amused, growling under his breath. "Would you shut up."

"Nope!" The grin went up to about seventy percent. Vince shook his head slightly; he'd have liked things between his fellow engineers to be a little _less_ like that.

Rolling his eyes, Keith turned to the navigation console. "Alright, we have a plan. I want a course ready for Doreq as soon as we exit the jumpgate."

Sven, as was his habit, had started working while the others were bickering. "Already on it."

"Good." Their commander paused a moment. "Prin… Romelle. We'll need you at the communications console."

She nodded; Daniel bristled. He wasn't sure if it was her or Cam he was mad at, and ultimately decided it was both—one maybe a little more irrationally than the other, but really, who gave a fuck. But he didn't say anything.

Eyeing him warily, Lance found himself amazed and more than a bit worried. The kid really should _not_ be controlling his mouth better than the ninja.

On which topic… Vince tried to fight a yawn and failed. It had been a long, long… how long had it even been? No wonder he was exhausted. Like it was just the time involved. Noting the yawn, Pidge looked to Keith. "Mechka needs rest, sir."

Vince attempted to scowl at him, though it only ended up as a blank stare. On one hand, the ninja was being an absolute pain. On the other hand, he really _could_ use some rest.

"I can see that," Keith agreed, looking over the rest of the team. Every one of them was tired, of course. But their gunner's slightly glazed look was concerning him most; he'd noticed his increasing sluggishness during the skirmish, also. "I think Daniel might, too." It was most likely the painkillers, but his injury alone was reason enough to give him a break. "Is there anywhere for them to rest?"

"There's a couple beds off that little corridor between the bridge and the bay," Hunk volunteered. "Ain't much." Apparently Drule recon cutters did not spare a whole lot of space on amenities.

"It'll be better than nothing."

It didn't take any actual chief engineer skills for the big man to nod his agreement. In fact it might've been his _lack_ of said skills… he really needed Vince to back him up. "Let the kids crash. We're gonna need 'em."

"I won't argue," Vince sighed, looking at his hands. "I've been exhausted since…" Like he really needed to specify.

Daniel didn't argue either, thought it was taking more and more effort; he was glaring and trying to decide if it was actually worth the mental energy. He was drained and hurting, on one hand. On the other, he was pretty sure Keith was trying to put him down for a fucking _nap—_

"Alright. If that's everything… dismissed."

—Well, that cut off his decision-making process. Finally he opted to acquiesce and leave, so he wouldn't have to argue, but not actually sleep. Disobedience without the mental exertion! Perfect.

Watching his people disperse, Keith slowly exhaled. It had been non-stop since the escape. People could only take so _much_. They all needed rest… they all needed a hell of a lot more than rest. For now, a plan would have to do.

* * *

Lance had gone after Daniel not long after the dismissal; that was probably for the best. Keith glanced towards Romelle, who seemed to be familiarizing herself with the comms. He was unsure himself how he felt seeing her at that station, and now was _not_ the time to analyze those feelings…

There was something else he needed to do, in any case.

"Sven?" Keith moved to stand beside the navigator, who was double-checking their jumpgate status. Again. By this time it was more like quadruple-checking.

"Yes, sir." It seemed to take effort for him to pull himself away and respond.

_Back to sir already, are we?_ Keith sighed. Maybe it was best for this to be a little more formal, anyway. "I… need you to do something for me."

"What do you need?" In actuality, the navigator would be happy to have something more to do. Burying himself in work to help ignore his feelings was all well and good, but it only worked if he had an abundance of work to bury himself in. Jumpgate travel required much less work than Alliance hyperspace travel, and he'd already done everything he could pre-calculate for Doreq.

_And_ double checked it.

"I… _we_ lost Kleid…" _Never thought I would have to do this._ "And you're the next senior officer here." Sven froze, realizing what was happening. This was not the kind of work that would help him ignore his feelings. "I know this is fairly abrupt, but under the circumstances… I need you as my second now."

"…Understood." It wasn't really a yes or no proposition; in their current situation, he didn't have much of a choice. There was nothing else to say. "Is that all, sir?"

Keith winced at his muted tone, but nodded. "Yes…" No it wasn't; he waved that lie off and sighed. "Are you alright?"

Sven stared at him for a moment, thinking about how best to deal with the question. He had no intention of having a heart to heart. Still, he didn't have to give a _completely_ bullshit answer to avoid vomiting all his feelings up…

"No, but I'm functioning. You?" Maybe he shouldn't have asked that… it was only polite to reciprocate. Still, he wasn't sure he had the mental capacity to handle it if the commander did want to actually talk.

"Not in the slightest." Keith sighed. In the sudden stillness he found his thoughts tracking back to the _Vesuvius_, the incident there. He'd lost three men then, too. But it hadn't technically been on his watch. It had been three of a crew of hundreds, people he'd barely known. It had haunted him, for sure, but it hadn't been like _this_. "But we have to do what we have to do…" He could almost hear Flynn's voice saying that, but quickly shook it away.

"Hm." Sven truly wanted to empathize with him, he did, but he just couldn't. If he slipped into that mode, even for a moment, he wouldn't be functioning much longer.

But Keith was still trying. "Sven… I know you and Jace, I mean… I'm sorry."

Nodding silently, the navigator made sure to keep his face neutral. Glaring at his commander right after he finished giving him a promotion, no matter how unwanted, would be rude. Though hearing that name made him _want_ to be rude.

_I'm so proud of you, Viking_.

He threw the thought aside with a small huff of frustration.

Keith spoke again when it became clear Sven wasn't going to. "If you need me to… I mean, if you're ever ready to… look, I'll listen if you need it."

"Noted, sir." Sven respected his commander's intentions, but was very much over this conversation.

That was finally getting across, and Keith retreated a little, then looked over at the communications console. He would've liked a bit of advice on that, but now was not the time to ask his new second if he was putting too much trust in Romelle. She was sitting _right there_.

"All right, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."

Sven gave a muted nod. "Thank you, sir."

Quintuple-checking it was.

* * *

Romelle had remained quietly sitting at the communications station, huddled into the loaned jacket. It was a comfort, really, though she wished there were some other clothes for her to change into. Like so many other things, that simply wasn't an option here.

Her rescuers—fellow escapees—were an odd mixture of souls, to be sure. While she greatly appreciated their manners and general willingness to let her be, the Earthlings were extremely _strange_. Of course, the trauma they'd been forced to endure could possibly account for that. But she had no idea what to expect from them beyond the immediate moment, and it was putting her even more on edge.

Would they abandon her once they got to Doreq? What would she do if they did? _I can't go back to Korrinoth. Not an option. And I can't go home. They'll be watching for me…_

Sighing, she looked around the bridge. Lance was following Daniel out and Keith was moving to speak quietly to Sven. She frowned, watching Lance leave. They did seem like brothers, though when she'd said as much, the two had given her the strangest looks. They still made her think of her own brothers, which… where were they now? What was happening on Pollux? What was going to happen now that she'd fled? Icy fear crept over her as the possible consequences of her impulsive escape finally began to sink in.

_Gods, what have I done? _She turned her head to the bulkhead, her hand covering her mouth and nose as she closed her eyes, tears silently trickling down her cheeks. _Avok can defend himself, but Bandor…_ _no! Don't think like that. Bandor will be fine. Avok will make sure of it._

Glancing up at Keith as he moved away from Sven, Romelle bit her lip as anxious new scenarios played out in her mind. These were obviously military men, stronger than her… they could do anything to her. What plans did they have?

_No, no. You do have a weapon._ She reached down to where her gaive'llar laid against her leg in its sheath, praying she wouldn't need to use it. They did seem like honorable men. Maybe they could help her seek asylum in Alliance space, if they survived that long…

Yes, that was an option. And right now, they needed her as much as she needed them. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement. But she couldn't help but fear what could happen if that changed… she swallowed hard.

_Let's hope it doesn't come to that._

* * *

The _Cor'velon_ really was pretty much a bridge, tiny crew quarters, and engine bay shoved into the smallest package possible. There was nowhere to go for any semblance of privacy. Nowhere to go to escape the reality, even when things settled down and there was suddenly time to think.

Hunk really didn't want to think. More so than usual.

He was trying to keep an eye on both the other engineers. Not helpful. Vince was sleeping restlessly in one of the bunks, and Pidge was watching the systems console with a look that could only be described as _empty_. But that was only right, wasn't it? The bay itself seemed empty.

_And it's yours now whether you want it or not._

He was still trying to fight that, trying so damn hard. It was too ridiculous. Flynn _couldn't_ be gone, for all kinds of reasons—but especially because big dumb Hunk sure as hell couldn't take over the bay. Who could take him seriously? He didn't even take himself seriously.

But Flynn _was_ gone. Flynn was _dead_. Which meant Hunk could fight it all he wanted, but he was still officially in charge of engineering. And as silence fell over the ship, it was starting to really sink in.

Fucking fuzzmuffins.

_Okay. So you're gonna go be responsible and stuff now, right? Right! There's a ninja over there who's about a thousand miles away and sure as hell doesn't want your company, so go keep him company._

Hunk sighed. He was the one person in the bay who'd never been able to make any inroads with Pidge. Flynn had found such a strong connection, though he'd had to fight for it. And the ninja seemed to have genuine affection for Vince, though more often than not it came across like the affection you'd have for a cute pet.

Trying to deal with him and his attitude didn't sound fun at all. But he had to take charge somehow. The ninja was being an absolute pain in the ass, for one thing. _Someone_ had to get him under control, and the someone with the job right now was him.

…And he was hurting. Of course he was hurting. They were supposed to be there for each other, and hell if he wouldn't at least try.

His mind was drifting to his brothers. That seemed to be a theme on the ship just now.

_What would Damon do?_

_Slug him and offer dinner, duh. Don't do that._

_Kenji?_

_Same, but with a football._

_Akira?_

…_You know you're gonna go for the direct approach eventually, so you may as well stop thinking about it._

Hesitantly he approached; Pidge ignored him, eyes locked on the screen and staring somewhere past it. "Hey." He dared to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "How're ya holding up?"

Pidge shook his hand off, turned, and gave him a look that could have frozen water in Death Valley. "Hull is holding. All systems are optimal."

"Didn't ask about the _systems_." It had been a deflection and they both knew it, but he wasn't going to give up quite that easily. "You'd raise holy hell if they weren't. I'm askin' about you."

"Go away."

"Dude, you're bein' a little terror right now. You know you're not actually gonna get left alone if you keep doin' that, yeah?"

Maybe that made an impact; Pidge hesitated a moment, eyes flickering away. "I'll try to behave better, sir. Now go away, please."

…Please?

_Sir?!_

Hunk supposed that was what they called 'progress', but it sure as hell didn't feel like it. "Okay, uh, I'll let you be for now, but can you not call me 'sir' again? Like, ever?" That did not get an answer beyond the usual sullen glare. He wasn't going to push it too hard; that was the last thing anyone needed right now, himself included. "And look, if you need someone to talk to…"

The ninja kept silently scowling until he backed off.

_I tried._

_Ain't gonna be the last time_. _It can't be._

_It's enough for now._

He withdrew and checked on Vince—twitching, but still asleep—then retreated quickly from there too; Lance had turned up and was talking to Daniel, he didn't want to intrude. So he returned to his own station and leaned back against one of the engine shafts. There was nothing to _do_ right now, and he didn't know how to deal with it. No music, no explosives, no critical hardware failures to concentrate on. Just remembering where they were and why.

_Don't think_…

He couldn't let himself think about the personal. He _couldn't_. Flynn's wry confidence, Jace's constant scowl, Cam's eagerness to please… they were gone and he couldn't change it. If he let himself keep thinking about them now, he would be useless.

_I promise you guys. I'll mourn when it's safe._

Considering where they were actually headed right now, he wondered if he'd ever be able to keep that promise.

* * *

Lance had followed Daniel pretty quickly after he and Vince went to lay down. He was positive there was no way Daniel was actually following Keith's suggestion to take a nap. And he was worried about him—he'd been through too much. They'd all been through too much.

Unsurprisingly, he found Daniel silently fuming and staring at the ceiling. "Hey, kid."

"Hey." He waved with his good arm.

Lance sat down on a stool or something, next to Daniel, and turned at the sound of Vince snoring on the other side of the room. "Got some nice music, huh?" he asked, going for a laugh.

It worked. "It's honestly kind of soothing," Daniel said with a grin, though the truth was it was all he had to distract him from the bloodsoaked hoodie he couldn't get off because of his arm.

"Kind of mundane, isn't it? Kind of a nice change…" He took a deep breath. It felt like he needed to ask about Cam, but he was terrified Daniel might bring up Flynn. He couldn't handle that—he just couldn't. Pushing down the panic from the thought, he pressed forward. "How's the arm?"

"It's inconvenient as fuck. Can't shoot right. Can't pilot. It fucking hurts, constantly. And it's making this fucking blood-soaked, disgusting hoodie impossible to get off."

Lance frowned. He shouldn't have to be in pain, he just _shouldn't…_ and as he stared at the hoodie, it hit him like a punch that the blood was Jace's. _Fuck, that hurts. _"I can get you more painkillers if you want. But uh, first, want to get out of that thing?"

"I don't want any more fucking painkillers!" he shouted, trying real hard not to think about who the blood belonged to… but images of Jace dead on top of him flew into his mind against his wishes. Then it was Cam, claiming he owed him one. He pushed it down and looked at the missing sleeve of his hoodie. "…Yeah. This is trashed. I really liked it, too."

_Shit, Jace saved him… _Lance had caught the haunted look in his eyes, and looked down at his own jacket as a way to ground himself. It was thrashed up good, holes and blood. He cleared his throat and focused on _right now_, on Daniel. "Alright, this is probably gonna hurt. Ready?"

A nod. Lance pulled as fast but as gently as he could, wincing as Daniel whimpered despite obviously trying not to.

The relief was immediate as the hoodie came free… until he looked down and found the blood had seeped into his shirt as well. "Of fucking course," he laughed bitterly.

"Soon as we can, we'll get you new clothes." The promise felt laughable. How were they supposed to do that? Maybe there would be something on Doreq.

"Thanks," Daniel said tonelessly, unsure if he wanted to scream, rant, or go numb. All of the above, maybe.

Lance dropped the hoodie next to him and looked at his jacket again. It really was a mess. "I need a tanner, my baby needs a spruce-up."

"At least yours is fixable."

"I hope." _I wish it was all fixable. _"Are you… alright-ish?"

They stared at each other: Daniel unsure whether he should say he was fine or give in and tell the truth, Lance hoping—at least he thought he was hoping, or _should_ hope—that the kid would tell him the truth.

"…Are you actually asking, or is this that stupid thing where people ask if you're alright and only wanna hear that you're fine?"

"If I ask you something I want the truth. If you're willing." Lance sighed. "I'll get it, though, if you don't have much to say…" _I'm there too._

"Oh I got plenty to say. I'm just not sure I'll be able to stop if I start."

"I get that." Lance half-grinned. "Honestly, I don't want to talk at all about me. So, totally being a hypocrite right now." Remembering what Romelle had assumed about them, his grin became a little stronger. "But I'm meant to look out for ya, right? Like the princess said… you're my brother."

"Fits better than _mentor_, that's for sure…" Daniel smiled, then sighed. "I'm pretty shitty."

The mention of the M-word made Lance's smile brighten a little more, but it faded quickly as reality returned. "Yeah. I'm pretty shitty too."

"I'm pissed off. I feel disgusting. And not just because I'm covered in Jace's blood. Did you hear what Cam said? Before he ran off like a dumbass? _I owe you._ Like… what the fuck does that mean? Did he run off to be all sacrificial because he—in his stupid blonde head—he thought he owed me something? I mean, who puts that on someone? "I owe you" then runs off and dies for you, like WHAT THE FUCK? And I've been racking my brain to figure out what he even thought he owed me for. Wanna know what I came up with?"

_Well _fuck… _but you asked for it, Lance. _"I usually couldn't tell what goes… went on in Cam's head. You'd know better than me. Don't think he meant to put it all on you though, he took the boss's noble thing too much to heart…" That much he felt certain of, for all the good it probably did. "What did you come up with?"

"When those Drules boarded our ship and got onto the bridge, I shot a Drule that was running towards him. That's it. That was what he owed me. So fucking _stupid_." Daniel gave a humorless laugh that had a touch of hysteria woven in. Only a touch. "Wanna know something funny? I was so pissed Cam decided to go all noble and pay a debt he didn't fucking owe, and then Jace went and died saving me—_fuck him_, by the way. That was the shittiest moment of my life."

_One of the biggest reliefs of mine… _fuck_, that's awful to feel. _Lance looked at the hoodie, at Jace's blood, and at Daniel. "I'm glad Jace did… save you. I can't not be."

"I'm not." He felt sick.

"I know." Lance sighed, closing his eyes a moment. "Cam, he bought us time. We needed time. They were fucking stupid dicks for it, but I know, I _know_ for sure Jace did the right thing. Cam too, maybe."

"I don't think I can… I can't… Buying time is a stupid reason to die!" Not even Daniel dared say Jace had died for a stupid reason too, not to Lance.

"Maybe. Maybe it was all stupid, but none of it should have been happening. It was fucking stupid and barbaric and shitty." It wasn't their fault they'd been put in that situation. "Both those bastards just did what they thought was right." He hoped he wasn't making it worse. He couldn't ever tell for sure, and their current situation was already the worst.

"Well I'm gonna stay mad at them for awhile longer. Okay?" Daniel made a face. If he couldn't stay mad he would _go_ mad.

"I won't tell you not to, hell, I'm mad too. I'm angry as fuck, that's worked for me before. Will again." Flynn appeared in his mind and he clenched his jaw hard. Anger would get him through.

"Oh, and I know you're really committed to this whole 'big brother' role, but I swear to god, you ever try and die for me, I'll blow your brains out. And then my own because I can't fucking take any more people dying for me."

"You'll fucking what?" Lance demanded. _Too damn soon_. Actual terror had flown through him at the thought, and he wanted to yell but somehow managed not to. _He's being dramatic. Right? He's being himself._ "You better never blow your fucking brains out. I'll haunt your ass, even if you _are_ dead."

_Never going to tell you I won't die for you, kid._

"First off," Daniel raised his good hand and counted on his fingers, "dead me has a list of people to haunt, starting with Cam, former roommates, and my ex. I'll be too busy for you to haunt. And secondly, don't die for me and I won't have to."

"Kid, just stay alive and neither of us have to worry."

"Oh, and Keith, for trying to put me down for a nap," Daniel added to his haunt list instead of responding.

Lance laughed, happy for a better topic. "Yeah, what _was_ that man thinking?"

"What's really irritating is that I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep knowing he told me to take a nap." Daniel sulked. He had principles he had to uphold.

"Yeah, that's a problem." Lance considered it. "What if I counter his order? Don't you dare sleep, Daniel." Daniel snorted. "I'm serious, you should stay wide awake. Lie down, stare at the ceiling, count Vince's snores."

"You realize you're like the one _authority," _Daniel put extra emphasis on the word specifically because he knew how much Lance hated it, "on this ship that I listen to, right?"

"I don't like to take total advantage," he smirked. "Though, if you're gonna put it that way, you really should try to get some sleep while you have the chance. We're not out of the rough water yet."

"Bullshit, remember that time you ordered me to use my brain? That's totally taking advantage." That had not been the point, but it couldn't go unsaid. "…But fine. I'll try." Daniel paused, wincing a little as he laid down. His arm was killing him. "I know I said I didn't want them, but is there any way you could nab me some painkillers?" The pain had finally reached the point where it outweighed his pride.

"Yeah, I'll go grab some."

"Thanks." Daniel gave a half smile. Maybe they'd even help him sleep? They'd fogged him up pretty badly last time.

Lance grabbed the bloodsoaked clothing and walked out of the room. He found a trash chute, but found he couldn't just toss the hoodie into it. He held it up and stared at the blood. "You fucking son of a _bitch_, making me do this. …Thank you for saving him." _Probably saved me, too. _He didn't want to think about where he'd be without Daniel to focus on either. Not after…

He was sharply aware he'd managed to avoid mentioning Flynn that whole conversation.

Lance sighed, steeled himself, and tossed the hoodie down the chute. Then he headed back to get Daniel the painkillers. At least one of them would actually be able to sleep sometime soon.

* * *

Vince had passed out the second his head hit the crappy Drule pillow. His entire being felt exhausted, his body from the sparks and his mind from the trauma. He felt a sense of relief as he fell into darkness.

And then the darkness shifted.

Constellations burned bright above him. He was standing somewhere, in darkness, looking up—bright patterns standing out to him. Claiming him. Telling him he knew their secrets, yet they felt unfamiliar and wrong. Knowing and unknowing at the same time…

_Like the sparks_.

He blinked and abruptly knew he was dreaming. He'd been here before. He _belonged_ here.

Staring at the constellations he felt both lost and found. It was never one or the other.

Vince sat upright, waking up fully, blinking and confused. That vision, no, that dream? This was the third time. That artifact, the ghost ship… he needed to tell…

_Flynn._

He sighed and laid back down. The room felt eerily quiet. He felt alone. Turning toward Daniel, Vince saw he was out cold. Well he certainly wasn't going to wake him. What would he say, anyway? He had another weird vision? He was still so confused and lost about what he'd done in the arena…

He was terrified.

He wanted to know what the stars in his dream meant. It felt important. Would it give him answers if he found out? How was he supposed to figure it out? Disappointment and worry flooded through him. He'd never find out, would he? The two people who were helping him try to figure it out were gone.

Tears filled his eyes; he wiped at them and decided he had to try to get more sleep. Hopefully, he wouldn't dream about stars.

* * *

Looking around the shadows of the forest near the castle, Governor Tarlok smiled in satisfaction. He could no longer hear the Arusians following him.

They had fallen into a pattern so quickly. He almost felt sorry for them. What hope had such primitive creatures really had against the one sent to rule them? It hadn't taken long for him to figure out their methods. The mercy of his captors had worked against them as well; they didn't even recognize a secret communicator when they saw one. He'd been able to claim it was a harmless display device carrying images of home, and they'd allowed him to keep it.

Fools.

The escape had gone almost flawlessly. He'd given his usual reports to his superiors, the agreed-upon assurances that all was well on Arus. As they moved him from his communications console to the room where they held him, he'd kept careful track of his location. There had been no doubt in his mind that he could overtake his guards… he just needed to be in the right place. Display device in hand, he had waited.

As he and his guards reached the point nearest to the front doors, he'd made his move. The advantage of surprise may have lasted mere moments, but it was enough to steal a sword and make quick work of one before bolting for the door.

The guards had been skilled enough; he would give them credit for responding swiftly, and their attempts to reclaim him had lacked any of their silly notions of mercy. Yet their aim was off. He'd only suffered some minor wounds to his legs, and a shot to his hand that held the sword, causing it to drop to the ground. While he certainly would've preferred _not_ to lose the weapon, reaching the edge of the forest long before the Arusians made the issue meaningless.

Now he moved cautiously through the undergrowth, quickly becoming certain he'd lost them. He'd seen nothing resembling even a single path among the trees. With time to focus on less urgent matters, he stopped to attempt to dress his wounds with bits of his cloak. Once those were dealt with, he could report to the main fleet. It had long since moved on, but he had a friend there who could assist in pulling him off this planet. And then hell would rain down…

As he pulled his communicator out of his pocket and found it to be intact, a broad smile spread across his face. But almost as swiftly it dropped off as a low growl came from behind him. The sound of large paws padding through the brush… he hesitated, looking around, seeing golden eyes appear in the darkness. He didn't know what kind of beasts might exist within this forest. Their intent was clear, though, and once more Tarlok was running to escape.

This time he was less successful.

* * *

Nearly every uninjured Arusian left to the castle had scoured the surrounding land for the governor. Hope had seemed to fade every passing moment; it wouldn't take much for him to ruin everything. The guards said he'd gone in the direction of the Forest of Altair. It took an existential threat to convince most people to enter that forest, but an existential threat this was…

Fear of the banewolves was not at all unwarranted, but right now it was perfectly clear whose side the beasts were on. That was what Larmina concluded as the gray banewolf handed her the communicator device, slightly broken, a severed blue hand still attached.

She'd decided it was best to just report back to the castle that she'd found his remains.

It wasn't exactly a report that inspired _calm_, but the searchers were relieved nonetheless. At least the governor had been dealt with. But that resolution came with the worry of how much time they still had on the surface. Without him to send false reports back, their ruse would be discovered eventually.

Was that even the only concern? Larmina looked at the device, eyes narrowed. Sure the Drule had said one thing, but it looked like the reality had been something else. Was this device what she feared it was? If so their time could be even more limited. They needed to know what he'd managed to transmit, if anything… she remembered what Danor had taught her, and nodded. "I just might be able to fix this."

While Allura was busy with calming people and preparing to move the castle's resources to the tunnels, Larmina snagged a few tools and sat away from most of the commotion. Cracking it open confirmed what she feared. It _was_ a communicator. After a few pokes and careful adjustments, the device sprung to life.

"Aha! It lives. Now, you sinycka idiot, what have you been up to?"

Allura's ears perked up at Larmina's small outburst, and she approached. "Larmina… is that something that belonged to the governor?"

"Yes, Aunt—uh, Your Majesty" Larmina quickly corrected, noting she now seemed to have more of the Council's attention around her. It wasn't the time to get lectured on decorum. "I was able to fix it up, it's a communicator. I think I've found the transmission log…" She grimaced at the information that came up. "Looks like he did send a message just before escaping. Let me see what it says."

As Allura tried to calm those around her who jumped into panic mode, Larmina did her best to translate the message. Weak as her Drakure was, she was able to get the gist of it.

"It's to someone named Graktag, poor guy. He's offering a favor if they can come pull him off the planet… says he'll follow up with a time and location.'

One of the elders swallowed hard. "Then they are on their way! This was all a fool's attempt!"

"Shut—I mean, be quiet and let me read the reply," Larmina grumbled. "Graktag's not real thrilled with him. Says he has one local lunar cycle to check in again before he demands a bigger favor. _And_ reports him for slacking off on his duties. Oooh, I think this is the Drule equivalent of _don't make me come down there…_ sucks to be him." She looked at the blood staining the communicator and reconsidered that. It already sucked to be him.

"One lunar cycle…" Allura nodded grimly. "When was the last message sent and received, can you tell?"

"Looks like a few days ago."

"That is our time frame, then." Allura looked around, took a breath, and started barking orders in her most commanding tone; she couldn't let the Council panic. It would spread. "I want everything of value peeled from here. Once we have everything brought down, we'll seal all but a few tunnels." Several of those around her steeled themselves and nodded, scattering to begin their tasks. "Coran… I want to remain among the last to leave the castle. I'd like you to be with me."

Coran nodded. "There is more you think you may want?"

"We'll be erasing much of our presence here… but there may be something that may still be of great value. I want you to maintain an eye on the sky while I try to seek it out. It could be our last chance to find it."

"And when the Drules do return…?"

"We'll make our way to shelter when they arrive, no matter what. But until then we will not give up."

Coran gave a small smile. In this chaos, she was still seeking out hope. "I will see to the arrangements."

They'd known this was possible, even inevitable. It was time to trust their plans… and their princess.


	47. Fair Trade

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 46_  
Fair Trade

* * *

The ploy had worked flawlessly. It had taken two tense days for the _Cor'velon_ to reach Acroth via jumpgate; they'd seen nothing there but the station, which had hailed them and requested a proper check-in. They had, of course, declined. Two more days of unpathed travel covered the short distance over the border to Doreq.

If they'd learned anything from this process, it was that there was more than one reason to acquire a non-Drule ship as quickly as possible. There would not be jumpgates where they were going, and nobody wanted to spend the next month crawling through metaspace.

"Alright. We're approaching Doreq, and we need a plan before we get there." Keith looked around the cramped bridge, hoping whatever they were able to acquire here would have a better meeting space. It wasn't necessarily high on their list of priorities, but it would be nice. "With any luck, the local security won't know the Ninth is looking for us."

Hunk—from his usual spot in the hallway—cocked his head. "Even if they do, would they care?" He knew they were banking on at least _some_ hostility between the Seventh and the Ninth. Just how much there was could be useful to know.

Lance frowned, trying to remember anything from old Vanguard briefings. Nothing was presenting itself. "Huh. Good question."

"Hopefully not," Keith acknowledged. "But we shouldn't completely let our guards down."

"Don't think I'll ever do that again," their pilot muttered as Hunk nodded in agreement.

Pidge was also frowning, like he ever stopped lately. "They'd care enough to find out whether the Ninth or the Alliance would pay a better ransom for us, kir sa tye?"

"Always with the cheery points, ninja." Lance ignored the scowl Pidge shot him in response. He wouldn't have bet against the Ninth in that contest; it didn't look like anyone else on the bridge would, either.

Looking between them, Keith nodded, then gestured for silence. "All the more reason to be quick and careful. I want to have two teams ready to go once we land. Scout the area, identify potential ships, then meet back up and choose."

That was a good plan, as far as it went, but a few uneasy glances went around the room anyway. Nobody knew what kind of security might be at Doreq, but there would surely be something. Landing would be the second-riskiest part of this operation… taking off in whatever they stole would be the first.

Nothing they hadn't done before, but still…

"This ship _does_ have a transfer seal on the airlock," Hunk offered. "Could see what's outside orbit and not mess with landin' at all?"

"I like that," Lance agreed. Maneuvering to line up a transfer seal—basically just connecting two ships' airlocks—took a level of precision that definitely amounted to showing off. There were also practical justifications. "I mean, less risk, right?"

"Less chance of being identified, in case they do know who we are," Sven agreed.

Even Vince nodded. "And we'd stick out as human down there, right? Not so much up here."

Keith considered those points, not terribly thrilled with them but understanding the arguments. There were ways taking a ship in space was safer… there were also plenty of ways trying to take a ship _outside of atmosphere_ could go even more horribly wrong. Though nothing prevented them from at least checking over the scene. "Alright, we can scout from orbit. But there's going to be risk either way."

Answering nods ran around the bridge. Even Romelle, who was wholly at a loss for words in what felt like a military planning session, signaled her agreement.

"If we take a ship in space, what do we do with its crew?" Pidge asked. He wasn't against the plan at all, but it seemed like they ought to have that detail worked out. He suspected 'kill them' was not the correct answer.

"Give them our ship?" Sven suggested. It only seemed fair.

Lance nodded. "I mean, likely we'll be giving them an upgrade… if they can read the consoles."

That wasn't a bad point; a military vessel would surely have some inherent value, and whatever poor merchant they were able to hijack would be in better position to take advantage than their little band of fugitives. Though it did raise other issues. "Not unless we destroy or deactivate the weapons systems. We don't want them taking revenge after we hijack them."

"We can shut the guns down no problem," Hunk confirmed, cocking his head. "Giving 'em this ship might make 'em more cooperative, yeah? Don't mind us, just your friendly neighborhood pirates here to make a trade, please don't make us blow you up?"

Romelle eyed him, wondering not for the first time if he was really quite… all _there_. Nobody else even batted an eye; she couldn't decide if that was encouraging or even more worrisome. Vince actually lowered his head and chuckled.

"I mean, if we have to blow them up, we have to blow them up." That earned Daniel a worried look from Lance, who would've preferred the kid sound a bit less like, well, _him_.

"We will _not_ be blowing up any innocent merchants," Keith grumbled, crossing his arms and resisting the urge to start pacing. "Though the chances of anyone just agreeing to a friendly swap are… low, I would think."

"Chances are we have the better offense. They don't have to know we won't use it."

"Yeah, more like a friendly-but-we-can-get-unfriendly-in-a-hurry swap. We're good at gettin' unfriendly in a hurry, yeah?"

Pidge was the first to nod; he was excellent at being unfriendly. In fact he'd have said he had a gift for it. Apparently. Next to him, Vince made a face. _Totally prefer being friendly_. But whatever they had to do, he supposed…

"We fucking excel at it," Lance agreed with a smirk.

Sven nodded. "We've had lots of practice."

"Okay." Their commander nodded. Hard to argue with those points. "So, we have to convince them to let us board. And we'll have to bluff convincingly, because we can't risk attempting to disable their ship—we'd have to fix any damage in a hurry. And who knows what resources we'll have."

"Yeah, truth." Hunk knew what resources they _wouldn't_ have: the correct ones. Which meant… he looked over at Romelle. "So, uh, just how mean can you sound in Drule-speak?"

She startled slightly at being addressed, then looked back at him and gathered herself. The time she'd spent with Lotor would be useful for one thing here, at least. "Just who is it you think you're addressing, lesser creature?" she snapped in her haughtiest Drakure.

Hunk jumped slightly. "…No idea what you just said, but it scared me!"

Her sharpness had almost immediately been belied by a wince, and a faint blush spread over her cheeks. "I won't repeat what I said." Calling them _lesser_, even in demonstration, had sent a jolt of disgust through her. One intense enough to be a little surprising, truthfully. "But I apologize for it nonetheless."

"It did sound unfriendly," Sven said with a nod.

"Seemed pirate wench to me."

"Lance."

"It's the role she's playing, boss!" Lance noticed Daniel smirking at him and decided he probably deserved it. Plus it kept him from thinking about how Jace should definitely be jumping in here…

Pidge shifted on the empty console he was perched on, eyeing Romelle worriedly. It wasn't exactly because of his feelings towards _her_. She'd been helpful to them, regardless of whether he liked having her around… and he did not want any more deaths on their hands. On _his_ hands. The one that had already been his fault was enough…

"Once we do have a ship, should we let her stay behind at the trade post? We're escaped gladiators, that's not exactly safe company for a civilian."

The whole rest of the team shot him disapproving looks, and he sighed. _What did I say wrong now?_

"No, we _shouldn't."_

"No."

"We might not _be_ escaped gladiators without her."

Even Daniel, who'd been side-eyeing Romelle for the last few days for sitting at Cam's station, shook his head. "If we're not allowed to blow up the crew of whatever ship we steal, we definitely can't be allowed to just leave her behind."

The logic of that last point escaped Pidge, but it seemed like he shouldn't ask for elaboration right now.

Romelle had paled at the question, but as the others sprang to her defense she'd started to realize what he was actually asking. It was what she'd expected and feared might come up sooner or later. Why _wouldn't_ they want to offload her when they could? As soon as they didn't need her to translate anymore, she'd known her position was in danger. But they'd cast the idea aside so _quickly_. And even the question…

_Not exactly safe company for a civilian._

She suddenly had a glimmer of why Pidge had been treating her the way he had.

"I _escaped_ that place just as surely as you did," she said softly, looking him in the eye. "I have nowhere else to go. They'll be watching my planet, and if they find me…" She shook her head slightly. "I'd rather die than go back to Korrinoth."

"We all would," Lance said quickly. "You're with us." He'd spoken from instinct, even necessity; he belatedly glanced over at Keith. Not like he really expected the bossman to disagree.

"No one is dying," their commander said firmly. "And no one is getting left behind."

Pidge nodded slowly, then sighed in frustration. "I just thought the question was worth raising."

"I know." Keith took a long breath. "I see your point, and if we were in friendlier territory it _might_ be more of a discussion. But we're not. We might not be the safest company right now, but being with a band of soldiers has to be safer than abandoning her in Drule space, different kingdom or no."

As he finished, he looked to Romelle, who gave him a thankful nod. _We're trusting you, and you've helped us so far_. _Will that change?_ He could see it in her eyes too. Trust was building, but far from secure. They'd all been through too much.

A beep from the navigation console drew everyone's attention. Sven glanced over. "We're inside of Doreq's astrosphere. A few more minutes to reach the planet."

"Alright." It was taking all Keith had not to pace. "What do we target? Check the ships waiting for landing clearance?"

"Might be best to just see what's there when we get there." Lance had no idea what specific types of ships might populate this place. Other than ships that he would totally rock at flying, obviously.

Vince hesitated. He really felt like he shouldn't be encouraging this crazy plan, but they were way past that kind of rational thought these days. "Uh, what about a ship that's leaving the system?"

"Would draw less attention," Sven agreed.

_Huh_. Keith nodded, giving Vince an impressed look. "That's true. Good thinking, Vince."

The engineer flushed. _Ugh, will I ever _not _blush at getting attention?_

"Alright. Hunk, Pidge, and Vince, go back and do what you need to do to prepare for disabling the weapons. If it's possible not to hit the switch until we have a ship secured, that would be best."

"On it, boss." Hunk grinned. "Let's do some piracy!"

"Gonna feel weird without my leather pants," Lance said sadly; Daniel shook his head and gave him a _look_.

"That sentence is weird."

Romelle had been thinking the same thing. "What do leather pants have to do with anything?" Did clothing really improve their chances of stealing a ship?

Their pilot sighed. "I'm a method actor. Which… you probably don't understand." Oh well. _No one around to show off for anymore, anyway_.

"I know what method acting is," Daniel grumbled. "Keeps assuming I don't know what shit is… first Star Wars, now method acting…"

"I meant Romelle, smartass."

"Oh."

Looking between them and the fellow escapee in question, Hunk tried to adopt a scolding tone. It wasn't _quite_ convincing. "Dudes, you're scaring her."

That was not inaccurate. Romelle looked around the bridge; Vince was shaking his head, but his expression was affectionate. Sven had outright cracked a smile. And those were the two she'd come to count on to be reasonable. "I'm on a ship with deadly strangers," she murmured in Polluxian, "and they might actually be _insane…_"

For once, she and Pidge were on about the same page. "Shouldn't we be getting ready?"

Keith nodded. "Yes. Dismissed."

* * *

Doreq's orbital space was zoned off into multiple entry corridors by several satellite beacons. Those corridors were bustling with ships, both merchants and security. Beyond them lay a general stretch of less well-patrolled space for departing ships; at least based on the layout, it looked like their plan had been a good one.

Now to see if it would _work_.

The primary radar was at Keith's console. Romelle was standing over his shoulder, reading off the tags he indicated. "We have a couple of _N'atsus_, a _Dumphur_, a _Varezd_, a _Xaela_, and a few _Thrauds…_" A new label flickered for a moment. "And a _Bovvir_." She could read the words—she guessed they were words—but they all meant absolutely nothing to her.

They didn't tell Keith much, either; he looked around the bridge and at the open comms to the engine bay. "Anything that means anything to anyone?"

_"Varezd_ is a miner," Hunk said after a moment. "Don't think we want that." Mining ships often had their FTL drives outright torn out to make room for cargo once they reached their destination systems, and if they were repurposed later the original drives might be replaced with who the hell knew what.

"No to the _Bovvir,"_ Sven said firmly. "Gravpulse drives are even slower than Drule piercer drives, and at least twice as irritating."

Vince had at least heard most of those names before, though he couldn't place many of them. _Thrauds_ were a common Drule civilian shuttle, which wouldn't be of much help, but… "You said _Xaela?_ That's a Bataxi ship, might be good."

"Bataxi?" Pidge echoed, looking over at him. "Native or export?" The Bataxi were one of rather few independent races to build ships they were willing to sell to others.

"Uh… not sure." Though, thinking about it further, he doubted even Advanced Vessel Identification had covered native Bataxi ships. They weren't common enough outside their own outposts. "Probably export."

"I've worked with Bataxi export tech," the ninja said, looking at the _Cor'velon's_ consoles. "They program in a whole language suite for versatility."

That got everyone's attention. "Ninja, if you're sayin' we could read the screens on that thing, I'm sold."

"Yeah, I'm all for that."

"That's what I said."

"That sounds _lovely_."

Keith nodded slowly. "Romelle, which is the _Xaela?"_ She pointed to one of the radar tags and he cracked a hint of a smile. "And it's just now starting its outbound run, looks like. We'll have time to get into position."

"Well, pirates," Lance declared as he turned the _Cor'velon_ starboard, "we have a ship to steal!"

"Arrr, me hearties!" Hunk called up from the engine bay.

Daniel fist pumped with his good arm. "Woohoo!" That _probably_ wasn't an authentic pirate war cry, but oh well. "I've got a wrapped arm instead of a peg leg, you think that's good enough for method acting, Lance?"

"Fucking perfect for it, kid."

"Pipe down, Captain Hook," Keith ordered at the same time. "Lance, aim for the _Xaela."_

Staring at his commander, Daniel felt a horrifying realization come over him. He was actually kind of proud of the boss for that. Not that he'd ever _admit_ it. "Ouch," he muttered under his breath.

Lance snorted. "Aiming for the _Xaela."_

Keeping an eye on the radar for a few moments longer, wanting to make some sense of it, Romelle returned to her own station as Keith nodded to her. "Shall I tell them we need to come aboard for an inspection? Use that as our ploy?"

"If we do that should I go aboard and stab someone to set an example?" Pidge offered a little too casually; he was juggling his knife between his hands to keep his nerves steady. Vince looked at him and grimaced. They really didn't need the ninja any stabbier than usual. Did they?

"That probably won't be necessary, Pidge." It didn't feel like ruling it out _entirely_ was wise until they knew what they were dealing with. But Keith was determined to end this peacefully if at all possible. "Romelle, I think that's a good plan. Close to weapons range, Lance."

"I'm on it." The _Xaela_ didn't seem to be in any hurry; it probably hadn't even noticed the _Cor'velon_ was tracking it rather than leaving the planet itself. "Weapons range in five."

"Alright." Counting down, Keith closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Romelle, it's on you now."

Nodding, she opened the comms and took a deep breath of her own. _"Xaela_-class, hold in your position. You will prepare for boarding and inspection."

A nervous voice crackled back to her after what felt like a very long pause; it had really only been a couple of seconds. "We were already inspected. We can transmit our report."

She glanced at Keith for guidance, then remembered he wouldn't have understood a word of that. Should she translate? It would take time… no. If there was anything she'd learned over the last few days—the last few _months_—it was how to adjust to the unexpected. She thought quickly. "You may, but you were flagged for a discrepancy."

"Dis-discrepancy?" Whoever was running the _Xaela's_ comms was _very_ nervous now. Nervous enough that she couldn't help wondering if they actually had something to fear. Or were the Seventh's security forces just that formidable? "We don't know what you mean…"

Taking a moment, she steeled herself and snapped, "If you do not immediately comply you will be fired upon."

Lance jumped at the shift in her tone, then made a face. "I seriously should've learned more than just Drakure pick up lines."

"Don't remind me of your Drakure pick up lines," Daniel hissed with a shudder.

"Saved your ass, didn't it?" He'd have looked to the _other_ ass it had saved for backup, but… instead he winced at the thought.

Wincing too, Daniel decided he was not going to think about what was clearly being thought about. "Yeah. You did."

As they argued, the _Xaela's_ comms officer was panicking. "Don't fire! We are powering down. Report is transmitting." An icon flashed on her console; she was pretty sure it indicated they were receiving data. She couldn't be positive. The graphical interfaces on the _Cor'velon_ might have been useful for her companions, but she'd have been just as happy with plain text.

Still, she grinned. That had seemed successful enough. "They are powering down, Keith. And transmitting their inspection report…"

The comms crackled again. "But… surely you don't wish to waste your time on us? We could save you some work, and make it worth your while…"

Romelle blinked. The implication there seemed clear enough. "…And I think they mean to attempt to bribe us," she added before switching back to Drakure. "You will have to discuss that with our inspector when he arrives." It would buy them some time, and she knew above all else they had to get onto that ship.

"We like bribes, yeah?"

"We'll take their ship. That's the price."

"They're powered down," Lance reported, flipping a couple of switches. "Moving into boarding position."

So far, so good. "Hunk, get those weapons offline. Everyone armed and to the hatch. Let's do this."

Nodding to the other engineers, Hunk put in the commands to bring the weapons down. They weren't _entirely_ ruined; Pidge had assured him that a good hacker could have them back up in an hour or so. Plenty of time for their merry band of pirates to be gone, but the ship's trade-in value would be fine. Before leaving the bay, he set the goblet he had left from Korrinoth out on the main console. A little shipwarming gift… it was only polite.

The main hatch of the _Xaela_ was roughly in the middle of the ship; the _Cor'velon's_ was forward of its front wings. It took some tricky maneuvering to get them lined up, just as Lance had anticipated. Nothing he couldn't handle, obviously. As soon as the transfer seal was deployed, he left the helm and ran to the hatch with the others, stolen guns at the ready.

The airlock was cycling when he arrived. Keith looked at the others and nodded grimly. "Let's go. We've got one shot at this."

"I thought we weren't shooting."

"Only as needed, ninja."

"No, no blowing up. Nobody said anything about no shooting."

Keith rolled his eyes as Romelle shifted worriedly beside him. "Let's not unless we really have to. Please?"

"Sure thing, bossman." Daniel flipped the pistol in his hand and shrugged as the hatch opened.

There were three crew members standing on the other side of the hatch; Keith wasn't sure what species they were. Something tall and thin with very long fur, wearing padded jumpsuits that looked very practical for long-term space travel. The one in front had several bangles on one arm, which he supposed signified them as the captain, and was carrying a delicately filigreed box of… well, something.

They were also gawking in obvious confusion at something _very_ different from Drule inspectors.

"Howdy!"

"Surprise! Want a better ship?"

Pidge flipped his knife and Sven put on his most unfriendly face; those messages probably got across a bit better. The bewildered captain looked over them and finally just lifted the box he was carrying in supplication.

"Please, this is fine Parlian dreamdust, a great luxury among the Drules. Our other wares would do you no good, except for drawing their ire. Accept this offering and let us be…"

Romelle translated that for Keith, who shook his head slightly in grim amusement. Of course they'd picked a ship that was _actually_ smuggling something. "We have a counteroffer. Tell them to keep their dreamdust, take whatever contraband they can carry, and get off their ship and onto ours. They do that, and they'll live."

As she relayed that, the _Xaela's_ captain slowly lowered the box and stared. "You… you want our ship?"

She nodded, then gave her sweetest and most convincing smile. "Is that a problem?"

Sven didn't know what she'd just said, but the expression was pretty clear; he arched an eyebrow as Lance gave a small nod of approval. _She's going to fit in fine._

The _Xaela's_ captain shuffled nervously. The group of… whatever they were… did look very unfriendly. And very heavily armed. And he really did not want to know how they'd gotten covered in so much blood… he swallowed hard. "You will allow us our cargo?"

"Your illegal cargo, yes. The most valuable may go with you. That is what you're worried about, isn't it?"

"Y-yes…" He flinched as the little one of the… pirates?… flipped his knife between his hands, and a couple of the others' guns twitched.

Romelle crossed her arms as he wavered. "We are in a hurry. If you mean to accept, you need to do so immediately and get busy moving your goods."

With a bit more time, he might have called their bluff. Or at least come up with some sort of plan. But the trade seemed fair enough; the contraband they carried would easily buy a new ship. And he hadn't lived this long by picking fights when the option to avoid them was available…

"…Very well." Turning to the two flanking him, he began barking orders in what Romelle presumed to be his own language.

"They've agreed to take their contraband and exchange ships," she reported to Keith, who nodded. "I told them we were in a hurry."

"Smart." Lance gave her a grin. "I like it."

"I'd offer to help 'em carry stuff," Hunk mused, "but this probably ain't the time for politeness."

"There's always time for politeness," Sven admonished. "We didn't—"

"We didn't stab them," Pidge said at the same time. "That's polite." _Manners are stupid_.

"—What Pidge said." He'd actually been starting to say _we didn't blow them up,_ but the same principles applied.

Vince snorted—he couldn't believe this was actually working—as the _Xaela's_ crew started carrying things over. Large boxes, flat objects wrapped in blankets, a glint of silver that may have been a statue beneath a thick sensor-blocking tarp…

"Art thieves?" Lance asked as one of them stumbled, revealing a bit of color beneath the corner of a blanket.

Hunk gave a low whistle. "No wonder they were freaked."

"At this point it doesn't matter what they are," Keith said, though he was shaking his head again. "What matters is that they're cooperating."

Daniel had perked up slightly at the thought of these guys they were shipjacking actually being interesting; he tried to get a look at the next batch of contraband coming over. "Wonder if they've got any cool paintings in there."

"Should we be taking you to museums, kid?" Lance looked amused.

"Uh…" Daniel paused as he realized he kind of wanted to say yes to that. But museums weren't that far removed from libraries, which he definitely hadn't wanted to go to… which meant, he was pretty sure, that only nerds wanted to go to museums. But he still kind of wanted to say yes. _Shit. Am I a nerd?_ "Maybe?"

Grin. "That's noted."

After another couple of trips by the other crew, the _Xaela's_ captain approached again. "We have transferred what is most important. We could have the rest of our cargo over and out of your way, given more time…"

Romelle didn't even bother translating that. "If you have what you most want, then it is time to depart. Before we lose patience." Her eyes narrowed. "And captain, you would do best not to follow or report us. Understood?"

"Of… of course." He motioned to his crew and they fled onto the _Cor'velon_, though something about his reaction there didn't sit quite right with her…

Keith watched the other crew scurrying away, then nodded to his team. "Alright, everyone. Time to find your new stations."

"On it!"

The _Xaela_ had an unusual layout: the bridge was set deep in the belly of the ship. Nothing but tradition and habit said it needed to be anywhere else, of course. But it was simply common practice among most spacefaring races to at least put the bridge _near_ the front. This one was actually closer to the back, connected directly to the engine bay. It would be convenient for communication, at least.

A little trial and error found them the console language controls, switching from the swirling runes of whatever race they'd just shipjacked into more familiar lettering. "Ah, English." Lance sank into the pilot's seat and took a few moments to just bask in being able to read what his monitors were saying.

Daniel could read his, too, but he wasn't nearly as pleased with them. "Oh, this sucks."

"What's wrong, kid?"

"No missiles. No real guns. Point defense only."

It felt like they probably shouldn't be too surprised about that. The Bataxi were door to door saleslizards, not weapons dealers. "Better than fucking nothing."

"I guess."

Keith arrived on the bridge with Romelle on his heels; he'd been waiting for the transfer seal to disengage. Now he found the command console and waved her over to the comms. "Let's get moving. I don't trust them not to report us."

"Roger that." Lance didn't actually do much, just turned the _Xaela_ to start moving further from the planet. Any extra few seconds would help. "Do I know where I'm going?"

"Ebb is the closest Alliance planet." Sven's hands were flying over his console as he calculated positions and wavelengths. Bataxi FTL used what was called a mirrorlock drive: they locked onto a distant light source, then reflected and quantum-charged photons to create a sort of slipstream for the ship to enter. There were a lot of benefits compared to piercer and even breach drives, but lining one up required precision angles at tens or hundreds of light years. It was _very_ easy to mess up, if you didn't know what you were doing.

Fortunately, Sven knew what he was doing, and had the route over to Lance a minute later.

Hunk did not know what he was doing, in the broadest sense. He knew nothing about Bataxi engines except that their new ship had three of them. But being able to _read the consoles_ made a huge difference. They were firing fine so far, taking them further from Doreq's atmosphere, waiting for whatever came next.

Another dead stop, as it turned out. Their pilot grimaced slightly as he entered their course. "Uh, mirrorlock gonna take a second." A soft hum ran through the bridge as the drive's reflector arrays shifted, nanometer by painstaking nanometer, making sure to link them with the _correct_ photons from a sky that was thick with distant stars.

"I miss hyperspace," Sven murmured.

"No shit, Viking," Lance agreed, watching the timer in frustration. "Ninety seconds." Ninety seconds was ninety too many. Too much time for—

"We've got incoming."

—That. "Great." Time for yet another narrow escape under fire. At least they were getting pretty damn good at them. "Better get ready to use those sucky point defenses, kid."

"On it, old man!"

"The art thieves were untrustworthy?" Pidge said flatly. "Jaiten sa jye." _Stunning._

"Well I mean, we did hijack them." Vince shrugged. Inconvenient, sure, but they couldn't be _surprised_.

Hunk was eyeing the ninja with a wry grin. "Hey, we know some trustworthy art thieves."

Snort. "Do we, though?"

Vince shook his head, more than a little affectionately. "Uh, he means you."

"I meant all of us, that theft was sanctioned. And like you said, we _did_ just hijack them."

"…Touché."

"Harsh, but fair."

As the bay considered the comparative ethics of theft, the bridge was busy considering the comparative benefits of moving versus not moving. Lance really wanted to take evasive action, but that would throw the mirrorlock off. And that would be _wholly_ counterproductive.

A voice came over the comms, speaking in cool, clipped Drakure. _"Xaela_-class vessel, hold your position and prepare to surrender. We have credible reports that you have undertaken piracy."

They had more or less expected it, and it wasn't actually wrong, but Romelle couldn't quite help an indignant snort anyway. "And the ones who gave you that report are smuggling stolen art aboard their new ship. You're welcome."

They hadn't been expecting _that_. "…While we appreciate the report, that does not negate your crimes."

Of course not. She looked up at Keith, who was giving her an expectant look. "They want us to hold and surrender. I think we need to go. Quickly."

They were going as fast as they could; Lance glared at the countdown as though he could will it to go faster. "Working on it. Less than a minute."

Hunk was scrolling through status screens on his console, trying to figure out if there was anything useful. Turned out there was… maybe. "Oh hey, I think I found the shields!" The ship shuddered violently for a moment, and a cloud of shifting light seemed to emanate from the hull. "Uh, I guess that's a shield?"

"Incoming is a _Tyqu_-class patrol cutter," Pidge reported. "Thirty seconds to weapons range."

"We're gonna cut it close…"

Daniel was ready on the point defenses, though he also remembered how little use they'd been in previous fights with Drules. "Thought speed was one of your skills, Lance?"

Rude. "I can't rush technology." He glared harder at the mirrorlock countdown. "Come on, tech, fucking hurry up!" Oddly, his encouragement did not make it go any faster.

Their gunner looked at him with his most innocent smile. "Han Solo would already have had us out of here."

Lance sputtered. "I flew in a fucking asteroid field better than Han Solo!"

"Han Solo got caught by a tractor beam," Hunk pointed out casually; across the bay, Pidge rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

"Han Solo would think this is a boring conversation…"

Romelle looked around at them in confusion. _"Who_ is Han Solo?! And if he's so good, why isn't _he_ here?"

"I am _fucking_ better than Han Solo, okay?!"

As their pilot yelled, to several snickers from the rest of the bridge, the comms opened up again. _"Xaela_-class, this is your final warning. Stand down."

The countdown light flashed zero.

Lance slammed the drive lever down, and with a faint _whoosh_ of light around them, the _Xaela_ slipped into the photon corridor.

"LIKE I SAID."

Daniel leaned back at his station and threw his good hand casually behind his head, smirking back at him. "I mean that's not all that hard. Luke was a way better pilot."

Eyes widening, Lance whipped around on him. "Did you just fucking say…!"

"Know what, I've been avoiding saying this, but yes. I did just fucking say. I mean come on, he had _the Force_."

"Yeah, he _cheated!"_

Hunk grinned, leaning over his console. "Dude, when they got to assign Han wherever they wanted, they put Lando in the _Falcon_. Just sayin'."

That got him a betrayed look from the helm. "I hate all of you."

"Aww, we love you too, bro."

"Alright." Keith shook his head in exasperation, though he supposed he should be happy for the bickering. It was just… still bickering. "Let's figure out our new ship, we can argue later."

Nobody was listening. "It's not cheating if it's a gift that's naturally occurring. That's like saying the ninja is cheating at being a ninja because he's Baltan."

"Leave me out of this," Pidge growled. He'd thank them to never, _ever_ bring him into discussions of being born with certain abilities. Or _not_.

"That is not the same thing."

"It's the exact same thing! The Force is a talent that he was born with, that makes it an _asset_, not a cheat."

Sitting at his console and not getting involved with this nonsense, Sven couldn't help wondering what Jace would be saying right now. He winced at the thought; first because Jace was dead, secondly because he could immediately imagine just how many _fucks_ would be involved. He glanced over at Romelle instead. She looked thoroughly bewildered and not a little bit horrified, which… well, he couldn't blame her.

Lance was still going. "Yeah, sure. Like to see _him_ fly through an asteroid belt."

Sighing, Keith stood and walked over between the two of them. "You're both pretty! Knock it off." Lance froze up immediately; he remembered the last time someone had used _that_ line. Daniel just snorted and went back to his disappointing gunnery console.

In the silence that followed, Hunk yelled up from the bay to break the tension. "Lando was prettier!"

"They're all crazy," Romelle said quietly. Not quietly enough, maybe. Vince was standing by the hatch, and couldn't help a slight chuckle. He sympathized _wholeheartedly_.

"Welcome to an Explorer Team."

* * *

Keith had sent Pidge to scout out their new ship. Perhaps more to the point, only Pidge had volunteered to scout out their new ship. Everyone else was too tired, too tense, or had simply taken issue with their commander terming it as an 'assignment'. That, in Lance's words, sounded way too homeworky.

Sven wasn't sure that was a real word, but nobody had asked him.

The scouting had gone quickly enough; the _Xaela_ had much more interior space than the _Cor'velon_, but it still wasn't a large ship. The bridge's front hatch opened sooner than expected, and Lance raised an eyebrow. "At last, the ninja returns!"

Pidge bristled. "I wasn't gone _that_ long."

"That's… pretty much why I said that." Tough crowd.

Sighing, Keith shook his head and motioned for silence. "What did you find, Pidge?"

"The ship layout is simplistic." That wasn't a bad thing, especially in their current situation. "The cargo bay is above us. It's not large. There are a few boxes. I thought it was best not to open them blind, given the illicit nature of the other cargo."

"Smart," Sven said approvingly. If he was going to do this second in command thing, he should probably comment a bit more often.

"Logical," Keith agreed.

"Forward of the cargo bay is a central recreation room. Galley is attached. There is some food. Crew quarters are off the common space, three officers' quarters, two general bunkrooms with six beds each."

"Is it worth askin' what kinda food we've got?" Hunk asked. "I promised a BBQ when we got off that hell rock." Pidge glared and he quickly held his hands up in surrender. "So, no."

Vince sighed, disappointed but not surprised. _I could really go for cornbread right about now_.

_Nothing that would be healthy enough for Jace, no doubt_. Sven wondered when his mind would stop going there. How many times did he have to tell those thoughts _not now?_

"Is it at least better than the prisoner food?" Daniel asked. The _Cor'velon's_ crew rations hadn't been much to speak of either, really… the question earned him a slightly confused look rather than a glare.

"The food in the dungeons was serviceable…?"

Lance snorted. "No one but you and—" _Fuck!_ Pidge shot him a murderous glare for that, and he couldn't help but feel he completely deserved it. _Wonder if I can find any alcohol on board_. After all this he'd already really wanted a beer. Now he felt like he needed one.

"I'll check out the food!" Hunk had facepalmed mightily at Pidge's words; it had turned into a wince at Lance's. Now he spoke a little too loud and a little too fast. "I can do it ASAP, whenever you want, boss, promise I can cook up somethin' worth eating…"

"We will need to eat eventually," Keith agreed quietly. "You can do an inventory once we have a full report. Please continue, Pidge."

Despite Keith's instructions, it was Daniel who spoke next—Lance still looked distressed, and hell if he wouldn't at least try for a distraction. He gave the pilot's shoulder a little bump. "Think they have clothes here?" A distraction and also he really, really wanted to find some new clothes.

Lance looked at him. "…We'll check." _Yes. Focus on what you have, not what you…_ "Could be, we made them leave in a hurry."

"They left a lot behind in the bedrooms," Pidge confirmed. He hadn't actually gone through the closets, but it seemed unlikely that they'd been emptied.

"Then we'll get you some clean clothes, kid."

"Yes! We get to act like pirates again and steal their stuff!" Daniel laughed, then hesitated, a slight frown crossing his face. "Though… is it really 'acting' if you actually hijack a ship and steal the former crew's stuff?"

"Method acting," Hunk offered, shooting Lance a wink.

Their pilot snorted. "Yeah, we're fucking full-fledged pirates now."

"Yeah, we are." Keith sighed, exasperated. He really didn't want to say _shut up and let Pidge finish his report_ in so many words, but he knew what would have the same effect. "What about showers?"

The ninja nodded, and the mood seemed to lighten immediately. "Full long-range habitation support suite on the lower deck. Four showers. There was some kind of machinery I couldn't identify, but it may have been a laundry system."

"A shower sounds absolutely marvelous." Sven didn't care much about the laundry—he never wanted to wear these clothes again if he could possibly avoid it. He just desperately wanted to feel _clean_ again.

"The whole suite is forward of the bridge. Unsure if there's a connection from here." He gestured vaguely to the forward wall; there certainly didn't seem to be a hatch. "It's connected by an elevator off the rec room, seems to be the hub for all living amenities."

"Excellent." Keith nodded. "Thank you, Pidge."

It wasn't clear if he'd actually been _finished_ with his report, but either way Lance still had questions. "First aid kits? Painkillers?" He was looking at Daniel; the kid side-eyed him back. His arm was doing much better now as long as nobody _touched_ it. Lance ignored the look. He would be protective if he wanted to be… _shit. I actually miss Jace_.

Pidge nodded, though it was a little hesitant. "There's a partitioned sick bay in the support suite. One bed. Unsure on stocks, but the cabinets weren't empty. We may be able to use the ship's language programs to translate the contents."

"Good, thanks."

He leaned back against the wall. "There's also a small gym down there, probably individual workouts only. That's everything, except for maintenance crawlspaces."

"Alright." Keith was pacing, now that he had the room to do it. Looking around his crew he could see the exhaustion in all of them. They'd all managed quick naps in transit to Doreq, but _all_ they'd managed were quick naps. He was feeling it too, but his team had to come first. "We need to get things situated. We should be safe while we're in… mirrorlock?" He wasn't sure if that was the correct terminology, but Sven didn't correct him so he figured it must be close enough. "I'll stay on the bridge and take the first watch. The rest of you, get some food. Shower. Clothes. _Rest."_

"Yessir. Bunk assignments?"

…Oh, right. "Romelle gets a stateroom." That one was easy, anyway. She'd been silent through Pidge's report, listening carefully to every word; he turned to her. "Why don't you go ahead and pick one of the rooms while we sort the rest out? You might find some better clothes, too." She'd been fumbling uncomfortably with the jacket, obviously still a bit chilly, and her legs were still nearly bare.

She gave an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, I shall." Nodding to the others, she left through the bridge's main hatch.

Rubbing his forehead, dreading what the response might be to his next question, the commander looked over his team. "Any volunteers for the two crew rooms?"

"Kid and I will bunk, right?" Lance shot Daniel a grin that definitely wasn't an attempt at coercion. Of course not. _Keeping a fucking eye on him._

For once the kid made it easy. "Sure!" _He'll be a good distraction_. Yeah, that was his main concern. _A_ concern, for sure, but… _and I won't be alone_.

"I'll go wherever," Sven offered with a shrug.

"I ain't picky." Hunk looked around at the others. Nobody else had really jumped. "Rock paper rocket launcher for the solo rooms?" It seemed fair.

"Rock paper rocket launcher sounds good." Vince badly wanted a room to himself. When _was_ the last time he'd had personal space, even? But he wasn't going to say so. Everyone else was in the same mess.

Grinning, Hunk gave a thumbs-up before turning it into a fist. "Okay! Three, two, one, BOOM!"

They ran through several rounds, and yet, Sven still had no idea where the rocket launcher came into play. He wasn't completely certain why _he_ was playing, for that matter. He really didn't care about his bedroom arrangements nearly as much as he just wanted a shower.

Round one went to Hunk, and while he hadn't particularly cared either, he figured it might be for the best. He _was_ kind of an acquired taste as a roommate, and Lance was already bunking with someone else. Round two went to Pidge, who would certainly have welcomed being alone, but… Vince did a poor job of keeping the disappointment from his face. Poor enough that the ninja found himself feeling guilty.

"…You can have it, mechka." _Flynn would approve._

For about half a second, Vince remembered that he'd been raised with manners and considered turning it down. But then he decided turning down a gift wasn't polite, either… and he really wanted it. "Thank you!"

Sven just shrugged. That left him with Keith and Pidge, and that was fine. He wondered how much time they'd really be spending in the bedrooms anyway.

"So, who wants to come check out the food situation?" Hunk asked with a grin. He wanted a shower too… but he could already predict there wouldn't be any clothes on this ship that would fit him, so he would also need to use the laundry, and it would be a whole _thing_, and food just sounded like a more enjoyable start to having a decent ship again.

"I'll go!" Daniel volunteered quickly. Lance eyed him but resisted the urge to go along. He really didn't feel like eating just now, and the kid would be more than fine with Hunk.

Chuckling, the big engineer put his arm through Daniel's good arm. "We're off to see the kitchen, the wonderful kitchen of Oz!" That got an actual laugh out of Daniel. It felt so good to laugh…

They headed off, leaving the others shaking their heads. To be fair, that was nothing new at _all_.

Keith had actually cracked a bit of a smile despite himself. "Anyone who wants to check out what kind of clothes are available, go ahead. Don't worry about which rooms are which right now, except Romelle's. Once we're settled in we can start cycling through the showers."

"I'm just going to go back and watch my console," Pidge said quietly. He wasn't going to be giving up his chameleon suit, broken though it was.

Vince really wanted nothing more than to worry about which room was his, but he understood why Keith had said it, too. "I'll go down and take a look at the laundry system." Figuring out appliances was a talent of his when he wasn't setting them on fire. It would get him some time to himself, at least.

"I think I'll go check out the clothing options," Sven decided, standing and stretching. He needed clothes before he could get the mythical shower that was taunting him, and it was at least worth checking to see if there was anything suitable for the others. "Lance, you want to come?"

"Sure, Viking. Let's pillage." He noticed the navigator hesitate slightly at that, before the briefest hint of a smile darted over his lips. "I gotta find some clothes for the kid."

"I'm sure he's uncomfortable," Sven agreed as they headed for the hatch. "He has even more blood on him than I do."

"Yeah… it's more than that, though…" Lance stopped, scolding himself. _Don't mention why to Sven_.

Not that Sven needed to be told. "Yeah." He winced, then forced his mask of indifference firmly back into place. "That's understandable."

There was no reason to force that issue. "Well, come on, let's see what we can find."

"Yes."

They passed through the rec room, glancing at Hunk and Daniel as they rummaged through the galley. It seemed like a pretty cozy setup; reasonable for a merchant ship. Rather than risk running into whichever stateroom Romelle had chosen, they moved into the first crew room. It was surprisingly roomy, and looked almost like it had _already_ been picked over by pirates—the rushed gathering of personal effects by the prior crew, presumably.

The closets were far from packed, but they had options. Mostly simple and practical options, which might be for the best. Several pairs of something similar to cargo pants, shirts in muted colors—Lance picked out a blue one for himself and a purplish one for Daniel, and was about to offer some options to Sven when a muffled scream echoed from the galley.

"OH MY GOD!"

Turning to the door, Sven felt one of his eyebrows shoot straight to the ceiling. Lance grinned slightly. He knew the difference between the kid's good screams and bad screams… "He sounds happy." As if to reinforce that, they could hear Hunk laughing.

"Should we go check it out?"

"Duh." Lance took off with Sven on his heels.

Romelle had chosen the least messy of the three staterooms; she was, frankly, not accustomed to having to clean things up for herself. There were no handmaidens here, and it was a bit bewildering, trying to decide where to _start_ if she wanted to try to straighten it up. At least she'd found clothes, a drab green jumpsuit that was only slightly too large…

She'd fully intended to remain in her room for awhile. A long while. Privacy had been in short supply for her since… well, since her arrival on Korrinoth, but _especially_ now. But the scream from outside caught her attention as well, and before she fully realized what she was doing she'd opened the door and run out.

"Is… is everything alright?"

What they found was Daniel on the floor of the galley, Hunk doubled over in laughter next to him.

Their gunner was hugging a toaster.

"Yes! The universe is more than a soul-sucking void of pain and despair!"

Lance burst into laughter of his own. "Kid… you and toast…"

"I deserve this!" Daniel protested, hugging the toaster tighter and looking up at Hunk. "Please, in the name of everything good in this endless pain-filled blackness we call space, let there be bread."

At least he wasn't being excessively dramatic about this, or anything. Lance managed to fight his laughter down into a few last chuckles. "For all the good in the blackness, yes, let there be bread." Behind him, Sven was pretty sure his other eyebrow had hit the ceiling as well.

"I mean, just don't get the bread _too_ black, yeah?" Hunk cautioned as he regained his composure and started going through cupboards. "Or all the way on fire, that'd suck. Not like I've ever done that."

Daniel gave him an affronted look. "Do I look like an amateur toast maker to you?"

"For shame, Hunk. He's the best toast maker in the wild west!" Lance shook his head. "Any alcohol in there, while you're looking?"

"I uh, can't read any of these labels." Some were in what he recognized as Drakure, but others looked like the former crew's language. Maybe the ship would be able to translate them. "And I didn't mean any offense, little dude! It's just an _alien toaster!"_

"It's not about the toaster, it's more about instinct."

Lance smirked. "That's what I say about piloting." _What I said to… don't_.

Glowering at him, Daniel stood and started setting up the toaster. "Don't ruin this for me by bringing up my supposed lack of _pilot training."_

"Hey, we're getting you trained, kid."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Yo!" Hunk had still been digging through the food storage; he held up a bag of something brown and lumpy. "This looks like bread!"

"Yes!" Daniel fist pumped. He was _so_ ready for toast.

"Or this might be bread…" It looked like the big guy had found the jackpot. "Or this…? Nah, not… the hell? Uh, this stuff's purple." He set a clear box of something crusty and lavender on the counter, eyeing it skeptically. "Artisan Drule bread?"

"Purple Drule bread?" Lance found his mind going back to the blood wine. "I'll pass."

Daniel refused to think about the blood wine, or anything else from the dungeons, right now. He was on the verge of crispy toasted happiness. "Bread is bread, and purple is awesome."

"Speaking of…" Their pilot held up the one thing that could draw his attention away from even toast: a new shirt.

"…I _love_ this ship." He grabbed the shirt—purple was one of his favorite colors to wear. His eyes glinted purple more around it, which definitely made him look mysterious and cool and stuff. Of course, right now he'd have worn fucking _flamingo print_ if it meant getting the hell out of this bloodsoaked thing. Edging away from the group as the toaster warmed up, he tore off his old shirt and yanked the new one on. Caution was not part of the process; he hit his arm a bit and winced. "Ow. I gotta stop doing that."

"Yeah, you really fucking do," Lance scolded, not that he blamed him for being in a hurry.

"Easy, little dude."

"I know, I know." If he did something more to it now, they didn't have a medic… no. Nope. He was not going to dwell on that right now. Not when there was _toast_. "Okay, it's toaster time. Who wants some?"

"You know it."

"Totally."

Even Sven raised his hand, the team's antics drawing the first genuine smile out of him in days.

Romelle was confused—again. And frankly she was unclear on the entire concept of toast. Some Earthling delicacy, clearly? As everyone turned to her, she managed a small shrug.

_Welcome to an Explorer Team, whatever that is._ "Why not?"

* * *

Avok resented being summoned by the Drules. He resented nearly everything about this arrangement, to be fair, but being summoned like a lapdog at its master's whim was the most grating. Once more he found himself cursing his father's bargain. Selfish, perhaps, but there it was.

_Better to die with courage than live like this._

The summons had said nothing about coming alone, so he'd brought his honor guard with him. Four of the finest soldiers he'd ever trained; a small reminder that he was still the Crown Prince of Pollux, ostensibly a valued ally, not a slave. If they took it as a slight, so much the better.

The guards at the throne room doors didn't even blink when he arrived with an armed escort. "Prince Avok. You and your warriors may enter, King Zarkon awaits you."

Damn. Better luck next time. He swept into the room, his cloak billowing behind him, striding confidently up the blood-red carpet that led to the throne.

Zarkon was smiling. Avok didn't like that at all.

"Ah, our faithful ally. Prompt as always."

Avok had learned enough of Drule court protocol to know he was being insulted—not just by the sarcastic words, but by the fact that Zarkon had spoken first at all. He was annoyed, but not surprised. Everything about this was an insult. "The crown of Pollux is loyal, Lord Zarkon."

A scoff from the king's left drew his attention to Prince Lotor. "Is it truly?"

He bristled. "Are you doubting me? On what grounds?"

"Not you," Zarkon interjected smoothly. "Your sister, it seems, is far less loyal. She has ungratefully abandoned her place here, and fled with a band of slaves."

Avok froze. _She what? No. She wouldn't._ But even as his mind tried to deny it, a visceral thrill was racing through him. If they no longer had her as a de facto hostage, maybe Pollux could regain the freedom it had so foolishly thrown away… "We've heard nothing of this."

Lotor's eyes glowed. "Oh no?"

"I assure you not." He took a step back and straightened. "I will return home, and when we hear from her—"

"—You will go nowhere until we command it." Zarkon pointed his scepter at him. "You once stood in defense of your sister's honor. Now she has forfeited that honor, abandoned her duty, and betrayed both your people and ours. _You_ will answer for her crimes."

So that was what this would be. Avok glared up at the throne, no longer bothering to mask his contempt in the slightest. "And what barbaric punishment do you mean to inflict on me for the actions of another? Without even the opportunity to remedy them? You know nothing of honor."

"You _dare _question the honor of your betters?" Lotor hissed. Then he grinned, baring his fangs. "No matter. You will pay in blood… at last we'll have that duel to the death after all." He drew his sword and stepped forward.

Avok's honor guard sprang into action instantly, drawing their blades and charging. Lotor seemed to simply dance through them, his own blade arcing, cutting them down as if they were nothing and being splattered by their blood.

It had given him time to draw his own sword, and not much else. He lunged to meet Lotor with a snarl of fury. "You will pay for _each_ of their lives."

"I look forward to it," the Drule prince chuckled, blocking a strike and pushing him back. "If you can do as you claim."

Avok ducked beneath a slash and stabbed out swiftly, catching him in the leg. It was only a glancing blow, but enough to establish himself as a threat. "And you'll pay for Romelle. She was under your protection, was she not?" He launched into a flurry of blows, remembering the last time they'd dueled, withdrawing a moment before Lotor moved to counter. It still caught him in the arm, weakening his grip on his sword, but just slightly. "How did our _betters_ allow her escape? With slaves, no less?"

"I'd focus on your sword if I were you," Lotor spat, suddenly much less amused. He unleashed his own flurry of strikes; Avok parried them easily.

"Did I strike a nerve?" A counter of his own sent the Drule staggering back, off balance, though he'd landed it more with his fist than his blade.

Lotor didn't answer that, which seemed like an answer in itself. They traded blows and minor cuts, blue and red blood dripping over the throne room's fine carpet, both slowing only slightly from attrition and exertion.

It seemed insane to Avok. For this they would risk their own crown prince's life? Not that he hadn't already thought them insane, and worse, but… eyes narrowing, he telegraphed a slash, ready to use Lotor's parry against him.

But Lotor didn't parry.

Avok startled as his blade connected solidly with the Drule prince's shoulder, momentum carrying him forward in a way he hadn't anticipated. Suddenly his enemy was well inside his guard, and he struggled to recover. He _almost_ made it. The partial block kept Lotor's sword from taking his head clean off. But it wasn't good enough.

Pain shot across his throat, and he fell back with a gasp, feeling blood spurt and a wave of cold rush through him. _No_. It had clipped his jugular, it must have. His vision was already starting to swim.

Avok had only a split second to think about what was happening to him. Then he saw Lotor step back. Secure in his victory, perhaps. But he hadn't won yet—or at least, he hadn't avoided losing.

_So long as I have… one more breath…_

With dark spots swimming in front of his eyes and everything blurring around him, Avok launched himself forward with a scream of defiance. "For Pollux!"

Lotor spent about half a second gawking in disbelief. That was half a second too long. He got his sword up as the Polluxian prince swung his down with both hands, his strength fading but not yet gone, the force and fury of the blow breaking right through the attempted block. With a cry of shock Lotor recoiled; it saved him from being outright split in half. But Avok's blade ripped down his forehead and across his face, cutting open a deep wound that immediately half-blinded the Drule with his own blood.

Landing from the blow, Avok collapsed, his feet no longer able to hold him upright. The cold and the darkness were pressing in.

_Better… to die… with…_

The thought faded away with him.

Lotor stared at Avok's body for a time that probably felt longer than it was. Slowly, he reached up to touch the gaping wound across his face. He'd come so close… stepping back, he found himself laughing. It was a shame he'd had to kill the other prince, but oh, that battle had been _worth_ it.

"It's done." He turned to his father, who looked less than impressed that he'd gotten himself slashed so badly. But what did that old fool know of the scars of battle? "He fought well, and deserves an honorable burial, at least. That was exhilarating."

"No."

He jumped at the voice, turning to see a cloaked form in the wings. One he was certain hadn't been there a few minutes ago. And he bristled as revulsion burned through him. "What are _you_ doing here, witch?"

The new arrival ignored his contempt. She did _not_ belong in the throne room… Haggar, a servant of Sarga, the goddess of death. She was one of the greatest witches in the Ninth Kingdom, her name spoken only in whispers, feared for both her power and her patron. Lotor knew his father considered her a valuable asset, but even he didn't usually invite her presence so openly.

"My job, of course." Haggar pulled her cloak tighter around herself, eyes glowing beneath the hood. "He will make a fine jaivur, and inflict the proper punishment for his sister's treason."

…Oh. Not even Lotor could quite suppress the shudder. "What? No, witch. I forbid it!" A jaivur was a fearsome creature: an undead being whose soul could be transferred between vessels as needed. All but impossible to truly kill… all but enslaved to the necromancer who raised them. To be made a jaivur was both a great compliment and a horrid curse. "He deserves better than such dishonor!"

"Enough. You lost your say in this when you treated your courtship as a game," Zarkon said coldly. "And you are _still_ not taking your duty seriously. There is more to ruling an empire than collecting arbitrary _honor points_. He will be raised, and he will make an example of the disloyal."

The words were meant to sting, and they landed hard. "No," Lotor snarled, fury in his eyes. "I challenge you, Father. Sol kural!"

Zarkon's cold expression didn't waver. The challenge was a direct insult to his authority—indeed, _challenge of authority_ was the direct translation of the phrase. It was his son's right, and he could hardly refuse it; letting an heir forget their place was often the beginning of the end for Drule monarchs. Not that Lotor wanted to take the throne from him. No… he just wanted to have his way. As always.

"Very well. To the blood."

Flicking the blood from his eyes, Lotor looked up at his father and took a defensive stance. Zarkon didn't move. He hadn't even drawn the ceremonial blade at his side.

_So arrogant. Does he think I won't do it?_ Snarling, the prince raced forward, taking the steps two at a time and lunging. If his father wasn't going to take him seriously, then—

—He never saw the blow. He only _felt_ it, a shattering impact to the right side of his face, sending him tumbling back down the stairs with the skin over his cheekbone split wide open. Looking up he saw a bluish smudge on his father's scepter, a few drops of blood falling to the floor.

"Childish," the king said quietly. "And ineffectual. A poor combination even for a would-be warrior. Have you learned your lesson now?"

Lotor gritted his teeth, crawling slowly to his feet. "…Yes, Father." _I've learned you fight dirty. A coward's way_. He shouldn't be surprised.

"Haggar, if you'd be so kind as to heal my fool of a son before beginning your work." Zarkon's eyes narrowed. "He isn't expendable, and he should thank the _entire_ pantheon for that."

"As you command, sire." She approached Lotor, who backed away a step—not because he thought he could actually avoid her. Simply to ensure his disgust registered. "There will be scarring."

"Good. Let it be a reminder."

As a wave of occult energy poured into his wounds, Lotor refused to look at the witch who was healing him. He kept his furious glare on his father.

_Oh, I'll remember. You needn't worry about that._


	48. Through the Dark

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 47_  
Through the Dark

* * *

Hunk was not stress cooking. Of course he wasn't. He was _therapy_ cooking, which was something totally different. These were emotional support waffle fries he was painstakingly cutting from something potato-adjacent he'd found in the _Xaela's_ pantry, and they were keeping him from being stressed!

…Okay, it was stress cooking. It was _always_ stress cooking when he told himself it wasn't.

He wasn't alone in the galley. Keith was leaning against the wall with a glass of water, while Sven had been studying the purple bread with an expression of deep concentration for at least two minutes. Finally, as Hunk dropped a batch of the cut potatoes into a skillet, he turned to the navigator and raised an eyebrow. "You're lookin' at that stuff like it might eat _you_, bro."

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised if it tried." That was less a commentary on the bread, per se, and more on how things generally went for this team. Though he _was_ also skeptical of the bread. Maybe he should just stick to Hunk's fries; experimentation with alien food could wait for another day.

"Anything is better than what we were eating there," Keith said quietly, sipping his water.

"I mean, almost everything." Hunk was cutting up another potato-thing. "Broccoli exists."

"What's wrong with broccoli?" Sven asked.

That got a chuckle out of Keith. "Depends on the person."

True enough, Sven supposed. He liked broccoli, but didn't feel the need to go to the mat defending it. Not like Jace would've… _no_, once again, he shoved those feelings back down into the box where they belonged.

"What ain't wrong with broccoli?" Hunk snorted. "And that's coming from someone who can make Brussels sprouts taste like _heaven_."

…That was the most outlandish thing he'd ever heard the big man say, which was saying _something_. Even Keith shuddered, and Sven slowly lifted an eyebrow. "I'm going to have to taste it to believe it."

"We can totally make that happen, bro."

He smiled. "I will hold you to that."

Doubtful they had any tiny hell-cabbages on this ship, so Keith decided it was a good time to steer towards more productive topics. "So, how are things in the bay, Hunk?"

"…They're uh, they're things, boss." Nothing much had changed, except that they kind of knew how Bataxi engines worked now. Kind of. Close enough to make do, anyway. "Totes things."

Keith considered that and nodded slowly; it might be the best he was going to get. He wouldn't have had the chance to ask for elaboration anyway. Footsteps in the rec room proper heralded a new arrival, and then Romelle hesitantly stepped around the partition into the galley.

"Um, hello. Is…" She flushed a little, still not feeling comfortable enough to consider herself their peer. Which meant, she thought, she was a guest and should conduct herself accordingly. "Is there anything to eat?" She pulled the loaned jacket a little tighter around her as she spoke. For the couple of days since they'd taken the _Xaela_, she'd contented herself with scavenged jumpsuits, but still felt somehow exposed. Adding the jacket was a small, welcome bit of extra security.

Hunk waved her in immediately, chuckling. "You came to the right place, c'mon over!"

"Thank you." She smiled at him and the others. "Hello, Keith, Sven…" As she greeted him, she caught the look on Sven's face, and trailed off.

He'd gotten used to—he'd forced himself to get used to—seeing her wearing that when there were no other options. One more reason the new ship and all that came with it had been a relief. He hadn't been expecting to see it again, but why not? She didn't know. And there she was.

It was the last straw, and the box he'd been keeping his feelings in had abruptly broken open. Looking away from her, fighting to breathe, he struggled to reassemble it and failed. This was happening, then…

"…Bro?"

Ignoring Hunk, he gave Romelle a wide berth and moved as quickly as he could for the elevator to the lower deck. He needed to get out of here before—

Keith tried to intercept him, worry in his tone. "Sven?"

"Fuck off!" He vanished into the elevator.

The commander's jaw dropped; Hunk dropped the potato-thing he'd been working with. "Oh, dude…"

"…Did I do something wrong?" Romelle asked in a whisper. She'd fallen back into a corner, wrapping her arms around herself in a self-conscious attempt to disappear.

Though Keith was still staring after Sven in shock, Hunk caught her question and looked over. Then he did a double take as he realized what had just happened. "Oh. OH. Uh, _hey!_ Potatoes are done!" The batch he had in the skillet was indeed sizzling, and just in time.

It was all Keith could do not to chase after Sven; their navigator had just told him to fuck off, he was clearly not okay. But he also clearly wanted to be alone. And if he stayed in the galley he was going to go down that elevator, he had no doubt. "Guess I'll… get back to the bridge."

"Take some fries, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Hunk."

As he left, Romelle bit her lip, trying not to sob from the confused frustration washing over her. What had she done? "I… I'm sorry, I…" She had no idea what she was apologizing for, but it seemed like the correct course of action.

"Hey, easy." Hunk loaded the rest of the finished fries on a couple of plates, then looked back at her. "Here, you need some food too. They got waffle fries where you come from?"

"Um… no?" She rubbed her eyes a moment to banish any tears that might have been gathering. "What is a waffle fry?"

"It's a fry that's cut like a waffle! They're a revelation, sister. C'mere." Hunk waved her over, went to pat her shoulder reassuringly, considered what she'd probably been through on Korrinoth, and thought better of it. He pulled out a chair instead.

_Sister?_ Romelle hesitated a moment. But then, he did seem to call nearly everyone else on the ship 'bro'. Maybe it was something she should take as a compliment? Right now she'd take any sliver of reassurance… she sat and tried to remember if she knew what a waffle was. "What are they made of?"

"Usually potatoes." He passed her a plate. "I'm not totally sure what these things are, but they're potato-adjacent."

Potato-adjacent. That was certainly a phrase she more or less understood. Picking one of the waffle fries up—she would not have imagined food could _be_ that shape—she cautiously nibbled a corner and blinked. "This is pretty good."

"Atta girl." He grinned, sitting across from her with the other plate.

For a few minutes they just sat in awkward, potato-adjacent-munching silence. But Romelle couldn't push aside what had happened, what the waffle fries had been offered as a distraction from. And once she was no longer so hungry, it got even harder to push aside.

"Um, Hunk." She waited for him to look up and swallow his mouthful of food. "Any idea why…" The words wouldn't quite come out, so she just gestured in the direction of the elevator with a wince.

He sighed, following her motion. "Yyyyeah. Pretty solid idea." This was going to come up eventually. It was kind of a wonder it hadn't sooner—wasn't it? Okay, between multiple people doing their damnedest not to admit to having feelings and multiple narrow escapes from Drule warships, maybe not that much of a wonder. "You uh, you might not actually wanna know, but you probably should, so…" Why did it have to be _him _giving the explanation? Too late to back out now. "That's uh, not Sven's jacket."

That seemed like an odd statement. Romelle looked down at it, then back at him, trying to puzzle out what it meant and why it would… _oh_. "Oh." Her eyes widened slightly. "Is it one of… theirs?"

She couldn't bring herself to say _your dead friends_.

"Yeah." Hunk squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then considered how she might take that news and looked up again. "And uh, don't get me wrong. Before you feel guilty or anything? If he were here he would've cussed you out until you took it, so…"

It was the first time she'd heard any of them speak of the dead, except for the half-spoken orders cut off by curses that still occasionally slipped through. Certainly the first mention of what any of them were actually _like_. And somehow, someone who'd have cursed her until she accepted help felt appropriate. "He sounds like someone whose heart was in the right place," she said softly.

"He was a hell of a trip," the big man chuckled. "They all…" He stopped, and Romelle bowed her head.

"I wish I could have helped more. Done something." She'd been right there in the royal box the whole time. Horrified and yet caught up in the rush of the 'games', or worse…

Hunk stared at his fries. "Yeah, don't we all." He shook his head slightly. Usually he'd have tried to change the subject right about now, again. Big Dumb Hunk didn't do this. He didn't talk about his _own_ feelings. But that safe little act was half shot right now anyway, and Romelle hardly needed it; she already thought they were _all_ crazy. "We were together a long time. I mean… maybe not all that long in the big picture, yeah? Just, when it's just you and the squad on a tiny ship in the middle of nowhere for all those months, you get close real fast…" He gestured widely. "Y'know?"

Romelle didn't know, exactly. Though from the few days she'd spent on a ship with this team, relying entirely on each other, she could see where it would happen like that. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Guilt was still gnawing at her. "If I'd just… spoken out somehow. Been stronger."

"Can't think like that, sis." No way that would've done anything but put her out of favor sooner. Not with everything they'd seen.

Maybe he was right… she nibbled another fry to give her mind a little time to sort through things. "I could tell you didn't belong down there." _Like I didn't belong in that box._ "That you didn't want to be there."

"No kiddin'." He snorted. "We were just mindin' our own business, and they grabbed our ship and tossed us in that mess." Frown. "I'd say I don't think anyone would _want_ to be there, but I guess a lot of 'em did."

"Yes." Romelle nodded slowly. "Fighting earned them a chance to be glorified. I…" A blush sprang to her cheeks. "I didn't really like it, but to hear about the importance of the battles, to be sitting there with others who were so into it, could be overpowering…"

Hunk nodded. He could understand that; it was similar to what they'd seen from the gladiators themselves. "How _did_ you end up there, anyway? Or should I not ask? Don't think I knew the Drules even did the marriage thing with non-Drules," he shrugged, "but I didn't take poli sci."

She didn't follow the last part of that, but the first was clear enough. "I…" Taking a deep breath, she hesitated; the words seemed to freeze on her lips.

"…You don't hafta answer that if you don't want," he said quickly.

But she did want to, or at least, she thought she did. Maybe finally _speaking_ the reality would help her finally come to grips with it. "My father… sent me to be wed as an offering," she whispered. "To prevent our planet from being taken by force."

"…Oh." He winced. Her father? _She got any dudes in her life who _don't _suck?_ Asking that out loud wouldn't be useful, though he was definitely coming to understand why she still seemed so nervous around the team.

"He'd sworn he would never do that," she said quietly, anger starting to spark in her tone. "One threat and he broke his vow."

_Damn_. "The usual Earthling phrase here is 'well _that's_ some bullshit'."

She looked up at him, anger giving way to puzzlement. "What does it mean?"

"Uh…" Hunk flushed. He was _not_ going to explain to an actual princess what bullshit was. Nope. "It means, um, it ain't good. Let's leave it at that."

"Ah." Nodding, though she still didn't fully understand, Romelle nibbled on another waffle fry.

"I'd come over there and give you a hug or somethin' if you want," he offered.

Pausing, she looked up at him again. "A hug?" A small blush crept over her cheeks, but she couldn't help a smile as well. "Earthlings hug?"

"Some of us!" he chuckled.

Now she was blushing pretty profusely. When was the last time she'd had physical contact that didn't make her want to flinch? But Hunk was… friendly, certainly, if seemingly more than a little insane… "Well, as long as you remain a… gentleman, I could permit a hug."

Nobody had ever accused Hunk of being a gentleman. He almost said that, but thought better of it; if she didn't understand 'that's some bullshit' she definitely wouldn't get _that_ joke. "You don't hafta be scared of me, promise. Or anyone here." He circled around the table and gave her a quick, gentle hug. "I mean, except gettin' glared at by a grumpy ninja, but he does that to everyone."

Returning the hug, Romelle was struck by a brief but powerful moment of familiarity. "You…" She smiled. "You kind of remind me of my brothers."

He startled. "You have," _positive carriers of Y chromosomes in your life,_ nope definitely shouldn't say that, "brothers?"

She nodded, looking up at him as he stepped back. "Yes. Avok and Bandor. Bandor is my little brother…" She bit her lip, worry flooding her again. "He's so… innocent." Hunk winced; based on what she'd said before, he could guess what she was thinking. "Avok is older. He's the heir. Hence why I got the _honor_ of being pawned off. But he'll make a great king someday, if…" No. No, she didn't want to go there. She didn't even want to think about it. And really, she'd said _far_ too much…

It seemed like, having been given permission to hug her, patting her shoulder might be safe now. Hunk did that and smiled reassuringly, not sure what else to say.

"So these… waffle fries are rather lovely, Hunk," she murmured finally. That seemed like a much safer subject. "Do you prepare meals often?"

"Sure do! I'm kinda the team cook…" Wincing, he looked at her jacket again. "Uh, I mean, I guess not _kinda_ anymore…"

"Oh." Okay, not such a safe subject after all. "Right, um…" She thought frantically, there had to be something she could say here, something—

"—Hey." Hunk studied her quietly, coming to a decision. _She oughta know_. It was only fair. She was all the way aboard this crazy train. She was part of the team, whether any of them had meant for it to happen or not. And they hardly knew anything about each other. Maybe it was time to fix that.

Maybe it would help _him_, too…

Romelle took another step back and swallowed nervously. "Yes?"

"His name," he indicated her jacket, "was Jace. He was our medic. Sven's bestie, that's why it hit him so hard just now. The other two… Cam, he was the comms officer. That's why you sometimes get weird looks when you translate stuff."

"Oh…" She had noticed the looks, and her expression went slack as she nodded. _Of course_. They'd mentioned not having anyone who spoke Drakure _anymore_, but she hadn't quite put it together.

"And pit boss, I mean, the chief engineer. Flynn. He… well, I've kinda got his job now." He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Dude kept us crazies in the bay under control, and now I'm kinda in this over my head myself, y'know?"

Somehow, the idea that someone else had been in the engine bay keeping Pidge—_and Hunk_—somewhat settled felt _right_ to Romelle. And she could certainly see how he might be overwhelmed with that sudden responsibility… she nodded her understanding.

"I probably oughta get back there, honestly… you wanna come back with me? Check for infrared? Be outta our depth together?" He offered her a grin that was a bit tentative, but no less genuine. "I can tell you about 'em. About all of us, even. Get you up to speed so you're not quite so lost here, yeah?"

Romelle looked at him and couldn't help a soft laugh. "Sure. Not the first time I've been… immersed in a situation I didn't fully understand." But this felt different. This had been an invitation, not an order. Like she was at least something close to an equal here—someone to be spoken _with_, not just lectured _at_.

"Yeah, I hear that." Chuckling, he picked up his plate of fries and motioned for her to follow. "So let's start at the start, yeah?" She nodded, and he grinned a little wider. "Once upon a time, the Alliance decided it didn't always wanna boot troublemakers who were good at their jobs, so it started puttin' em on special units with the _other_ troublemakers who were good at their jobs instead. And they called those units Explorer Teams…"

* * *

Daniel wasn't sure what to do, so he had been roaming around the _Xaela_. It was probably something he should have already done. Knowing your way around your new ship was pretty essential, but he'd been avoiding everyone so far, going straight from the galley to his room. Well, his and Lance's room. Which was another reason he was wandering around… okay, the main reason. He needed a break.

Don't get him wrong; out of everyone on the ship, Lance was his preferred roommate. The pilot had a talent for keeping the bad thoughts away, but he did that by smothering the hell out of him. _How's the arm? Be careful, please. Do you need more painkillers?_ Even on shift he was constantly checking on him. It was oddly comforting, but he could only take so much.

The gunner had ended up in the med bay, which probably wasn't the best idea if not-thinking about _things_ was still something he wanted to do, but wandering around aimlessly tended to come with the shortcoming of not paying attention to where he was going. Upon realizing where he was, he immediately wanted to turn around and leave, except…

There was a Viking slumped against the back wall with obvious tear streaks running down his face, and suddenly they were just staring at each other. It was a tense and awkward silence. Oh, so awkward. Far more suffocating than any smothering Lance had done.

When silence got awkward, as a rule, Daniel broke the silence. Often before really thinking about it. And this was no exception. "So, uh… how's life?" _Oh, that's… not something that I should have said._

Sven's stare turned into a glare, confirming his thought. He'd never handled awkward well, let alone awkward with tears involved. "How do you think?" His hoarse yet stern tone made it very clear that he didn't want an actual answer. Lance's mother-henning suddenly seemed like fun. Though when faced with an obviously emotionally volatile Viking, of _course_ Lance's over-protective streak seemed harmless. Why had he left the safety of their room?

"Sorry…" This was that point in the conversation where he should just back out. Run back to the comforting blank walls of his room and go back to avoiding everybody. Let Sven be by himself, he obviously wanted to be alone. And even if he didn't, Daniel doubted _he_ was anything but the last person Sven wanted to see. He wasn't stupid, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what or who their navigator was breaking down about.

They were in the fucking med bay, and just because the hoodie and shirt were gone didn't mean he couldn't still feel Jace's blood all over him. But he couldn't make himself leave. Sven looked _miserable, _it felt wrong to leave him.

_Lance wouldn't leave him._

"…I say things without thinking sometimes…" The navigator raised an eyebrow. "Okay, all the time. Sue me." Daniel shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. There were lots of options flying through his head, and they all sounded horrible. This was why he didn't think things through if he could avoid it. Impulsive decisions were totally the way to go. So that was what he did…

Sven's eyebrow rose even higher as the gunner walked over and sat next to him. "Is there a particular reason you've decided I'd be good company right now?"

"You? Good company? Please." Daniel smirked, then frowned. "No, but in my personal experience, bad thoughts and feelings don't go away when you're alone with them." He looked around. "And your chosen 'lose your shit' location doesn't exactly seem all that likely to help. So… I guess I will."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Sven wasn't feeling all that helped, but he was fairly certain when he had the emotional and mental energy to pick himself up and leave this room he'd feel touched. Which was the _only_ thing stopping him from telling the gunner exactly where he could stick his good intentions.

"Honestly, not sure. The current plan is to just wing it. Lance is usually the one—I mean, he's good at this, and I'm—let's just say I don't have his talent for scaring off the bad stuff." Daniel sighed. This wasn't going great, but he hadn't been told to screw off yet.

Sven snorted. "Wing it, huh? You're on an Explorer team. Winging it is one of the most solid plans you're ever going to get." He paused. "Why were you in the med bay in the first place?" The gunner apparently _was _adept at winging things. Having someone else to focus on was giving Sven a small sense of purpose, and it occurred to him that Daniel may have come here for the same reasons he had.

Well, not the breakdown part. Hopefully.

"Accident. Avoiding Lance's smothering. I just needed a minute or sixty to myself. If you weren't here looking so… gloomy, I would have left."

Those were not the same reasons. "Lance smothering you?" Sven echoed skeptically. He knew a thing or two about smothering parental figures, and Lance did not even come close.

"Yes! It's like every two seconds he's checking my arm, or telling me to be careful, or asking me if I'm in pain or if I'm alright, or sometimes he just _stares_ at me." Daniel didn't sound resentful, just overwhelmed.

"Sounds like he's just reassuring himself that you're alright. That you're alive."

Daniel's eyes widened a little; that hadn't occurred to him. It should have. It was glaringly obvious, and not all that unreasonable under the circumstances. He'd almost died. A few of them _did_ die. If it weren't for… _shit_. Daniel looked around the med bay, then at Sven, then the floor.

If Jace hadn't saved him, he'd be dead. But Sven would still have his friend. He _really_ shouldn't be the one trying to make the navigator feel better, he was the reason Jace was—

"Stop." Sven's voice was stern. Maybe overly so, but it snapped him out of it. He could tell by the look on the kid's face where his thoughts had gone, and suddenly he knew exactly what their medic would be saying if he could. "He didn't save you for you to feel _guilty_. The only person allowed to regret Jace's choice is Jace, and I can promise you he didn't." No. He remembered. _He was so annoyed that he cared about us… but he did nonetheless._ "Don't spend your second chance regretting his choice. It would taint his sacrifice."

"I won't," Daniel promised, almost on reflex. What else could he say to that? But he wasn't sure he meant it. He wasn't sure _what_ he was feeling, to be honest. He could feel himself going numb. That's what happened nowadays when he started getting overwhelmed with negative emotions. But reassuring the Viking seemed like a good start.

"Good." Sven was silent for a moment before bumping Daniel's shoulder. "Let's get out here. I don't know about you, but I've had enough wallowing in my grief for today."

He nodded, trying for a grin, not certain if he pulled it off it not. But he'd tried. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Lance was alone on the bridge and slowly realizing he was getting bored. No surprise, given there was really nothing to _do_ at the moment. He could feel thoughts of Flynn creeping in from the edges he'd banished them to. Frowning, he shoved them away again, then breathed a sigh of relief when he heard footsteps.

"Hey, Lance. Hunk made some, er… waffle fries. Want some?" Keith asked, holding out a plate towards him.

"He made _waffle fries?_ Wait, of course he did." Lance held out his hand.

Keith nodded, handing over the plate. "They're not potatoes, but they're not bad."

Lance stuffed his mouth, probably faster than was entirely necessary, but he was still getting used to having real food again. And this was the first time they'd managed to work the _Xaela's_ stocks into something resembling _comfort food…_ well, toast aside, anyway. "Not bad at all."

"It's the small things, huh?" Keith smiled—a bit. His thoughts trailed to their navigator and the blunt _fuck off_ that had been thrown in his face. But, speaking of…

"Could use a beer," Lance commented right before he could speak, and he chuckled.

"Yeah, not sure that's on board." He cast his gaze around the bridge, trying to gather his thoughts, the partial grin fading quickly. "Um… look, Lance. I, uh…" He trailed off to stop the stammering. He wasn't quite sure how Lance would react to the news about him making Sven his second—for various reasons—but he needed to know the new command structure. The sooner the better.

"You what?" Lance blinked at him, confused. The boss didn't usually sputter like that, but they _were_ all still a bit of a mess.

Keith's blue eyes focused on him. "You and Sven are my ranking officers," he started hesitantly. Lance just nodded, because yep, that was certainly a fact. Letting out a long breath, the _fuck you_ still echoing in his head, the commander finally managed to spit it out. "I made him my second in command."

_Because Flynn…_ Lance stuffed more waffle fries into his mouth to cover the painful thought and nodded, deciding Sven made sense. Wasn't as if he wanted the job. For multiple reasons. "Good choice."

Nodding, Keith exhaled slowly; that was easier than he'd expected it to be. But he needed Lance to know and understand he was going to need both of them—they were still in the thick of it. He'd need all the support he could get, they all did. _I hope he's really alright with this._ "I'm still going to need to rely on you, as well."

"Of course you will, I'm fucking awesome! But the Viking, he'll be good at it." _Flynn was good at it, even if he hated—stop thinking about him!_

Keith smiled sadly. "All of the team is awesome…" Why did it feel weird saying that? It was true, though. Even… _stop that thought right there, Kogane._

"_Fucking_ awesome," Lance corrected. "We're an Explorer Team."

Keith nodded again and studied him quietly. He didn't _want_ to have to ask what he was about to ask, and it hadn't gone too well the last time he'd tried, but they couldn't avoid it forever. He needed to know how his crew was doing. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm holding."

"Good, good. And Daniel and his arm?"

"He's… holding too. Worried about the arm, but think it's as good as it can be."

"Yeah, I'm worried about that, too. Hopefully, we can get somewhere and get it looked at."

"Sooner the better…" Lance looked at Keith, who had nodded again in agreement. He looked grim even by his standards. "How are _you_ holding up?"

Keith sighed at that, a long breath to try to control his emotions. He looked away before he spoke, terrified that if he saw anything remotely resembling sympathy on Lance's face, he'd have a breakdown. _One_ of them having one right now, apparently, was more than enough. "I'm… keeping it together." _Barely._ "I have to focus on the rest of you. That's… that's my top priority right now."

Lance nodded, a bit surprised at such an honest answer. Let alone one that he felt himself. _Yeah, that's totally understandable_. "We do need you to keep it together too, bossman."

"I'll worry about me later," he promised, finally returning his gaze to the pilot. It felt oddly good to voice it. Maybe talking did help, afterall. Who knew? "I just… I can't do it right now."

"Yeah, I get that. Why I'm focusing on the kid."

Right, of course it was. "Look, Lance…"

"Yeah?"

Sighing again, he patted Lance on the shoulder. "Thank you. For… for being there for Daniel."

Shrug. "Wouldn't be anywhere else." It was kind of an imperative, though not one he regretted one bit. As long as the boss didn't spring the M-word on him right now…

"Well, keep up the good work." Keith snagged another fry. They _were_ good.

Lance managed a wink. "You too, boss."

* * *

Pidge did not want to talk to anyone. He did not want to be around anyone. He wanted to be in the engine bay, _alone_, staring at his consoles for eight hours and pretending nothing else existed.

Instead he was standing in front of Vince's door, which seemed very intimidating. Why the hells was it intimidating? It was just a door. He'd seen a lot of doors.

_Damn it, varetya, just move already_. He raised his hand and forced himself to knock. Once.

Vince was sprawled out on his bed, staring at his ceiling. He didn't want to think about the arena. He didn't want to think about certain people. He didn't want to think about weird dreams. That was leaving him with fairly few options—his mind had drifted to his moms, which frankly he didn't want to be dwelling on a lot either, but… the knock didn't really help. He wasn't sure he wanted company, either. "Uh, yeah!"

"…Yeah?" the voice outside echoed in confusion.

…_Of course_. He sighed. "What do you want?" Maybe it was just an engine issue and the ninja needed help with wiring. Yeah, maybe that was it.

"Noth…" Pidge stopped. Much as he wanted to just take that opening and run for it, he had orders. "…Came to… check on you?"

Well he couldn't very well refuse that. _Oy_. "Alright, come on in." He dragged himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. This ought to be… something.

Pidge opened the door, stepping in and standing right in front of it as it slid shut. There was a moment of awkward silence. He was supposed to say something here, something helpful and polite. "Hi?"

"Hi." Vince waved warily.

"Um… how are you?" _What the hells am I doing?_

Oh. _Ask me an easy one, why don't you._ "I really don't know," he said truthfully. "Do you know how you are?"

The ninja snorted. That was actually relatable, though he did have some ideas. "Pissed off."

Vince snorted too; just from the way Pidge had been treating Romelle, he'd gathered that much. "I noticed."

"Aren't you?"

…Was he? Frowning, he shook his head, considering the question. "Probably not how you mean. I'm mostly confused."

Confused? Pidge brightened slightly. Confusion was good. Confusion could be fixed with answers, answers required logic, logic was something they had far too little of to rely on anymore. "About?"

Vince eyed him skeptically. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but why are you asking?"

He blinked. "What's the wrong way to take that? It's a valid question." Valid, yes. Definitely valid. Though as he tried to figure out how to respond, he realized the issue. "I… I don't really want to answer it, though."

Illogical. But true.

Sighing, Vince decided that was fair enough. "I don't really wanna talk about it at all either."

"Okay." Pidge nodded and turned back to the door. He was trying to fulfill his duty here, he wasn't going to force the issue. That would be unhelpful. "Sorry."

A wave of relief went through Vince as he watched him starting to leave. Then he hesitated as something else echoed in his mind. He could see his moms, he could hear the gentle admonishment.

_That boy is _trying_, Vince._

"Wait…" Pidge stopped and he sighed. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I…" Was there something? He wasn't sure. He hadn't come to be helped, he'd come here to try to do the helping, as if that were really within his power. "I'm just trying to…" He turned around, fists clenched in frustration. "He told me to look after you."

All that did was cause more confusion for a moment. "Who…" Then it hit like a punch to the gut. _Oh_. "Flynn?" _Names shouldn't hurt…_

All Pidge could do was nod wordlessly. Names hurt.

"That was just during the fighting," he said, blinking as his eyes suddenly began to sting. "You know, because…" _Because I'm me. How am I still alive?_

"He never said to stop," the ninja pointed out softly. "Look, I'm not very good at this…" A helpless gesture. "…team stuff. If I'm bothering you I can go."

Bothering wasn't exactly the word Vince would've used. It was awkward, yes, but not quite so aggressive as _bothering_. He just wished he had some idea of what to do or say in return. "You're trying," he offered finally. "Trying matters."

"Keromya si daliar," Pidge spat reflexively under his breath.

"…What does that mean?"

Oh. He really hadn't meant to let that slip out _loud_. "Nothing…" _No_. Looking at Vince again, considering the conversation they were having, he took a shallow breath. "It's… it's a training mantra." He hesitated. "Failure is betrayal."

The other engineer's amber eyes widened slightly. "That's _stupid."_ It got him a confused blink. "As someone who's blown out way more circuits than he's fixed, failing is pretty helpful."

That wasn't _quite_ what the mantra was supposed to mean, but Pidge took the point nonetheless. On the other hand, he was here. On an Explorer Team. Because he'd failed enough before… "Humans have mixed opinions on that, kir sa tye?"

Didn't he know it. Vince nodded slowly. "Maybe, but… he didn't."

Pidge recoiled—which didn't work very well when his back was already up against the door. _Sure as all the hells, he didn't…_ then he grimaced. "I was supposed to come in here to help you."

"Another human thing we do is help each other when we need it," Vince answered with a shrug. "The good humans, at least." Did Baltans not? That training mantra sure seemed harsh. If that was a typical attitude there, maybe it explained a few things.

Considering that, Pidge nodded slowly and looked away. "Well, um. Anyway." He didn't really have a good response. "If you don't want to talk that's fine. If you do later I can uh, listen? That's the first thing, right?"

_You are very bad at this, varetya. But you're trying… he'd approve._

"It is." Vince felt kind of bad for not taking him up on it now, but he also knew it wouldn't be fair to either of them. "I'm just not ready to talk yet, really. There's a lot…" Sigh. "…When I'm ready to talk, you can listen."

"Okay. It's a deal." He turned again, opening the door. "See you next shift, mechka."

Vince stared after him, and felt a small smile attempting to creep over his face. _Mechka_. He'd been so annoyed by that nickname at first, but there was something familiar about it now, something normal. And maybe he was starting to understand where it had come from, just a little.

Maybe it was actually kind of nice.

* * *

The Lion of Storms was still sleeping… but his thoughts were uneasy. Since finding the royal cub could hear his voice, and even her brother for the brief time he'd had, it bothered him all the more that no other mortal could hear him. And now… there was the new moment. It matched up with what the royal cub had told him, the dream she'd felt must have meant something. He had tempered her expectations, uncertain himself of its significance. But he had felt the others… _all_ of them.

It had been many years since the pride was able to all be awake at the same time. At best, a lion might be lucky enough to find another lion up for a quick chat. Now, it had happened for all five of them at once… and _more_ than once. A few more times in these last few days. Almost to the point where it could be called consistent. The convergences lasted only a few moments, minutes at most, but they were something.

They'd slept too long. He knew that. Sleep, for the lions, was not precisely what others thought of as sleep. He had awareness of the time that had passed—how much time? That was impossible to judge, without the context of others to speak to. Without the ability to truly grasp what was happening outside of his den. But he had a sense of what had been nearby, what had sought to pierce his consciousness even as he lacked the power to respond.

Dreams of storms and gryphons and the voices of mortals had not been mere dreams. _This_ he knew. Ancient memories of flying through the darkness and the light, beside his siblings, united with the worthy… faint and faded. What had banished them to these dens and this darkness? It felt like there was a gap in his awareness. That was deeply worrying.

What he needed was a mortal he could connect with. He'd sent a call through the storm, as he remembered doing in the past, but the echo of a compatible person had failed to sound. Not even the royal cub… yet she heard his voice? It was strange. He'd even attempted a sensor scan of his surroundings when his awareness was at its highest, but it returned with only confusion. Arus still had people, though they were far fewer in numbers than he felt they should have been. He could sense some foreign entities, but they did not feel compatible… if anything, they felt like the reason for the lower numbers of Arusians.

Frustration. He _needed_ to know more, yet he was smothered by the shadows that bound him here. Perhaps this was what the royal cub felt as she sought the answers? But he _should_ know these things.

He could sense the other lions were sleeping, for now. He would just have to wait until the next window to discuss this… in their moments of waking he'd already heard from the winds, taking similar notice of their new sleep patterns. Hopefully it wouldn't be long until the next convergence. Perhaps if he could relay his questions for a proper discussion, they might find an insight to their problem. They'd always done well at solving things together before.

Before… before _what?_

What had happened? To them? To this planet? Would the royal cub be able to find these answers in time to make a difference?

They could only hope.


	49. Duty

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Chapter 48_  
Duty

* * *

It was quiet on the _Xaela's_ bridge. It felt like it was always quiet, even when it wasn't. But the silence seemed a little bit less oppressive as time went on. It didn't exactly feel like healing, but maybe something close.

Sven was at his console playing with the nav system, just because he could—he'd never had much practical experience with mirrorlock navigation before. It kept him occupied. And really he was just enjoying having a monitor in a language he could _read_. Lance had no such distractions available; piloting in mirrorlock wasn't nearly as _interesting_ as hyperspace. All he really had to do was sit there and occasionally make tiny course corrections. His thoughts were wandering, and that was dangerous anymore… he tried to pull them back to somewhere safer.

Ebb. They would get to Ebb eventually. And then… what then? Would they go back to Earth? Be reinforced—fuck, he couldn't imagine that—and sent back on their mission?

Their _mission_. It felt like forever since he'd thought about that. And yet, as his thoughts drifted to it, he felt the echoes of heat in his fingertips. That sensation of warmth curling around him that had supposedly been magic, or something like it. All the libraries and ancient ruins and even the murder garden… with Jace. _Fuck_.

Shaking his head, he looked over at Sven, who was poking absently at his console. It felt like he needed to speak, as if to prove what he was thinking about had ever been real. "Just remembered something."

"Yes?" The navigator looked up a little reluctantly, but not too much so. He'd been running out of interesting mapping to do.

"Our mission was to find five robot cats." Lance couldn't help a laugh. It certainly didn't sound any less bizarre. "All that craziness… kind of missing it now."

Sven tilted his head and chuckled. "It hasn't even crossed my mind for awhile." How could it have, with all they'd been through? His smile became wistful as he thought about it. "I miss it too… it seems like so long ago."

"Yeah." Frown. "That crazy metal just popped into my head. It does that sometimes, I mean, it did that a lot before… it's fucking weird. Guess the whole thing is on hold now, though." He looked at his hands. "Not sure I like that."

"Hmmph…" It did sound kind of depressing, now that he mentioned it. But the thought of going back to _normal_ so quickly still seemed impossible. "I'm not sure I like it either. But I'm also not sure I _don't_ like it."

Probably fair. "I just… I wanted to find it. Hell, I still do. I don't want them to just send someone else out on the Voltron hunt and we'll never know—" A gasp from the open hatch cut him off, a little belatedly as it registered. Looking up he saw Romelle standing there, eyes wide. _Shit_. "Uh, hello."

Sven turned also, giving her a short nod. "Romelle." He still couldn't look at her for very long without flinching, but at least he wasn't bolting for the lower deck again. That had been less than diplomatic.

"Um… hello." She looked between them, pale golden skin seeming even paler than usual. All she'd meant to do was come and sit at the communications console, perhaps familiarize herself a bit better with its functions. The last thing she'd expected to hear was _that word_.

Noting her expression, Lance thought back to what he said and tried to figure out what had caused the gasp. And the very, very awkward silence that was now following. Only one thing was coming to mind; it seemed awfully unlikely, but what the hell? "So, you overheard that, huh? Don't suppose you know anything about a Voltron."

As Keith's second, Sven was pretty sure he should have cut that off, or at least given the pilot a disapproving look. He wasn't really feeling it. What was a little operational security lapse among escapees on a stolen ship, really?

Romelle swallowed hard, fighting down a shiver. _What do I say?_ She hadn't even considered how little she knew about the Alliance. Or who the Alliance might be cooperating with. Finally, she took a deep breath. They'd brought her with them, and trusted her beyond what she'd had any reason to expect. Perhaps they would protect her yet… "Are you working with the Galra?" she whispered.

Sven's eyes widened, and Lance nearly shot out of his seat. "Fuck no!" Now the Viking did glare at him, as Romelle sprang back with her hand on her weapon; he paused, growling and trying to get hold of himself. "Sorry, um, I just really hate them."

"Oh…" She looked to Sven, who gave an exasperated sigh.

"Forgive him." The _calm the fuck down_ look he'd turned on the pilot did not fade.

In fairness, Lance really was _trying_ to calm the fuck down. Maybe switching back to the original topic would help. "So, um, was that a yes?"

Slowly, Romelle moved her hand away from her gaive'llar. _If they aren't with the Galra, then why… how…?_ "I might have heard of it," she confirmed hesitantly, as if they might somehow have not picked that up already. "Why do you ask?" _The Voltron hunt_. That was what he'd said. "Why are you looking for it?"

"Personally, because I _don't_ want the Galra to get it." Lance had not quite managed to get all the anger out of his tone, and Sven gave him a warning look that he found a bit too familiar. "…But officially it's more complicated than that. What can you tell us?"

She swallowed again, mind racing. "The Galra have been searching for Voltron for centuries. They have no mercy on anything in their path."

_Isn't that the fucking truth_. Clenching his fists, Lance decided to take a shot. He could tell she was skirting around the real question on purpose… "Do you know something about where it is?"

Nervousness flashed in her eyes, and she took a step back. Sven intervened immediately. "You don't have to tell us." Lance shot him a glare; he glared right back. This woman had been through too much. "We'd hate to make you feel like we were pressuring you to do anything."

_But she knows something…_ Lance exhaled slowly, still trying for calm. Maybe he should just let the Viking negotiate. It didn't feel like he was making much progress, and maybe this was too personal for him to really pull it off…

"What do you _want_ with it?!" Romelle cried out abruptly, then blushed and covered her mouth with her hands.

Lance looked at Sven; Sven looked at Lance. How did they even respond to that? But they were in this deep. Maybe if he tried to ease up on the pressure…

"…It's just, it's what we were looking for, before we got tossed into hell. Might be nice to have some answers, if you have any? Don't really expect you to, though. Nobody else has."

Romelle looked at him, and suddenly things seemed to fit together. Hunk had glossed over this Explorer Team's actual _mission_ when he'd been explaining things to her. Searching for a weapon before some pirates could get to it, he'd said. That was all.

It was not a particularly _accurate_ understanding of Voltron and the Galra, but she could see how aliens from hundreds of light years away might have seen it that way…

"Nothing good comes from that thing," she murmured, eyes narrowing as a shiver ran up her spine. "Nothing but trouble."

Sven's mind went to the temple, and to all the other close calls they'd had even before the Ninth Kingdom got involved. Lance's went to the warmth, the strange metal he couldn't get out of his mind. Both spoke at once.

"That seems fairly accurate."

"Are you sure about that?"

She looked between them and nodded. "More than you know. It's why my ancestors first fled into exile on Pollux."

_Wait, what?_ Lance's eyes widened, and his full focus fell on her. "Exiled? Because of Voltron?"

"Essentially." She looked away. "A decision was made to hide it away. My people believed the decision was… unwise."

_To hide it away_. His jaw had slowly fallen open as she spoke. _She knows_. It was crystal clear now. "The fucking fuck…" He looked over at their nearly equally stunned navigator. "We need to get Keith."

"Yes we do," Sven agreed, hitting the comms at his own station. "Keith, could you come to the bridge for a moment? We have something we'd like to… inform you of." That was a way of putting it, at least.

It took a few moments for the drowsy response to come through. "On my way."

Shaking his head, Lance slumped back against his seat and started laughing. He couldn't help it. He doubled over, sounding more than a little hysterical, trying to get a grip and failing completely.

Romelle stared. _He was mad as all the dark realms of hell a minute ago… _of course, maybe he was still mad. The word had a useful double meaning in Common. It didn't help that Sven seemed less than concerned; pilot drama without the attendant gunner drama was a relatively rare thing, but it was certainly another kind of drama she'd need to get used to.

Finally their dramatic pilot recovered enough to notice the look she was giving him. "Sorry, I'm just…" He giggled, sounding a little manic yet. "We've been searching every nook and cranny, every little thread we could find through the galaxy, and practically nothing. And then _you_ just… show up and you know stuff! Actual _things!"_

Still watching him warily, she was saved from needing to respond by Keith making his way onto the bridge. He'd obviously just woken up, smoothing his salvaged shirt with one hand and covering a yawn with the other. "Sorry," he said quietly, shaking his head to try to clear the fog. "What is it?"

"We found the fucking Voltron motherlode, boss."

The fog evaporated. "…What?"

Lance was laughing again, so Sven took over. "It seems Romelle is aware of Voltron's location, but is a bit reluctant to tell us."

There were so many questions Keith wanted to ask. Near the top of the list was how and why exactly the subject had been raised to her to begin with. But then… apparently it had gotten results? He slowly turned his gaze on Romelle, who was blushing furiously and, notably, _not_ objecting to anything they'd said.

It should probably excite him more than it did, he decided. But even if she had that information… "I'm not sure it matters right now."

Lance abruptly stopped laughing. "What? Of course it fucking matters."

"Not right _now_. What matters is getting to Ebb. I lost—_we_ lost three vital members of our crew, and Daniel's injury needs better attention than we can give it here." The gunner actually seemed to be healing up pretty well, but he'd have felt better getting him back to the professionals. "That has to be our focus."

All of that was true, but perhaps a little myopic. Sven shook his head slightly. "Us needing to get to Ebb doesn't change the fact that Voltron's location matters."

"It does, but not to us. She can tell the Alliance when—"

"—What? No!"

All three of them turned back to Romelle, startled. "No? Why not?"

"Why are you looking for it?" she countered, frustration dripping through her voice. It wasn't exactly the question she was trying to get at, but precise phrasing wasn't her friend right now.

Lance's eyes narrowed. "We almost died! Flynn…" _No_. "…I don't even give a fuck about telling the Alliance, I just want to know where it fucking is!"

"Why are you against telling the Alliance?" Sven asked, trying to calm things down. Yelling at her didn't seem helpful.

Keith nodded. "If you won't tell us, you'll need to tell them. It's important."

"I didn't say I won't tell you." She'd taken a step back, trying to gather her thoughts. "I could be convinced to tell you. I won't… I won't just hand it over to _them_."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Keith wondered if he could convince them all to let him go get whatever passed for coffee on this ship before they went any further. _I'm too tired for this._ They hadn't actually found anything coffee-adjacent in the galley yet, so there was no actual point in asking. "So you'd tell us, but not the Alliance? But you know we're Alliance soldiers."

It wasn't entirely logical. Romelle knew that. How to explain the unexplainable, the visceral rejection that churned in her guts at the thought? "But I've come to trust _you,"_ she finally murmured. "The Alliance is just another faceless, self-interested bureaucracy. Even if I _told_ them where Voltron is, they wouldn't do anything about it. It's on a planet conquered by the Drules—we've all seen the Alliance won't actually fight them. They just make treaties to protect themselves and let the independent worlds suffer."

Silence fell over the bridge for a few moments. Keith was reflexively bristling against her characterization, and yet he couldn't find an argument. He'd seen the Alliance put bureaucracy over ideals—hell, that was how he'd ended up on an Explorer Team in the first place. He knew the terms of the treaties as well as anyone. The Alliance _had_ to protect its own first. But…

As his commander struggled with the broader morality, Lance zeroed in on something much more concrete. "Wait. They don't _have_ it, do they?"

"They have it. They just don't know they have it." She had no doubt she'd have heard about it if the Drules had found Voltron. It was the sort of thing that would draw attention. As her people had damn well pointed out centuries ago, never dreaming where the future would ultimately lead… "If you're the ones who'll go to get it, if you'll be able to have some say in what happens next… I will tell you. Otherwise it's best if that information stays hidden."

All three of them stared at her. The chance to complete their mission was standing right in front of them, but taking it would be downright insane. And yet, insane was what they _did_.

"This feels like a discussion the whole team should be a part of," Sven said finally.

Keith nodded. "I agree." Crossing over to the command console, he opened the comms. "All crew to the common room. We have a complication."

* * *

A complication. That was always ominous, wasn't it?

Hunk was flopped out on a couch, trying not to feel as nervous as the summons probably merited. Vince was next to him, and he was most definitely nervous; Pidge was sitting on the arm of the couch beside him. Across from them, Lance was still chuckling a little, while Daniel sat next to him and bounced his leg impatiently. Romelle had taken up a seat by Sven, liking his calmness, though right now that calm had a definite sense of shock beneath it.

Looking around at his team, sipping a glass of water that he wished was something more caffeinated, Keith stopped pacing around the middle of the rec room and sighed. Here went nothing.

"Alright. Seems we have a possible change of plans, and we need to make a decision." He set the water aside. "We are en route to Ebb, currently. It's the nearest Alliance post. I know we need to get there as quickly as possible. Daniel needs medical attention," Daniel looked a little irked to be singled out but said nothing, "we're down several members of our crew, and this ship isn't what we had before—either in terms of capability or cargo space. However…" He exhaled slowly. "We now have someone among us who knows where Voltron is."

All four jaws that hadn't been on the bridge dropped in unison. "Komora sa kye?"

"I'm sorry, what?!"

Keith gestured to their fugitive princess. "Romelle knows, but she won't tell us unless we go after it ourselves. And it may be at risk. So the question is, do we continue to Ebb? Or do we attempt to carry out our mission?"

"Thought we knew where it is," Hunk mused. "It's on Altea, yeah? Just—"

Vince blurted the understanding just before Hunk could get to it. "—You know where Altea is?"

_Altea?_ Romelle looked between them and frowned. She thought she might have heard that name before, though she couldn't quite place it. "No, I don't know about an Altea." The context was clear enough. "But I know that Voltron isn't… it doesn't belong where it is now."

That could actually explain a whole lot. "It was stolen?"

"Not exactly."

"See, I'd really like less vague and more detail." Lance crossed his arms. "Can we just agree to go get it, already?"

Next to him, Daniel shook his head and scowled. "Why the fuck would we go get it?" _The hell's wrong with him?_

Hunk was onboard with that question. "Why us? Just about anyone else in the Alliance is probably way better suited to track it down right now, yeah? I mean we…" He winced. "We're kinda a mess."

"We're more than a mess," Daniel snorted. "We're a fucking train wreck." He didn't understand how this was even a debate. He just wanted to go home. Not that the Academy housing was particularly homey, but it was sure as hell better than being stuck in a hostile corner of the vast expanse of _space_.

"Yeah, because three of us died for our mission, which is exactly _why_ we should finish it and find out where the fucking thing is!" Lance didn't get how this was a debate either. He didn't like disagreeing with Daniel, and his heart was tugging at him for the kid's sake… but something else, the echo of warmth in his fingertips, was tugging even more.

Romelle decided to ignore Daniel and Lance; Hunk had asked an actual question that she could address. "Even _if_ the Alliance were to go and get it, they'd do what with it, exactly? Not help planets that need it? They already do that."

"Uh, we work for the Alliance?" Hunk pointed out hesitantly. She just nodded in response. She still knew it wasn't wholly logical, but she also still couldn't fight down or deny the way she felt. The trust she'd built with this team had been hard-won, and they shared things nobody else in their Alliance could understand…

Pidge felt like everyone was ignoring a key component of Keith's initial presentation; he frowned. "What risk were you referring to, sir?"

The commander nodded for Romelle to answer, and she exhaled. "The Galra are also looking for it—"

"—We've met them."

"—And they shouldn't fucking have it!"

"—And it's on a world currently occupied by the Drules," she completed.

That sent a flicker of surprise through several of them. Not Lance, whose scowl deepened. "And fuck _them_ getting their hands on it, too." Nobody was going to argue with that sentiment, even if they weren't convinced about the solution.

Pidge was staring at Romelle in disbelief. "Wait. So you want us—and it has to be us—to go to a Drule-occupied planet, understrength, on the premise that you know the location of a weapon we've found next to no information about in months of searching." It made no sense. It was the most obvious trap. Except it wasn't _logical_ for it to be a trap, she'd had so many opportunities to get them captured, he didn't like her but he'd come to accept she meant them no harm, it didn't… _wait…_ his eyes widened. "And even if we don't, even if we _were_ to convince you to go back and give that information to the Alliance, that would give the Drules that much more time to find it unchallenged."

Hunk startled, looking over at the ninja. He'd really just wanted to go home, hell with it. But he hadn't thought of it that way. Suddenly he could hear, _feel_, a clock ticking in the back of his mind… and the decision got a whole lot harder.

"…Yes," Romelle acknowledged. She hadn't necessarily looked at it that way either, and she surely didn't think the Drules needed the damned thing. Though if the Galra wanted to take a few shots at Lotor, she wouldn't be against it. It wasn't enough to ease the knot in her chest. "The world was only recently pacified, so it seems they were putting up a bit of a fight." _But not with Voltron. I'd have heard that. Exiled for it, and it couldn't even save them_. "And I feel I can trust you all to recover it. Not the Alliance—some faceless bureaucracy that wouldn't risk a fight." She shrugged helplessly, then folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. "You've already fought your way off of Korrinoth, and no doubt we all have prices on our heads by now."

That was a pretty grim point, but also a pretty fair one. They _were_ already thoroughly engaged in hostilities. And nobody was really expecting the Alliance to go to war on their behalf…

"Voltron seems to be pretty important," Lance said slowly. "Why are you so protective of it when you seem to hate it, too?"

"Hate it?" She startled a little and shook her head, eyes still locked on her hands. "Voltron isn't my issue. It's the planet it's hidden on, and the Galra. Provoking them by hiding it away was always tempting fate."

That did make some amount of sense. Exchanging glances, the team fell silent for a few moments, everyone taking in the new information and gathering their thoughts.

"If the Drules have pacified the planet, how are we supposed to take a hidden weapon from right under their noses?" Sven asked finally. That seemed like a pretty key issue also. "Even if we were in peak condition," he glanced at Daniel and remembered his own recent panic attack with a grimace, "that would be exceptionally difficult. Let alone now."

Not the craziest thing they'd ever done, perhaps. But exceptionally difficult.

"Why are we even _discussing_ going to get it?" Daniel demanded, losing his grip on the question that had been seething in his mind this whole time. "I don't care how important it is, it's not as fucking important as going _home!_ I don't know if you guys noticed, but we couldn't even sneak by a Drule monitoring post without getting into shit! Haven't we lost enough people looking for this fucking thing?"

_Damn it._ Lance closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to comfort the kid. He wanted to agree with him, not because he actually agreed, but just because arguing with Daniel didn't feel right. But that instinct was warring with everything else inside of him, and for once, it lost out. "Flynn shouldn't… they shouldn't have died for nothing," he said softly, drawing a startled look from Keith.

Pidge had come to a conclusion, and shot their gunner an icy look. "So you'd prefer to let the same enemies who killed three of us, and tried to kill the rest of us _just for their amusement_, get their hands on an ancient superweapon capable of who the hells knows what?"

"Ninja's got a point," Hunk agreed hesitantly. "If we can't let the Galra get their hands on this thing, we sure's hell can't let the Drules get it, yeah?"

Ignoring Hunk, Daniel returned Pidge's look with equal ice. "I'd prefer all of us not die trying to infiltrate a planet _owned_ by Drules, just for a fucking robot." He couldn't really cross his arms, but shifted to hold his bad arm across his good before looking back at Lance. "Cause if we do that, then they all died for nothing!"

Lance flinched, but shook his head. "You won't die. He… they would want to find it…"

At the same time, though, Pidge had lost his patience. The last thing he gave a damn about anymore was dying, and it hardly _honored_ the others to be afraid to give what they had given. "Then stay on the ship and let the rest of us do it, coward."

"Pidge!" Keith snapped, glaring; Lance glared too. That was _not_ helpful. Hunk wasn't in range to elbow him—Vince was in the way—but dropped his voice into his best approximation of a command tone.

"Ninja, I'll _carry you_ out of this room if I've gotta!"

Though he didn't have the grace to look guilty or even particularly chastised, their systems analyst did shut up. It wasn't going to stop Daniel from firing back, of course.

"Fuck you, dickwad!" He was shaking in fury. It wasn't even just Pidge—they were _all_ acting like this wasn't insane, Pidge was just being the biggest prick about it, as usual. "Fuck all of you! I'm done. Drop me off on your way to your fucking death sentence!"

"Settle down." Keith's own command tone cut through the tension much more effectively than his unwilling chief engineer's. "Settle _down_. We're discussing our options right now, and that's all."

Lance took a long breath, wincing. He wanted to put a hand on Daniel's shoulder but was positive it would be unwelcome; instead he looked around the rest of the room. "What do the rest of you think?" Vince hadn't said a word for ages, though he'd been laser-focused on everything; Sven and Hunk had raised questions, but not exactly taken sides. Nor had Keith, though as the commander he probably wouldn't unless necessary.

"I'm…" Sven frowned. He really didn't know _how_ he felt about this; both sides had good arguments, and he seemed to find himself agreeing with whichever case had been made most recently. "Undecided." He supposed being able to go either way was a good thing, under these circumstances.

"I've got a question." Hunk knew which way he was leaning, but he wanted more information before he could be sure… he turned to Romelle and steeled himself. "You were like, a big deal on Korrinoth, yeah?"

She blushed. "If by a _big deal,_ you mean I was to be the prime consort of the crown prince, yes. Why?"

_Big Dumb Hunk wouldn't think of this, y'know._ But they didn't have time for masks. _Big Dumb Hunk ain't here right now._ "What kinda forces do they usually leave on 'pacified' planets? I remember hearin' the Fourth leaves 'em pretty sparse once they're done with the conquering part." His roommate had told him a fair bit of what she'd learned about Fourth Kingdom deployment patterns her last time out, but whether that had any bearing on the Ninth…

Romelle nodded slowly. "That's… typical of conquerors, I believe. The Ninth is no different in that respect." Closing her eyes, she strained to remember. The logistics of conquest certainly hadn't been something she was usually involved in—they hadn't even involved her in her own _wedding plans_—but she had heard things. "There would be a governor in charge. Perhaps a ship, though only if they believe there might be unknown space travel assets left on the planet, or allies elsewhere. A few battalions of soldiers."

Wincing, Lance flashed back to thoughts of Beau Terre once the Galra had finished with it. "So this place is gutted?"

"Possibly." She shrugged. "But there may yet be some infrastructure left. They conquer planets to make use of their land and resources, not just leave them in ruins."

Frowning at that, Lance fell silent and eyed Hunk. The big guy was getting at _something_ there, but it could really go to either side of the debate…

"So," he spoke more tentatively than usual, "gettin' in and out of this pacified planet is probably way easier than, say, bustin' out of a slave dungeon on Korrinoth in this same sorry shape?"

That was the side Lance had been hoping for.

Romelle considered the question, as if she were some expert on tactics. It did seem reasonable. "It is possible, yes. It would depend how quickly you could find it after arriving."

"Don't you know where it is?" Pidge sounded a little less skeptical than usual, though that wasn't saying much.

"Not exactly where on the planet, no. My people disagreed with hiding it, we didn't stay to participate. But… given the name of the High King's castle, that would be a good place to start."

Everyone looked at her—except Daniel, who'd gone off to sulk in a corner and was pretending not to pay attention—which she supposed she'd invited. "The name of the castle?"

"Vel'dia Komaz…" She hesitated and shook her head, that didn't help them any. "The Castle of Lions."

"Lions?" Lance echoed as the others stared. Nobody had mentioned lions. Not to her. _She really does know what this thing is, where it is…_ "Well fuck it, we found the evil murder garden temple. We can find this. We go to this Castle of Lions, that's my vote."

Keith sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't happy about this. But if there was anything he'd learned from this mission, it was that he didn't need to be happy about something to be _convinced_ of it. And the rationale was hard to fight. "Alright." He looked around at his team. "I know we're all tired. Hurt. But…"

"We have to go," Pidge said softly. "We don't have a choice."

"We do have a choice," Daniel snarled from the corner, "and my choice is no." He wasn't looking at them; he didn't want to see the pissy ninja and he definitely didn't want to see Lance's disappointed face. Though Lance actually looked more sad than anything—not that he'd have wanted to see that either.

Their commander looked to Hunk, who in turn looked over at Romelle. "Has to be us, huh?" As she nodded, he sighed and braced himself. He didn't like it much either, but the possible alternatives were worse. "I'm on board."

"I'm still unsure…" Sven looked around. "But I will go with the majority."

That, Keith supposed, was a fair enough position. But… "We can't just be forced into this by the majority. We need everyone to buy in, one way or another. Which means Daniel, and Vince…"

Vince raised his head. "Uh, wait, what do you mean me?"

Raising an eyebrow, Keith turned to focus on him fully. "You hadn't said anything, I just assumed…"

Suddenly all eyes were on him, and he grimaced. Maybe it was understandable. He'd been wrapped up in his own thoughts as he followed the debate, and it wasn't like he'd ever jumped at the thought of adventure before. And yet… he looked at his hands and took a steadying breath. It was something inside him… the symbol on the relic they'd found, the stars, the sparks of whatever bizarre energy he'd unleashed at full strength in the arena.

It was pushing him forward. And he couldn't refuse.

"We should go find Voltron." He kept his eyes on his hands, not wanting to see the stunned expressions he knew had to be there, half expecting sparks to start shooting out of his fingers. "Trust me, I'm shocked too." _Oh good, lightning puns again_. "But I just… I think I _need_ to find it."

A round of slow nods went around the rec room. All except for Daniel, who was still standing in the corner with his most stubborn look, feeling just a little betrayed by Vince's agreement. How the hell was _he_ the only sane one around here? That wasn't how this was supposed to work at all.

_We need him. I need him_. Lance stood and took a hesitant step forward. He wasn't sure what to say, but when was he ever sure what to say? Usually he made it work somehow—he'd barely even started trying to marshal his thoughts when he was cut off by Pidge stepping in front of him. …_Uh oh_.

Pidge knew he'd gone too far earlier. He knew he shouldn't have called their gunner a coward, he knew Flynn wouldn't approve. Maybe more to the point… he understood being afraid. And Flynn had known that, too. _He'd tell you to apologize, if he were here. But he's not here, so just… do the best you can_…

Being in a corner, Daniel couldn't exactly retreat from the approaching ninja no matter how much he wanted to. So he just watched him warily, wondering whether he was about to be spoken to or stabbed.

Maybe Pidge himself wasn't completely certain of that, until he got there. No. He'd known what he intended.

_I never got to answer him…_

"What are you afraid of?"

Daniel stared. "I…" He hadn't been ready for that. He hadn't been ready for calm, for a question, for _that_ question. "I—I…" Pidge was staring back at him, green eyes unreadable. What the hell? Why was he so calm? Daniel had been prepared for a screaming match, not this. "I don't want you guys to die," he finally managed, somehow. His voice was a ragged whisper; even in the sudden dead silence of the common room, he wondered if anyone but Pidge could even hear him. "I don't want to be alone again."

He'd expected scorn. Maybe something about logic. But Pidge nodded as if he understood…

…_And I'm already alone again_. "Jace died for you." He kept his voice low also. "Flynn died for me. We get it, kir sa tye?"

"Yeah." Daniel gestured helplessly with his good hand. "They died for us." _And Cam died for all of us, even if he said he owed me, like a fucking asshole…_ "If we die too, that makes it worthless! I don't get how them dying means _we_ should all run into danger when we're not at our best. Don't you get that? Why do you—"

"—Because I don't want any _more_ deaths on my hands!" Pidge's tone wasn't angry, exactly. Maybe pained. "If the Drules get this thing because we didn't—if they use it—if we _fail_ the mission they died for—how many more people will die? You think _that's_ what they'd want?" He lowered his eyes. "Call me a coward if you like. I'm godsdamned terrified of failing them like that."

Everyone had already been watching them, but at least a couple of jaws were on the floor again. Grumpy Ninja did not say things like that. Even Daniel had to shake it off a moment, but he wasn't ready to concede. "I don't care about that, okay? I'm probably a horrible, selfish person for saying that—"

"—No you're not," Lance objected before he could stop himself, though he wasn't sure if the kid had even heard him or not. He seemed pretty caught up in what he was doing.

"—but I don't care. I…" _Fuck_. He was going to have to say it. He was going to have to admit this out loud, not just to Lance but to the whole damn room of them, to this damn asshole ninja who was suddenly being so fucking _reasonable_. But maybe if he said it, he could finally talk some _sense_ into them. "I care about you guys," he whispered.

Pidge looked up again. "No. I understand." _The hell with all of that, if it would've saved him._ It was too late for that to matter now. What mattered was… "But we want to go."

…That had _not_ been how that was supposed to work out. Daniel stared at him, trying to find some logical ground to retreat to. Some way to keep fighting, to make them realize this was crazy. But… he groaned and tilted his head back, lightly banging it against the wall a few times and letting the ensuing hint of a headache break through his racing thoughts.

"…Fine." They wanted to go. They wanted him to believe in this absolute lunacy. They wanted him _with them_… maybe that would have to be good enough. "Let's go get Voltron."

Lance took another step closer, eyeing him doubtfully. "Only if you're sure."

Daniel gave him a halfhearted glare. "I'm not sure, but I'm tired. I don't want to argue anymore. But none of you better _die_. No pilots, engineers, navigators, ninjas, or runaway princesses are allowed to die. Got it?" He paused, then added as if an afterthought, "Or overbearing commanders."

Chuckling, Hunk gave him a thumbs-up. "It's a deal, little dude." He tried to catch Pidge's eye, still trying to make sense of what he'd just heard from _that_ side of the conversation. The ninja answered with a look that very clearly said _hold your tongue if you want to keep it,_ and he decided to look somewhere else. Anywhere else. _Ain't sayin' a word!_

"We won't die," Lance promised. "But that not-allowed-to-die list also includes smartass kids." Daniel answered that by fondly rolling his eyes, and the pilot finally breathed a little bit easier.

Keith was not entirely certain what had just happened, but he also felt pretty certain he shouldn't question it. So he nodded and turned to their runaway princess instead. "Alright, Romelle. Where is it?"

She took a deep breath. _No backing out now…_ perhaps she should be questioning the wisdom of this from her own side of things. But she believed in this team of strange, crazy Earthlings. And it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. So she nodded and turned to Sven.

"Let me see the maps."

* * *

With a bow in one hand and her staff in the other, Larmina watched as the last batch of supplies was moved into the tunnels. Everything of use had been scoured from the castle, along with plenty of things she'd question the usefulness of; those golden mirrors and crystal trinkets from the ruined ballroom would surely find a purpose somewhere, she supposed. More important were the caches the Drules had left behind as they occupied the place, food and medicine but also weaponry and even building supplies. They really had been intending to just move in and take over.

_Sucks to be them._

As others among the militia moved to erase their presence from the castle, Larmina turned her attention to her aunt. She found her watching the surrounding terrain from one of the more stable castle towers.

"So you're not leaving with everyone else?"

Allura didn't startle; she'd heard and sensed her approaching, but her eyes remained on the sky. "No… not yet. There is still something I must do."

Her niece gave her a puzzled look. "We're taking everything that wasn't nailed down, not to mention a few things that were. What's left to be done here?"

True enough… the princess sighed. "That's part of the problem. I'm hoping with so many things cleared away, perhaps it will become easier to see things that may be hidden. Something that could help us." Turning her head to the Thunder Ridge, she whispered more hesitantly, "If it's even something that can be seen."

Oh. _Vague still?_ Larmina made a face that she would have denied was a pout, though it was definitely a pout. Giving the area a quick once-over, she made a decision. "Well, I'm staying up here with you."

Now Allura did turn to her, grimacing. "Larmina, I need you below with—"

"—Nope! You need an extra set of eyes up here. Coran may be your number one trusty advisor, but he's just one guy. You need someone else who can keep an eye out for you both." Giving her aunt a defiant smirk, she came up and stood beside her, staring up at the glittering stars.

Allura was a little bit taken aback. Larmina couldn't risk herself like this—well, that was what Larmina did, but… no. This was too important. She was about to give a more official order when the counterpoint crossed her mind. The reasoning _was _sound. One more person in the castle could be helpful. Their numbers would still be low enough to not be noticed, she would have more protection, and Larmina still kept enough to herself that she certainly wouldn't get in the way of her search. In fact, perhaps she could even help with it…

"Very well. Make sure that you have someone in place in the tunnels to keep watch over everything." The elders would be overseeing, of course. But part of imparting more responsibility to her niece was making sure she considered these things as well.

Grinning at her win, Larmina flipped her hair back and nodded. "Not a problem, I already have a couple of people in mind."

Allura smiled as she took one of her father's books from her pocket, opening to a page that had a map of the castle and its surroundings. Larmina tried not to be too obvious about peeking over her aunt's shoulder, though really, her aunt should be expecting her to do just that… not that it told her much. There were some spots with strange markings scattered over the map, with tiny notes written in code around them.

"We have a bit more freedom now, and only so much time to use it. I want to double check some places. My father focused so much in one area…" She pointed to one of the spots on the map. "There might be more clues elsewhere. Perhaps I'll see something my father missed."

Larmina set her weapons aside and crossed her arms, trying to make sense of the code. She recognized some ancient Arusian glyphs, one that might have been lightning… "And then what? If you find what you're looking for… it's the same thing King Alfor was looking for?" _Still can't tell me what it is?_ Maybe if they were going to hang out in the castle hunting it down, she'd finally get some answers. She hoped so.

Allura nodded. "He was close. But there's… something else to it, something more that has to be found. I don't think he realized that." Something she could only hope was actually on Arus. If it was, they would find it.

That drew a small sigh from her niece. "I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of this hunting down vague somethings to find _another _vague something that _could _help us save Arus. Why can't someone have just written it down somewhere? I mean the Drules just came falling down from the sky screaming "ta-dah!" like we ever asked for them to show up—why does this thing we actually _want _have to be so f…" She bit back the curse, earning a fond chuckle. "Impossible?!"

"A good question," Allura acknowledged, smiling sadly. She'd wondered it herself so many times. "Maybe someday we'll have an answer. But right now we just have to do the best we can. We search every corner and keep our eyes to the sky—we have some time, if we're lucky. But not much. The Drules have to have realized by now that something is wrong here…" Looking once more at the sky, she took a long breath. "Which means they're coming for us."

* * *

Pulling out of a mirrorlock course early was a little bit of a process. Of course, you had to pull out early eventually—failure to do so would end with your ship exiting the photon corridor in the middle of a star, which was _not_ a recommended environment for any known spacecraft. They were just beginning the exit sequence earlier than usual.

As the _Xaela_ began to slip free of the corridor, Keith looked around the bridge. "Alright. System checks. Sven, how is the new course coming along?"

"Almost done." He'd calculated their stopping point and located the correct star; now it was just a matter of checking angles.

"Good."

"Deceleration is stable," Lance reported. The photon corridor around them was getting brighter as their speed dropped closer to the actual speed of light.

Daniel ran a quick check at his own console. "Well, my nonexistent missiles still don't exist. But my point lasers still point, so…" Shrugging, he gave a thumbs-up. Keith grinned.

"Mirrorlock drive is gonna need a few to cool down and reset," Hunk called up from the engine bay. "Oughta be ready by the time we are."

"Roger that, Hunk." There was a current of tension running through the ship, but it wasn't exactly a bad tension. Something that was closer to the excitement of the moments before launch, rather than where they really were—some empty spot in the Seventh Kingdom, preparing to fly back into the teeth of the enemy.

Maybe that was why. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they were moving _towards_ something, rather than running away…

"Make sure the shields are ready. We'll want to bring them up when we exit, just in case—since we have no idea what we're going to be exiting into."

"Give us a heads-up before we exit," Pidge answered, exchanging nods with Vince. "Mirrorlock isn't like hyperspace, we can raise the shields while we're underway."

"Will do." He looked back to the helm. "Lance?"

"Almost there." As if on cue, the brilliance surrounding them faded, and the engines gave a rumbling howl that washed over the ship. "We're back to sublight speeds, thrust reversal is on."

"Alright." Keith took a deep breath, looking at the main screen and bringing up his most confident tone. "I know we've all gone through hell already, and what we're about to do is risky. But I have faith in us, all of us. I believe they would want us to do this, to finish what we started." He paused, giving the others a moment to think that through one more time. To think of the others, and promise not to let their work be wasted. "So let's do this. For them."

"For them," Vince echoed softly, swallowing back the fear. Pidge reached over and tapped his shoulder, offering a small nod.

Keith let a small grin cross his lips. "We're an Explorer Team…"

"A _fucking_ Explorer Team."

"We're a fuckin' Explorer Team!"

Lance and Hunk had called it out at the same time—they could both hear Jace, they could see Flynn shaking his head, even see Cam's bewilderment echoed as Romelle looked around at them with concern. Sven and Daniel exchanged fond eyerolls.

_We're back to what we are, and we're doing what has to be done. For them… for all of us._

An alert tone sounded; the _Xaela_ had come to a full stop. A few moments later, something chimed from the engine bay. "Mirrorlock is ready, boss."

"Alright." Pacing across the bridge one more time, Keith took his seat and nodded. "Set course for Arus."


	50. Epilogue (Unjust Reward)

**Pride: On the Hunt**  
_Epilogue_  
Unjust Reward

* * *

The royal cruiser had left Pollux several days ago. A Drule dreadnought had returned with it. King Kova frowned as his aides reported the arrival, not certain what to make of it. Were there threats? He hadn't been informed, but perhaps that was why Avok had been summoned to begin with. King Zarkon didn't seem to like working with the actual ruler of Pollux. Kova was fine with that; he didn't like working with the Drules either. But this had been the only way to save his planet and his crown.

The dreadnought was worrisome enough on its own. When Avok arrived to the throne room with a Drule soldier instead of his own honor guard… he stood, stepping down off his throne, looking as impressive as he could in the face of the unwanted arrival. "Well? What did they want?"

His son studied him with cold eyes. "Lord Zarkon can no longer tolerate your weakness, father."

Kova glared. "What is that supposed to mean?" Avok made no secret of how he hated this alliance, nor how weak he considered his father for it, but invoking Zarkon seemed very out of character. "If you disagree with my handling of matters, as I keep telling you, there are proper—"

"—This is no longer mere disagreement." Avok's tone was venomous. "You have failed our lord and our people. I am to return you to Korrinoth to answer for your crimes."

…_What in the void's name?_ "He could have simply summoned me," he scowled, "but of course I will return with you, and counter whatever charges are brought. Pollux is loyal." He stepped forward.

His son watched him, then gave a low, harsh laugh. "No, father. Pollux is finished."

Before Kova could even demand an explanation for that, the shriek of metal against a scabbard rang through the throne room. He saw the light catch Avok's blade, reflections dancing over the walls and the ceiling. His body, his reflexes, told him to move—but all he could do was stare transfixed as the sword came down.

_We did nothing wrong! _I _did nothing wrong!_

Without another word, Avok slashed a deep cut down his father's face, and drove the blade directly through his heart.

Corek, the guard who'd accompanied him, watched silently as the execution was carried out. King Kova _would_ be returned to Korrinoth, of course. His head would be displayed on a pike as a warning to any other would-be traitors. The Ninth Kingdom did not tolerate betrayal… and it tolerated fools only so long as they were useful.

As for Prince Avok…

"Begin the assault," he murmured into his communications handset, reporting their successful task to the waiting dreadnought above. And then, as ordered, he raised his own rifle and shot the Polluxian prince through the spine.

It was almost a shame, really. But as he motioned for the rest of his team to come and gather the bodies, he smiled. This wasn't the end.

* * *

The phylactery had been calm in Haggar's hands, until now. Energy danced within its crystalline facets, glowing in unidentifiable colors and swirling into shapes that didn't exist. Avok was dead… again. As planned. Her orders to Corek had been clear.

_Dead he may be, but far from finished_.

"Maluxeß î konvra gul-eçspek tenßraxlur," she murmured. "Vortha ændrkrînos. Ak-fça." The ancient incantation far predated Drakure, or even the Drule Supremacy itself. Only the most powerful of witches would dare to speak the Forbidden Tongue. "Gøa ulmçkra!" In response the energy in the phylactery seethed, flowing away into nothingness.

On Pollux, the royal shuttle's cargo hatch cracked open. What waited inside was a cybernetic monstrosity, bristling with blades and sheathed in heavy armor. One of the Ninth's rarest and most brutal weapons: a fully empowered robeast. Energy was swirling behind its blank eyes as the door opened to the landing pad. A beacon in its heart, attuned to the phylactery, calling to the soul held within it.

The robeast's eyes blazed to life, and it emerged from the hold with a howl of rage.

"Go, Prince Avok. Burn this traitorous world to the ground."

* * *

Prince Bandor was visiting his mother.

Queen Ansala had been unusually agitated today. Even Lady Zeralle, her usual caretaker, had triggered a full-on fit when she'd entered; the Dead Queen had chased her from her chambers, screaming accusations of her being in league with the devils, demanding to see her children. Only Bandor's arrival had calmed her. So here he was, sitting on one of the covered chairs, chatting about nothing in particular.

It was hard to chat about much of anything _but_ nothing in particular. The Queen had no knowledge of what went on outside these walls. Bandor couldn't even tell her where Romelle and Avok were, let alone what they were doing. So he'd opted to tell her all about his latest adventures raising Dóro: the calcatrix was getting big enough to drape himself over both Bandor's shoulders, sitting there and cooing unrepentantly at a story about him running amok in the castle kitchens.

On a related note, the castle's supply of rivenberries needed replenishing.

"Lady Aldrys says I'm going to have to go help collect them," he pouted. "I don't mind the work, but the farmers always act weird around me."

Ansala chuckled warmly. "The people can often sense the presence of ghosts, my little one. It unnerves them. But be kind and protective and they will take to you."

Ghosts. Right. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right." Being kind to the farmers was easy enough, at least. He paused a moment, thinking about what else he could tell her.

In that moment, everything went to hell.

The door burst open; he jumped and dropped his hand to his sword, turning to see a pair of Drule soldiers shoving the drawn curtains aside. Though he didn't draw on them, his eyes narrowed. They were _not_ permitted to be here.

"Whatever you need can wait," he snapped in his most commanding tone. It wasn't _entirely_ convincing. "This chamber is off limits without my father's express order." He was positive they wouldn't have that—his father refused to even acknowledge that this room existed.

The lead soldier laughed harshly as a second pair came in behind them. "Your father has no say in this matter, Prince Bandor. You are hereby under arrest, to be taken to Korrinoth and placed on trial on behalf of your planet. You will come quietly, or as a corpse."

"…Huh?" That didn't seem like the correct answer. Defiance, or dressing them down for their disrespect, something like that would have been more appropriate. But he was entirely too confused for confidence. "What are you talking a—"

"—Begone with you, devils!" While Bandor had been trying to get his wits back, his mother had torn one of the covers from what had looked like a lamp. Now she brandished a huge two-handed greatsword from its decorative sheath, and charged. "I will not lose my son again!"

It didn't make Bandor any less dumbfounded. But the Drules seemed to share his shock—at least until Queen Ansala fell on their leader and, with a single clean stroke, removed his head from his body.

Blood and laser fire broke the spell. Bandor seized his own sword and lunged for the other Drule in the lead pair, several shots from the second pair brushing by him. His mother was beside him, and he saw one laser flash into her side, but she didn't even seem to notice. Both brought down their targets and spun on the last guard, who was fumbling with her rifle in confusion.

Maybe she hadn't expected the child prince and the insane queen to put up a fight. Probably not actually unfair.

"Your resistance will earn you nothing," she snarled, giving up on the gun and drawing the pistol at her side instead. "Surrender!" Rather than shoot immediately she reached for Bandor, maybe thinking she could take him hostage.

Dóro shrieked as the soldier grabbed for him, and lifted from his shoulders in a flurry of glossy black feathers. The Drule tried to shoot, but the calcatrix was faster, clamping down on her wrist with his hooked beak. She screamed, staggering backwards; her veins were visibly taking on a sickly greenish color below her skin, spreading swiftly up her arm. The pistol clattered to the floor.

"Bandor! Are you alright?"

Grabbing the gun, Bandor shot the Drule in the stomach and turned to his mother, panic in his eyes. "I don't know what's going on!"

"The devils have come for you. It was always inevitable." Ansala wiped her sword clean on a chair cover. "You must run. Escape their clutches."

What? He couldn't just run. He couldn't just leave the castle, he couldn't just leave _her_. "Come with me!"

"No. This dead realm is your home, it is you they seek. I have life yet left in me." The Queen's eyes flashed. "I will draw their attention while you flee."

"Mother—"

"—You must do this!" She hefted the sword. "Fetch Romelle and Avok and flee this place. Flee as swiftly and as far as you can. Do not let the devils catch you!"

_But…_

A tremor ran through the walls. A few pebbles raining down from the ceiling. Orbital bombardment? Possible. No, if the Drules had turned on them, that was less possible and more inevitable.

_But…!_

No. Move. He had to move. "Mother, I…"

"Go, Bandor." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I love you, my little one. Now save yourself."

"I… I love you," he whispered, swallowing hard. Then he turned and ran for it.

_Why?!_

He could hear weapons fire in the halls, the screams of servants and the war cries of guards. Dóro flew beside him, scaly neck snapping back and forth, but the corridor leading to the royal escape shuttle was shockingly clear. He wanted to stop and fight… he kept running.

Pollux had always expected a reckoning. But it was supposed to be at the hands of the Galra, the near-mythical foe from the past. Not from their own alleged allies. Not from the empire they'd done _everything_ to appease. But regardless of where it came from, they'd left themselves a way out. Fetching Romelle and Avok wasn't an option, given as far as he knew they were both on Korrinoth—

—_lord of the void, they're on Korrinoth!—_

No! He couldn't think about that either. His orders came from the Queen. His orders were to escape. If he was all that was left, it was all the more important for him to save himself. That was how it worked, wasn't it?

He felt sick. But he reached the hidden tunnel to the shuttle without incident, sprinting down the rocky steps and lunging through the hatch with Dóro on his heels.

Would the Drules catch him when he launched? Was he about to die despite it all? The shuttle had some countermeasures, he knew that. But he didn't really know what they were, let alone how to use them to their full effect. He barely knew how to fly it to begin with. But as he brought the engines up, he felt another tremor. There were cracks forming on the walls of the hidden hangar…

No time to fear. He had to go. "Dóro, hang on!" The calcatrix squawked.

With a roar, the shuttle's engines erupted in flame, and the shuttle shot forward. The thin canopy camouflaging the hangar entrance tore away as a few dozen tons of rocket-propelled steel ripped through, and the pale Polluxian sky spread out before him.

And it was… empty?

Gritting his teeth, Bandor pitched the shuttle upwards. He'd expected to see Drule vessels everywhere, maybe even Polluxian ships fighting back, though he was pretty sure they'd been deployed a long way away. All he could see on his instruments was a single large ship, and he didn't know how to pull any more information about it.

Cycling through monitors, he got a look at the ground. And that was when he saw what was really happening. Some kind of giant monster—there was no other way to describe it—was physically dismantling the castle piece by piece.

It felt like a fog was falling over him. Nothing made sense. None of this made _any sense_. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the seat and listened to the soft hum of the engines, trying to find answers when he wasn't even sure of the questions anymore.

Except one question. _Why?_

Bandor didn't open his eyes again until a soft beep told him they'd escaped the atmosphere. He looked at the instruments, interpreting what he could, not really wanting to see what was happening below. But he'd left the monitors set to the ground. He could see fire…

Were his people fighting back? Did they have any way left to fight back? Even their prince was _abandoning _them.

No. He was following his mother's last command…

It didn't make it sting less.

"Dóro, here…" He paused a moment, staring at the calcatrix as two bright, beady eyes stared back at him. For a moment he wanted to grab him and fling him out the hatch. Dóro was a gift from Lotor, and the Drules had just…

What the hell _had_ just happened?

_Why?!_

With a mournful little squawk-screech, Dóro nuzzled up against his side, and Bandor gave in and hugged the calcatrix tight. It wasn't his fault.

"Guess it's just us now," he murmured. They had to get help somewhere… didn't they? "What do we even do? Where do we _go_ from here?"

His pet had no answer to that. How would he? And so silence fell over the shuttle as it slipped into lightspeed, leaving Pollux burning behind them.

* * *

_*We should do 'a little' prequel stuff, we said... (No regrets!) Part 3, From Ashes, will be up sometime in July... and not to spoil things, but there's actually gonna be Voltron in this Voltron fic. Thanks for the reviews, and for reading this book full of Explorer Team crazy!_


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